Cursed Knight

by Elmon Dean Todd

  Kairos cleared his throat roughly as he tried to think of something to say.

  ‘Well, Squire Azel?’ Jomur said. ‘Shall we all watch you just stand there gaping stupidly or will you demonstrate how to light the candle as instructed?’

  Snickers chased around the classroom as some of the other squires enjoyed not being the target of Jomur’s ire. Kairos walked as a man to the gallows.

  ‘Oh, and leave your glove and staff,’ Jomur said. ‘This isn’t a tactical scenario. I just want you to light a candle.’

  Jomur knew it all. Kairos was sure to get kicked out of the Mana Knight Academy – and that was the best he could hope for. He didn’t know if they would arrest him for his deception or not. Either way, he was finished with the Mana Knights, he was sure of that. He looked at the candle on Jomur’s desk. It remained unlit.

  ‘Well?’ Jomur demanded. He didn’t even bother to conceal his smirk at Kairos’s discomfort.

  Kairos took a breath. He slowly raised his hand. Nothing happened.

  ‘Hurry up, Azel.’

  The door at the back of the classroom slammed open. Lady Beatrice, a Wolf Knight, strode in purposefully. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Instructor Jomur. Sir Flain has ordered all squires to assemble in the Commons. Training mission to rid the hobs plaguing the farmers.’

  Kairos tried to conceal his utter relief as he walked back to his desk. He gathered his things and filed out with the rest of the squires.

  As he stepped out of the classroom, he heard Jomur say softly, ‘This isn’t over. Not by any stretch.’

  Kairos wasn’t sure who Jomur was talking to, but he saw the instructor’s dark eyes, shadowed by a thick unibrow, boring straight into him.

  * * *

  The advent of spring moved the squires into the field for more drilling with Sir Flain, much to the collective misery of the class. Kairos, on the other hand, was relieved. He would continue to avoid Instructor Jomur, who seemed eager to expose him to the world. Kairos had once thought of the instructor as a weak, pompous coward of a man, but suddenly he had good reason to fear and avoid him.

  ‘I miss Instructor Jomur’s class,’ said Althea to Kairos one evening in the mess hall, after a gruelling day of sparring in the field. ‘That was the only class where I performed rather well.’

  Kairos sneered. ‘Jomur is a snivelling shit, who doesn’t deserve a position here. Performing ‘well’ in his class doesn’t exactly transfer to excellence in battle. I mean, what has he taught us that would be of practical use as a knight? Theories, formulas, and essays on rubbish! I say that his entire class is a waste of time, and I’m not sure why he is even here in the first place.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Althea responded, looking uncomfortable. She never liked to speak badly of anyone if she could help it, especially in the vulgar way Kairos usually did. Her father had taught her better.

  ‘I’m not sure why we are taught by instructors and professors instead of actual knights. Like Flain,’ Kairos said, with emphasis on mentioning the knight. ‘I’ve learnt more from him than all the other classes combined. The instructors and professors here are boring old fools who love nothing but the sound of their own voices echoing across the classroom. Though I suppose Argent isn’t that useless.’

  ‘I like Argent,’ Althea said defensively, thinking that Kairos’s words disparaged their professor. ‘He’s a good teacher, and his lessons are easy to understand. He’s even gone above and beyond to help me with my magic.’

  ‘Of course. I like Argent, too.’ Kairos thought of the Badger’s Trial, where the professor had discovered his darkest secret. To this day, Kairos still didn’t understand why the professor hadn’t told anyone. Maybe the professor was practical enough to understand that wielding magic did not equate to being a good knight – Shah was proof of that. ‘He’s different to the other non-knights. At least he teaches something worth a damn.’

  Althea was about to argue, but Kairos became focused on his meal, eating voraciously and consuming everything on his plate and wanting more. Althea shoved her plate towards him with a sigh. She was a picky eater, cutting away the bruised portions of her fruit and vegetables, or removing the gristle from the meat. Kairos was always happy to finish whatever she didn’t want.

  He finished and carried the wooden plates away to be washed, and went back to the kitchen for a second visit. He returned to the table with more food. Most of the other squires in the mess hall had already retired to their barracks for the evening.

  ‘I went to the Gauntlet the other day and sought out Argent for help,’ Althea said, looking down and fidgeting with her cup of water.

