Blackest Knights

by Phipps, C. T.

  “Show yourself,” I demanded.

  The Black Witch stepped out from behind the fire as if she had always been standing there. She wore a hooded black robe that hung low on her small, measly frame, and a hump in the arch of her back caused the Witch to hobble forward as she walked.

  I wouldn’t be moved by her appearance, though. This woman was a dangerous monster not to be taken lightly, and I held my sword and shield at the ready. “Where is Grace?”

  She tilted her head to the side as if curiously investigating me. “Is that any way to make a polite introduction?”

  “I’m not interested in being polite,” I said through the slat in my helm. “I’m interested in rescuing the bride you took from me.”

  “What makes you think she’s here?” asked the Witch.

  I wouldn’t be swayed by her tricks, though, and confidently stood my ground. “Don’t play games with me, Witch. Just hand her over and we can avoid the need for violence.”

  She raised an arm out from within her cloak and pointed towards me with a wrinkly finger way longer than any normal human should possess. “You say that, yes, yet you enter my residence wearing armor and brandishing a weapon.”

  I wasn’t a fool. She wanted me to lower my guard, so I raised the tip of my blade instead, aiming it in in her direction. “Because I know the evil you are capable of.”

  “And you know this how?” The Black Witch turned to admire the fire beside her. “Because you’ve seen me do such things? Or are you simply regurgitating the fables passed down to you from your ancestors?”

  “Enough of this!” I shouted, frustrated by her stalling. “Show me Grace now or face the consequences!”

  The Witch’s cloak rose and fell as her body breathed in deep and sighed. She then slowly lowered the hood from her head, revealing a hideously deformed visage of warts and boils. “As you wish.”

  I didn’t think it would be that easy. There was no way the infamous Black Witch would just bend to my will with mere words. And I was right.

  A subtle yet heavy growl echoed from the darkness. I turned towards it and found two glowing yellow eyes staring back at me. The large, menacing orbs seemed to hover in place and then slowly move forward. Little by little, sharp scales began to reveal themselves around the eyes as the face of a lizard took shape. It was snarling at me, allowing long globs of drool to drip out past its fangs, and before I knew it, a full-sized dragon had completely emerged from the darkness.

  The beast reared back on its hind legs, preparing itself before unleashing a deafening roar that pummeled my armor. Determined to hold my stance, I dug my feet into the rocky floor and braced with all my might.

  The roar lasted longer than I anticipated, and when it was over, the dragon brought down a fast claw that connected against my shield. The unexpected blow sent me flying back, but I quickly recovered in time to dodge the beast’s next attack.

  It relentlessly swiped at me with its claws, alternating one after the other without letting up. I moved faster than I thought I could and was able to maneuver away from every assault. The dragon kept me on the defensive, though, never allowing me a moment to retaliate. I would never win this battle by evading. I had to strike back.

  Timing the beast’s attacks, I waited for it to slash and then drove the tip of my sword into its claw. The stab went deep into the creature’s hide, and it let out a shrill of sudden pain. I had injured but not discouraged it from giving up its hunt.

  The dragon lashed out in anger by launching a wave of spitfire from its mouth. I wasn’t expecting the blast but still managed to raise my shield in time to block it from overwhelming me. The beast didn’t let up, though. It continued to spray a never-ending stream of fire upon me, pushing against the shield with a surge of power.

  The flames were intense. I could feel the heat surrounding me, boiling my metal armor into an oven. I couldn’t keep this up forever and had to get moving. Pressing my shield farther into the inferno, I created enough space that allowed me to break free and run away.

  The dragon released the blazing stream but didn’t stop its fiery assault there. The creature launched a series of fireballs in my direction, each one landing a step behind my trail and erupting into a burst of flames behind me. The fires didn’t die out, though. They continued to burn, scorching the cave floor similar to the fire that remained at the chamber’s entrance.

  Before I knew it, there were several pockets of these sporadic fires all around the battlefield. With them came a new source of light and an extra obstacle for me to avoid as I persisted to stay a step ahead of the dragon’s sizzling volley. Zigzagging around the flames, I made my way closer to the dragon, which was too distracted with its attacks to notice me approaching.

  Passing by its front legs, I sliced across one and then the other in rapid succession, causing the creature to again yelp and stumble to its belly.

  The battle was going surprisingly well. Despite its size and fierce appearance, this dragon was no match for me at all.

  Invigorating by my success, I yelled back to the Black Witch, who had been watching our skirmish from the side of the cave. “You think you can scare me with your pets! I will slay this monstrosity and return my love to her rightful place by my—”

  I would’ve continued my triumphant speech, but something behind the Witch caught my eye. Lying on the floor, in a portion of the cave that was previously drenched in darkness, was a pile of tattered clothing. Even ripped to shreds and mixed with black linen, the glamorous blue silk was unmistakable as the dress Grace was last seen in. Even her jewelry sparkled within the mound.

