Knight in Charlotte

  He turned back to the others. “Human authorities can’t help us here. Either Acre and Shales will fade away, or worse, make a fight of it. Human guns can handle most monsters once they figure what they are, but there is something else here. An elder Norse goddess, named Hel, Queen of the underworld of Niflheim. There’s no telling what she could unleash.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Hel is a warrior goddess and answers to Odin,” Jeremy said. “And above all other things Odin demands courage. It gives me an idea…”

  *****

  Halloween night fell over the festival. Acre had declared a joust would take place at eight that evening and torches glowed around the arena. The stands were full of Halloween revelers, unaware of how close and real evil was. Goth teen and goblin rubbed elbows along with Celtic music fan and Elf.

  Acre and his entourage filled the balcony. Shales sat uncomfortably on a gray mare, mace in hand, on the tourney field. Behind him, a bored young man dressed as a knight waited for the evening program of the joust to begin. Acre and Hel took to their thrones.

  “Lords and ladies,” Shale began, “on this Halloween night we have something special in mind for you—”

  “More than you know, Shales.”

  Jeremy urged his horse, Cruzar, forward into the arena, past a group of confused staffers. Samantha and Sydney followed, weapons at the ready. Jeremy was concealed under a black cloak. He bore a shield, but it too was covered in fabric.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” the king demanded. “Where is Sir Randy?”

  “Your play knight is gone,” Jeremy shouted back. “You face a Knight Templar now.”

  “Now, now, young fellow,” Shales said. “Don’t get carried away. Guests aren’t allowed to participate in these events.”

  “Quiet, Shales,” Jeremy said. “I am not here to bandy words with a fool or a pretend king. I address myself to you, Lady Hel, goddess of the underworld.”

  The crowd murmured, getting caught up in what they thought was a play.

  Hel glared down on them, her eyes blazing in the half-and-half face. “Have a care human, I am not casually named by mortals.”

  “Nor do I do so,” Jeremy replied, trying to keep a quiver out of his voice as ancient evil regarded him. “I bring before you and all these assembled witnesses-- a challenge. King Acre is a fool, a thief and worse. I challenge him to mortal combat, here, now, in this arena. The winner will rule the Festival.”

  “You must be drunk,” Acre laughed. “Who put you up to this? Your stupid stunt is going to get you arrested,” his voice went cold, “by my guards.” With nightfall, the king’s goblin guard had reverted to their natural form. They growled and advanced in a flood from below the king’s balcony. A troll followed them out.

  “Hold,” Hel ordered and the air itself seemed to freeze. “The challenge is fairly made and lawful.” Her voice sounded like a mournful winter wind. “Odin does not care for cowards, king. You must accept wager by battle.”

  “Very well,” King Acre said, “but as a lawful monarch I am within my rights to name a champion to defend my throne. I name the black knight, your servant, Lady Hel.”

  Hel inclined her head and the smile she gave Jeremy made his skin crawl. “Let it be so.”

  “Wager of battle it is then, young Templar,” Acre boomed. “You shall face the demon warrior, the black knight, tonight on the eve of Halloween. Or you will depart never to trouble my kingdom again. The Fair folk will all swear allegiance to me.”

  “I will accept—” Jeremy said. A blast of jeers from the host of goblins, orcs and gargoyles drummed out his voice. He raised the bloodsword. The gem in its hilt, touched by Joseph of Arimathea to the blood of a carpenter dead 2,000 years, flashed angrily, cutting off the goblin’s coarse voices as if their throats had been slit. “On this condition. If I win, the forces of darkness return to Hel’s domain and never trouble the festival again.”

  “Accepted,” Acre said.

  “Then are you all bound to this doom,” Hel said, rising. “Let the combat begin now, under the light of the moon.”

  Hucksters on either side got the crowd going with awful puns and lame jokes. Jeremy’s “side” was seated on his right. He saw Tara and Copperfist with others of Faerie, watching hopefully from behind the bleachers.

  “Tonight, my lords and ladies,” Shales called. “We have the wager of arms. Stand forth the challenger!”

  “Give them hell,” Syd said.

  Samantha whipped off her scarf and tied it around his right wrist. “A favor from your lady.”

  Jeremy smiled down at her and urged Cruzar forward.