  ‘Althea, you’re spilling water on yourself. Be careful! Or the cook will yell at us for making a mess again.’ Kairos paused to shovel some potatoes into his mouth. ‘As for Argent, did you learn any new spells? He’s quite standoffish, you know. I can’t imagine him helping anyone outside of the classroom.’

  ‘Stephon was there,’ Althea said. She used her sleeve to wipe the spilled water from the table, then inspected her clothes, wiping her shirtfront.

  Kairos snorted. ‘As if I care about that bloody elven bastard. He can rot at the bottom of the sea.’

  Althea tried to explain her discovery. ‘You were right about him before, Kairos. Something is off about him. That flamboyant friendly act of his is a façade.’

  Kairos stopped chewing and looked up swiftly. ‘What happened?

  Althea’s face reddened, ashamed about what she was about to admit. ‘I was eavesdropping on their conversation. Stephon was talking to Argent, and he sounded evil,’ she said with a strong emphasis on the last word. ‘They were talking about dealing with ‘the god-cursed one’ or such. Argent told him not to act on whatever he was intending. When I made a sound, Stephon opened the door and found me there listening in on his conversation. I thought for a moment that he was going to kill me, Kairos! The look in his eyes and the sound of his voice… He would have enjoyed it. Then when Stephon realised it was me, he reverted back to his warm and friendly demeanour again.’

  Kairos was pale. ‘What else did they say?’

  ‘Nothing much. I didn’t listen that long. I played dumb, and he and Argent seemed to relax. They gave each other odd looks, then Argent said he was ordering a robe, or such, from Stephon.’

  ‘What happened next?’ Kairos prodded her.

  ‘Stephon left and Argent invited me to sit down. We talked about my low mana level, which was the original reason why I went to him. I was too scared to ask about what they were talking about…’ Althea hesitated, and looked around to see if anyone was within earshot. Satisfied no one was, she continued, ‘Argent also gave me a book on healing magic. He’s not supposed to do such a thing, Kairos. It’s forbidden for us to study healing magic without permission. But I took the book and read it anyway. Please don’t get mad at me.’

  ‘Why would I get mad?’

  ‘Because reading such a book is forbidden.’ Althea frowned and paused. ‘And also because I didn’t believe you before about Stephon.’

  ‘It’s no bother. Stephon was very friendly with you, so it’s understandable that you didn’t believe me. Besides, that was clever of you to play ignorant,’ Kairos said, regarding Althea with admiration. ‘Somehow, I don’t think Argent was requesting a tailor’s services in his private quarters. And their conversation sounds very odd. You don’t suppose that book is dangerous then?’

  ‘It can be. There is a thin line between healing magic and necromancy. And the Knighthood denounces all use of necromancy.’ Althea shivered. ‘So I must ensure I study the book properly… and not get caught.’

  ‘I still wonder why Argent gave that to you,’ Kairos said, thoughtfully. He remembered the magicus measuring his mana level. He thought Argent had kept it secret, but if Stephon knew…

  ‘Eh?’ Althea was bemused. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You are certain that you heard him mention the ‘god-cursed one?’’ Kairos asked quietly. He was glad that the
mess hall was almost empty.

  ‘I am certain,’ Althea said with conviction, her expression solemn and troubled. ‘I thought it was such an odd thing to talk about. What should we do? Should we say something about it?’

  ‘No, not yet,’ Kairos said. He hesitated a moment, then added, ‘We continue playing dumb. They’re planning something strange, and if we act suspicious, then we will lose the element of surprise. I always knew that there was something off about that bloody elf.’ A brief vision of Milbrooke formed in his mind. He saw Farina’s pleading eyes, and remembered Captain Hargonnas’s search for the god-cursed one. He pushed the memory away.

  Althea misread Kairos’s facial expression. ‘What shall we do about Stephon?’

  ‘We watch him, Althea. And we watch our backs very carefully.’

  * * *

  Gulliver travelled alone as he walked through Syphax, the capital of Numidia, which was a small kingdom situated to the south of Ordonia. Despite the intense heat of the tropical climate, he shook with excitement and nervousness as he neared Gala Fortress, the Mana Knight stronghold located in the centre of the city.