  Knowing the fate of the woman I loved struck my heart like lightning, knocking me into a daze as I drifted towards her indigestible remains. “No…No!”

  I turned towards the Black Witch with more anger and contempt than I even thought possible, all for the fact that she turned my Grace into a meal. “You let that beast consume her for dinner?! How dare you!?”

  Shrugging her shoulders, the Witch was completely indifferent to my ire. “Did this serpent of scales and fire consume your bride to be? Perhaps. But then again, she was always one to begin with.”

  I gritted my teeth as I raised my sword into a fighting form. “You shall not speak of my Grace in that tone.”

  “Why not?” she asked, more conversational than afraid. “She spoke of you in much the same manner.”

  The sorceress was still trying to lure me into a false sense of security, so I remained as vigilant as before. “I already told you. I will not be deceived by your lies.”

  Her grotesque face made what could only be described as a condescending grimace. “If your goal is to avoid deceit then it would behoove you to abandon the presumption that I abducted anyone from your castle.”

  Still holding the sword’s tip in the Witch’s direction, I pointed my other hand at the shredded fabric on the floor. “You deny those are Grace’s clothes in your possession?”

  “Absolutely not,” said the Black Witch shaking her head. “Because she wore them when she came here of her own volition.”

  “Why would she do that?” I asked, more offended by the question than confused.

  “For the same reason any of your villagers come to visit me: to make a deal.”

  Her words caused a lump to form in my throat. Even though I knew it to be false, the revelation still gave me pause. “What deal?”

  The Black Witch’s raspy voice softened as she went on to explain. “As much as you loved and adored your beautiful Grace, she did not share those same feelings. Quite the opposite. She despised you and would do anything to prevent becoming your queen.”

  The shock of it all forced the sword to lower and my head to shake back and forth. “I…I don’t believe you.”

  The Witch ignored my disbelief, choosing to continue her story instead. “But Grace couldn’t simply run away. The duke had schemed and plotted for ages to insert his legacy within the royal family, and she was terrified of defying her father’
s will. So she begged me to finally grant her the power to reject this engagement, which I happily obliged by making her skin as course as her heart.”

  My gaze slowly drifted over to the wounded dragon. The beast was still snarling at me with a look of rage and hatred all of its own making. The Witch had no control over this creature. It wasn’t hers to command. Instead, this dragon wanted to hurt me for its own reasons. Its animosity towards me was personal.

  Staring into the dragon’s eyes, an abrupt yet brief flash of familiarity came over me. It was only a moment but enough for me to recognize something deep within them and consider the impossible. “It…can’t…be.”

  The Witch then mocked me as a smug grin etched across her face. “Looks like your wedding night won’t be as pleasant as you hoped.”

  I didn’t know what emotion I was feeling. Betrayal? Pain? Anger? Despondence? Or perhaps I experienced them all at once. I couldn’t tell and didn’t have the time to ponder it.

  The dragon Grace had become lunged forward, her mouth wide and ready to devour me whole. I didn’t think and reacted on an instinct of self-defense by jamming my sword up into the base of her snout. The blade pierced straight through the dragon’s bottom jaw, pinning her mouth closed and stopping her dead only inches from my face.

  Grace’s large reptilian body slumped over lifeless, and the sharpness in her eyes faded to a dull shimmer. She was gone.

  Grief instantly flooded every inch of my being, causing it to go limp. The sword and shield slid from my arms, and I dropped to my knees, sobbing inconsolably over the dragon’s corpse.

  I wish she had come to me and told me how she felt. We could have worked through our differences and made a life for her that she was happy with. One that didn’t result in her deforming herself into this creature.

  Then I remembered who was actually responsible for this travesty. Grace couldn’t have done this on her own. She only ran away hoping the Black Witch could solve all her worries. If it weren’t for that old hag, Grace would’ve stayed in the castle and dealt with her problems head-on. But no. She was tricked into becoming a monster. A crime that had to be avenged.

  The storm of emotions swirling within me focused together into one solitary passion: wrath. Leering at my target through vengeful eyes, I stood slowly from Grace’s side and lunged for the Witch’s throat. “You shall pay for what you’ve done!”

  The Witch continued to stand unafraid, reacting simply by raising the back of her disgusting hand and revealing a large diamond ring around her long, wrinkly finger. “I don’t think so.”

  The shining rock halted me in my tracks. Not because of its beauty, which was a sharp contrast against the Witch’s hideousness, but because I recognized the ring. It was my family’s, passed down through the generations and used to seal my engagement to Grace.

  Stunned by the ring’s presence, I slowly removed my helmet in a puzzled stupor. “How did you get that?”

  “I told you,” she answered with a smile. “I make deals. Grace was no exception.”