  Shales gave him an evil grin. “The young knight fancies he has a grievance…”

  “I will announce myself,” Jeremy’s voice again cut across Shales’. He shrugged out of his cloak and shook his shield’s covering off, revealing the white surcoat and shield, both bearing the red cross. “I’m Leclerc, Knight Templar. This festival has been suborned by evil. I call your champion to single combat.”

  “You’re cute,” some teenage girls called.

  “Fundamentalist,” someone else shouted.

  “Very well, Sir Knight,” Shale called back. “You will face the king’s champion.”

  The hucksters on the King’s side began to chant. “Cheat to win!”

  His own side answered, “Cheaters never prosper.” General din and shouting broke out.

  “Just like a Manchester United match,” Jeremy thought. An air of unreality took hold of him and he felt distanced from the whole scene. I’d never imagined that all that riding and sword practice would ever mean anything in the 21st Century. He shook himself. Concentrate.

  Hel looked down on him, her eyes, set in the dark and light face seemed to catch and reflect the torchlight.

  “I could put an arrow in her,” Samantha called.

  “It would not help,” Jeremy said over his shoulder.

  “Let us hope you can match your brave words with deeds,” Master Shales said. “I summon the Black Knight.”

  With a high-pitched scream, a huge, black Hanoverian burst into the far end of the field. The anvil-headed horse stood at least eighteen hands tall and atop it sat the Black Knight. He wore a Teutonic helmet and no sign of his features could be seen, but Jeremy fancied he saw an evil yellow gleam through the eyeslits. His lance looked like a tree-trunk. A massive sword rode on his saddle. Even allowing for the size of his mount, he sat two feet higher than Jeremy.

  Jeremy’s sorrel pawed the earth, seeming unimpressed with his giant adversary. “Easy, Cruzar.”

  The crowd, perhaps finally sensing that something was amiss, fell silent.

  “As master at arms,” Shales announced, “I declare that the first pass shall be with lance.”

  Sydney brought a gray wooden lance to Jeremy. “Get him, mate.”

  Samantha, bow strung and arrow nocked, watched the Knight’s capering goblin minions, as they hurled insults in their uncouth language.

  “Jeremy,” Shadowheart finally spoke.

  “At last,” he said. “Any advice?”

  “His lance is ensorcelled with an evil spell and dipped in scorpion ichor. It will cut through any armor. Their attempt to cheat allows me to respond. I will strengthen your shield. Take the blow directly on it. He will not try to get around it, believing his lance will pierce through. I will shiver his weapon.

  The crowd began to chant, “Leclerc, Leclerc, Leclerc.”

  The Black Knight’s side remained quiet despite the urging of the hucksters.

  “Enough,” King Acre shouted, his facade of joviality cracking. “Let the combat begin.”

  Jeremy couched his lance, and Cruzar whinnied, accelerating. The knight’s beast reared and charged ponderously. Three tons of horseflesh headed for collision. At the last second, Jeremy urged Cruzar to sidestep, avoiding the worst of the blow. The Black Knight’s weapon tracked left and slammed Jeremy’s shield at a angle. Jeremy’s left arm and shoulder we
nt numb and he was almost shoved from his horse. But the Knight’s spear broke with an ear-shattering crack.

  Jeremy pirouetted the nimble quarterhorse. Cruzar spun, dashing back toward the knight. Jeremy aimed his lance for his adversary’s broad back.

  The Black Knight could not spin his huge animal as quickly but he turned in the saddle. His two-handed sword swept out and red flames ran down its blade. With an inhuman roar the Knight swung a left-handed blow that drove Jeremy’s lance past his back. The lance burst into flame and flew from Jeremy’s grip.

  Jeremy raced past the knight and drew the bloodsword. The gem of its hilt glowed a fiery red. He spurred toward the Knight. The demon switched his flaming sword back to his right hand and steadied his shield on his left.

  Cruzar closed on the Knight, who used his reach and height to strike first. Jeremy’s shield took the blow, and strengthened by Shadowheart, was not cleaved.

  “Have some back,” Jeremy shouted. He struck with the bloodsword. Light flashed as the blessed sword struck demon steel. The horses backed as both warriors hacked at each other. The crowd roared Jeremy’s name.