  His arrival had not gone unnoticed. Almost every Numidian in the streets stopped what they were doing to stare unabashedly at him. Most regarded him with considerable suspicion, which by now Gulliver was accustomed to. His pale skin contrasted sharply to the onyx hue of the Numidians. There was no such thing as blending into the crowd here. However, his pale skin was not the only reason why they stared.

  Long since the Celestial War, Numidia had shut its gates to problems of the outside world. The inhabitants studied their magic and prospered in peace, treating all outsiders like potential thieves, murderers, or disease-ridden vermin. Numidia was a nation of the magical elite who lived in isolation, neutrality, and strict lawfulness; everyone followed the rules. The woes of the world rarely affected them.

  The Numidians’ attitude towards Gulliver did not bother him. It was his upcoming meeting at Gala Fortress that left his nerves taut.

  Gala Fortress was the only exception that Numidia made for outsiders. It housed the headquarters of the Mana Knights, who were the only non-Numidians allowed to travel freely in and out of the country. The Knighthood was led by a mysterious Numidian by the name of Eribus, or ‘Grandmaster Eribus’ as the Mana Knights called him.

  Thus, the reason for Gulliver’s visit: he was summoned by Grandmaster Eribus, himself.

  He sometimes had to pause during his walk to gather his flagging courage. He did not know the true reasons for his summons, though he had several assumptions. The main one was that that he had failed his duty at Cape Caipora, and this failure had incurred the wrath of the Knighthood’s highest ranking member. Another scenario in the young knight’s mind was punishment for abandoning Tanton. He had come up with a profuse apology and a multitude of excuses for his actions, including the loss of the fingers of his casting hand, which still ached to this day. He hoped the Grandmaster would take pity and mercy on him, so he could go on with his life. Gulliver had been a nervous wreck ever since getting the summons, and he dreaded the outcome of this meeting.

  The wild imaginations of youth.

  Gulliver stated his business truthfully to the authorities at the front gates of Syphax. Even the most suspicious of the knights yielded the outsider knight a grudging bit of deference in return and pointed him in the correct direction of Gala Fortress. Several of these men hinted at where the exit was as soon as Gulliver had concluded his business. Gulliver hoped that he lived through this ordeal to see the exit. Apparently, Eribus was held in the same regard as the king of this nation, Gulliver thought.

  He saw the tall ivory buildings, and marvelled at their beauty and quality. They reached for the clouds, looking much more majestic than anything in Ordonia. The streets looked clean enough to eat from, and the citizens went about their daily lives in an orderly manner that seemed almost mechanical to the knight. The only break in this organised ritual were two young women staring at him and whispering with lowered eyelashes. As soon as they saw him look their way, they giggled and turned away. His cheeks burned as he walked by, and it wasn’t from the glaring sun. Under ordinary circumstances, Gulliver would have enjoyed all of the above, but he was too entrenched in his own despair to pay but a moment’s notice.

  He was drenched in sweat by the time he arrived at Gala Fortress, which was taller than anything in Vadost. If Gala Fortress were side by side with Valour Keep, it would tower more than three times the height of the Ordonian stronghold. This bastion also housed the Ruby Shard, the godshard of Numidia, evident by flickers of red, magical energy pulsating from its many towers.

  Gulliver greeted and saluted the knights at the entrance, who returned a perfunctory salute and greeting that was expected, but also demonstrated that he was to conduct his business in the quickest manner possible and leave. A Lion Knight came and escorted him to Eribus’s chambers, which were situated on the highest floor of a very tall tower. Gulliver rode a magical lift that carried him with dizzying speed to the top, where the Lion Knight led him to the door, knocked lightly, and announced Gulliver.

  ‘Please enter,’ came a deep voice within the chamber.

  The Lion Knight escorted Gulliver into the room and bowed. Gulliver did the same, as was standard procedure for a Mana Knight addressing his superior. He looked up to steal a quick glance at the most-esteemed knight, but could not see much. The room was dark, due to all of the windows covered with curtains shutting out the light, and Eribus was leaning back in his chair, lost in the shadows.

  ‘Thank you, Sir Vasteras,’ came Eribus’s deep voice. ‘You are dismissed.’

  The Lion Knight bowed and left the room, plunging Gulliver into wild fear – the moment of reckoning had come, and the darkness of the room only added to the effect. Gulliver lowered his head. His litany of apologies and excuses fled his mind.

  ‘Welcome Sir Gulliver Swift. You must be thirsty from your long journey,’ Eribus began, his face still hidden in the darkness. ‘Have a seat. Drink with me.’

  ‘S-sir?’ Gulliver muttered. The young knight paused and stared at the shadowed figure in speechless amazement. Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t this. He had envisioned banishment from the chivalrous order, at the very least. He had even taken some time to go to the library to research the fates of knights who failed horribly at their duties, and the lists of punishments gave birth to several creative scenarios in Gulliver’s mind. Perhaps this was the Grandmaster’s way of ‘sweetening the cow before the slaughter.’

  ‘It appears that you did not understand me,’ Eribus said, speaking in a warm pleasant tone. ‘I was offering you a drink to quench the thirst of your travels. I understand that some of you Ordonians may find the heat here quite unbearable.’

  Gulliver heard the soft rustling of robes, saw a trace of light, and suddenly several candles flared to life. A face – calm, ageless, with gleaming dark eyes – looked at him from across the table. An invisible energy like a hot wind struck Gulliver, causing him to lean against the back of his chair, and suddenly a glass of water materialised on the desk in front of him. Gulliver almost gasped. The man before him looked as every bit majestic as he had imagined.

  Yet despite the awe-inspiring aura the Grandmaster emitted, there was something off about the man… Eribus appeared worn out, haggard, frail. Was he ill?

  ‘My apologies,’ Eribus said. ‘I haven’t had many guests lately, so I forget my manners. Most people are not used to the dark.’

  ‘I-it is quite all right, my lord,’ Gulliver replied hastily, then with a tone of nervous concern, he asked, ‘Um, a-are you well, milord?’

  Eribus chuckled. It sounded like a deep rumbling rasp. ‘Do not fret about me, Sir Swift. My malady is not contagious, and the symptoms should recede within due time if everything proceeds as planned. Please, drink.’

  Gulliver took a quick sip from the glass, more because he didn’t want to offend his host rather than for quenching his thirst.<
br />
  ‘Now let’s skip the formalities,’ Eribus said. ‘You know who I am, and I know who you are. I’m here to ask you for your first-hand account of the events at Cape Caipora. You will tell me everything.’

  Gulliver’s shoulders slumped. He felt like a little boy caught in a prank, and confessing to his parents. Now he would tell everything to Eribus. For some reason, it felt satisfying. The pent-up guilt from many months spilled forth from his soul, and the Grandmaster listened in silence, only interrupting when he wanted clarification on something.

  The young knight told of spotting a shipwreck and finding Kairos in the woods. He noticed that Eribus leant forward and listened eagerly at the mention of the boy. He mentioned arguing with Tanton over lighting the signal fire, as instructed whenever anything of significance came from the sea, and how Malus’s army attacked a short time later. Gulliver was unable to hide his shame when he admitted abandoning Cape Caipora and Tanton to the enemy. He began to weep.

  ‘I tried to convince him to leave, my lord.’ Gulliver sobbed. ‘But he wouldn’t budge. I took Kairos and ran like a coward. I know it wasn’t honourable, but I thought at least I could help him survive…’

  Eribus held up a hand for silence. ‘I beg to the contrary, Sir Gulliver. You did what had to be done. Do not let anyone else judge you for your actions. If they must, then I will vouch for your integrity and honour. Your deeds were, indeed, heroic. You lit the signal fire and saved the boy.’

  Gulliver wiped his eyes and stared in astonishment. ‘Truly?’

  ‘Proceed with the rest of your account,’ Eribus merely said.

  Gulliver nodded, and he let out a sigh of relief. He told of the escape into Milbrooke only to be ambushed by Captain Hargonnas. He did not want to conjure up the horrible memory of the dead bodies everywhere, or of Farina. He still had nightmares about that incident, and that was only when he was able to sleep at all. Insomnia was a large problem for him lately.

  ‘The elves cut off the fingers of my right hand – my casting hand,’ Gulliver said sadly, holding up the scarred stumps. ‘I’m adapting to casting left-handed now, and I’m alive, so I suppose I should be thankful.’