  Jeremy caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. A goblin squire had snuck behind him with a polearm. The Knight, seeing Jeremy’s attention divided, redoubled his attack. Cruzar stumbled, shouldered by the big Hanoverian. The stumble saved Jeremy’s head as the black sword whistled over it. The miss gave Jeremy a bare second to deal with the goblin. He raised his sword, but the goblin was falling backward, an arrow quivering in his chest.

  “Got him,” Samantha crowed.

  Jeremy summoned Cruzar’s remaining strength and crashed into the Black Knight, striking furiously in a series of quick cuts. As they locked shields, the rotting meat smell of the demon almost overcame him. Their swords ground together. Neither fighter could get off a strike.

  “Jeremy,” Shadowheart called. “Reverse your blade. Bring the gem down on his helm.”

  Jeremy disengaged and struck; the ruby slammed on the heavy iron helm. The gem didn’t shatter as he expected but blazed brighter and emitted a loud, crystalline note. The Knight tumbled from his mount, which bolted from the arena. The helmet rolled free of the body. There was no head underneath.

  A moan went up from the crowd.

  “Cool,” a child shouted from the sideline. Cheers rang out.

  Jeremy swayed in his saddle but stayed grimly upright. Samantha and Syd came up to stand on either side. “Victory is mine. Renounce the throne.” Jeremy shouted.

  “Kill him,’ Acre shouted. “Guards, kill him.”

  The master at arms spurred himself at Jeremy. But he was no fighter. Jeremy looked contemptuously at the way he held his weapons and bumped up and down on the mare.

  “No, Samantha,” he said, as she snapped up her bow. Sydney raised his staff, but Jeremy waved him off. He spurred Cruzar and met the awkward swing of Shale’s sword. With a casual twist he disarmed the so-called master-at-arms, then cracked him several times with the flat of the bloodsword, unhorsing him. Syd ran up to plant the staff on Shale’s chest.

  From beneath the tower a company of goblins and orcs joined the troll on the field. The crowd booed. “You suck,” someone shouted.

  Jeremy swore as Sam nocked an arrow and Sydney fumbled under his cassock, coming up with his axe.

  A sudden blast of wind quelled everyone. Shadowheart appeared next to him. She was in her archangel mode, pale, near seven feet tall with black and red wings and long, silky black hair. She stood clad in armor with a sword belted at her waist.

  “Isn’t that the chick from Salon Bang Bang?” somebody said into the silence.

  But the orc and goblins knew what she was, and they cringed, falling backward in terror.

  “Come forth, Hel, and put a stop to this.” Shadowheart’s voice effortlessly filled the space.

  Hel, as if under a compulsion, walked to the edge of the balcony.

  “What do you do here, Archangel?” she said in her dull monotone. “I have not struck with my powers that you should manifest. All that transpired here came from human choices.”

  “Do not belabor me with the Law,” Shadowheart’s voice flowed with contempt. “ I am come from beyond because the Old Magic was invoked. A bargain made. Wager of battle. All are bound to its outcome.”

  “True,’ Hel gave a ghastly smile. “I was only waiting for the king to damn himself further with oathbreaking.”

  “Destroy her,” Acre shouted. “You’re a god.”

  “I am a god of the universe, made inside it and limited by it.” Hel frowned. “The Angel is from beyond, from the Origin, and has no limits. I cannot withstand her.”

  “You have lost, King Acre,” Hel said, turning her divided face to him. “Follow me to Niflheim. Do not fear. You will find my hall to be a fascinating place.”

  A fog billowed out around the castle. From all over the festival, orcs, goblins and other servants of darkness came racing, plunging into the fog. The troll lurched forward and snatched up the body of the black knight, then it too disappeared.

  Hel reached for the king. “No,” he screamed. “No, please no.” But Hel’s cold claw closed on his arm and she began to drag him. “No,” he screamed a last time before the fog closed on him.

  Jeremy dismounted and stood over Shales, whose face was waxen in terror. “Mercy, please.”

  “One condition,” Jeremy said. “Or your new zip code is Niflheim 90210.”

  “Anything,” he whimpered.

  The folk of Faerie gathered round, Tara and Copperfist in the lead. Dwarf and Elf had raided the dungeon while Jeremy and his friends faced Hel.

  “You will serve Tara and Copperfist, administering the Fair for the benefit of Faerie. You will deal with human matters and protect them from intrusion. They’ll work out a fair salary for you-”

  “It won’t be much,” the dwarf interjected.

  “Cheat them only once and you are meat for Hel,” Jeremy snapped.

  “Swear on the gem,” Shadowheart ordered. “And know you are bound to it every second of every day.”

  Shales reached out a shaking hand. “I swear.”

  The fog dissipated. The crowd went wild. One Goth kid turned to another. “Totally bogus, man. There wasn’t even any blood.”

  The End

  The Audit

  To The Holy See

  From Raoul Esposito SJ Calificador,

  Your Holiness

  We have heard disturbing reports of irregular activities by the Knight Templar Jeremy Leclerc, assigned to Charlotte, NC, USA. An inquisition has been ordered…

  *****

  “Oh my God,” Jeremy Leclerc said, “I’m being audited!” The tall, lean, twenty –four-year-old leapt up from the screen where the offending e-mail glared at him.

  “Oh no,” Samantha said, pushing her gold-rimmed glasses back on her small nose and looking up from her laptop. “The IRS?”

  “No,” Jeremy said, running his hands through his thick, brown hair. “Far worse, a calificador. He’s arriving tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like a Mexican drink,” Samantha observed, hopping off the desktop where she’d been sitting cross-legged. Wearing a blue sweater and jeans, she looked thirty but was older.

  “You know them better as the Spanish Inquisition,” he added.

  She grinned. “And no one expects the Spanish Inquisition! Which one are they sending: Cardinal Ximinez, Cardinal Biggles or Cardinal Fang?”

  “This isn’t a Monty Python sketch, this is serious,” Jeremy said, pacing around the design studio. “With the retirement of the old Grandmaster, the Templars have taken a very conservative turn.”

  Suddenly another figure blinked into existence. Above them, legs akimbo in a posture that mimicked Sam’s, floated a teenage girl, snub-nosed, blonde, dressed in mall-rat clothes.

  Sam jumped. “Shadowheart! I’ve asked you to stop materializing like that.”

  The angel ignored her. “An audit, huh? Knowing your propensity for violatin
g the tenets of the order, I wouldn’t give a fig for your prospects.”

  He glared up at her. “Some have said that I’ve cut quite a swath through evil in Charlotte since I arrived.”

  “That’s a nice quote,” Shadowheart said. “Pity that it comes from Bob Diablesse, the local demon lord. I doubt the inquisitor will find it much of a recommendation.”

  “Nonetheless,” Sam challenged, her ire doubtless roused by the mention of church orthodoxy, “Jeremy’s wiped out demons, monsters and a witch coven.”

  “And made deals with Diablesse and boinked a vampire,” Shadowheart pointed out.

  “It was only one vampire,” Jeremy grumbled.

  “Multiple times,” his guardian angel retorted. “So much for the vow of celibacy.”

  “Oh, that,” Jeremy said dryly.

  “Perhaps a little audit would do you some good,” Shadowheart mused. “Maybe it will teach you that there’s a reason for rules.” She gave Jeremy a disturbing grin. “Let me know how it comes out.” She disappeared.

  “Shadowheart,” Jeremy called, “come back here.” But no amount of calling could summon the angel.

  *****

  Jeremy went home to prepare for the Inquisitor’s arrival. After sunset Samantha left to make her own preparations. She ended up at The Crossing Apartments at the address she’d lifted from Jeremy’s files, nervously fingering her grandmother’s golden cross. The sun had faded, and the moon rode over the fashionable complex. “I suppose I should be grateful that she’s no longer in the old Azteca apartments,” she muttered.

  “Yeah,” a voice twanged in her ear, “that was kind of a hole.”

  Samantha jumped, pulling a vial of holy water from one pocket and a stake from the other. She found herself facing a short, blonde, busty woman of about thirty, clad in denim and rhinestones that made her look like a country singer. Debbie Middleton regarded her with steady blue eyes that held an odd glimmer. “You looking for me, honey?”

  “Yeah,” Sam said, her mouth dry.

  “I know you,” Debbie said.