  “You wanted her wedding ring?” I asked, still confused.

  The Black Witch shook her head. “No. That was just a consequence of the deal. What I really wanted was this.”

  She turned her hand around to show me a deep, bleeding cut across her palm. The gesture did nothing to satisfy my questions. “I don’t understand.”

  The Witch kept her bloody palm exposed to me as she explained. “We performed a blood rite, bonding us as adopted mother and daughter.”

  “You became her mother?” I asked, trying to make sense of it all.

  Again, the Witch shook her head. “No. She became mine.”

  The realization caused my grip to slowly loosen until the helmet I held at my side fell to the floor. “No…”

  “Yes,” said the Witch, finally closing her hand into a triumphant fist. “And now that you have slain the duke’s daughter, your sworn betrothal to his line has passed to the next of kin. Grace’s only heir. Me.”

  I was speechless, unable to process what had just transpired, so the Black Witch filled the silence by holding her arms out and welcoming me into her embrace. “Come and give your new queen a kiss.”

  He Ain’t Heavy; He’s My Brother

  By Allan Batchelder

  There is never an ideal time to drain your brother’s brain; it is like baking bread with strange ingredients in an unfamiliar oven. You have to test it, poke it, prod it and otherwise constantly gauge its progress if you have any hope of success, and, even then, there is always a chance of abject failure. And D’Marei had only the one brother to spare. Oh, but if he did manage to succeed! He was already, in his own not-so-humble opinion, the best alchemist in the world, but he stood a better-than-even chance of becoming its most powerful Shaper as well. The combination of alchemy and magic would give D’Marei nearly godlike ability.

  And he would need it, he knew.

  His brother and his brother’s employer, the infamous “Virgin Queen” had been on his trail for the past decade or more, drawing ever closer and closer. Their catching him was inevitable. Fortunately, his brother’s head had been separated from its body by an oversized brute with anger management issues—a serious setback for Her Majesty, but a boon for her prey. The alchemist discovered his brother’s head quite by accident, shortly after recovering his own (patience, gentle reader), and it seemed to him the greatest of gifts he could possibly have received. Or stolen.

  The point was, he had Cindor’s head all to himself! And within Cindor’s head, his brain held all the secrets of Shaping at the highest level. In addition, Cindor had known the Queen’s most important secrets—the names of her allies and enemies, her spies, her most trusted servants, and her long-range plans for the kingdom. It was rather like finding the Royal Bank wide open and unattended.

  Still, there was danger. For as much as he’d hated his older brother, D’Marei knew him to be cunning, methodical, and cruel. His “death” had set in motion countless arcane contingencies, the first of which, apparently, had been the spontaneous removal of his head from the vicinity of his body’s murderer. Above all else, Cindor meant to protect his brain. Next, as the alchemist himself had witnessed, Cindor’s body began to regenerate, from the neck down. But because Cindor was still somewhat addled from the damage he’d sustained and was clearly non-ambulatory, he was especially vulnerable to younger brother’s schemes.

  Unless Cindor had somehow enspelled his head with traps.

  Pondering all of this, D’Marei sat back in the darkness of his laboratory and worried a string of cat’s teeth that he kept in the most accessible of his myriad pockets. What to do, what to do? It was certainly a quandary. It was only a matter of time, a few days perhaps, before his brother’s remains could sustain themselves, before Cindor regained his wits and removed himself from D’Marei’s company. The alchemist scratched his scalp—bald, like Cindor’s, but blotchy and dry where Cindor’s was smooth and waxed. Fie! Even his brother’s scalp was comelier than D’Marei’s.

  It had ever been thus.

  As a child, Cindor was far more beloved by his parents and received most of their praise and attention. Where Cindor was outspoken, confident and charismatic, D’Marei was quiet, shy, and awkward. Worse, he was terribly sensitive to sunlight, unable to withstand direct exposure for more than a quarter hour at a time without getting horribly sunburnt and blinded. Following hard upon this were brutal headaches and frequent nausea. Cindor and his friends used to call him “Vampire” and lock him out of doors until he screamed in misery, even on overcast days. And somehow, Cindor had always been able to convince their parents that it had all been an accident.

  Then, one day, Cindor began to Shape, sending those same parents into paroxysms of pride and joy. Oh, how D’Marei hated his older brother. And when he, too, began Shaping a couple of years later, all Cindor could do was deride and belittle his efforts.

  “You’ll never make a good Shaper,” said he. “You’re too clumsy by half a
nd have barely enough wit to lace your own breeches.”

  Cindor’s bullying had always been bad, but with the addition of magic, it was unbearable. Soon, he learned to Jump D’Marei outdoors whenever he felt the whim. Sometimes, he Jumped his brother right out of his clothes, into the middle of a busy market.

  One day, D’Marei decided he’d had enough and simply did not return home. Why should he? His parents didn’t value him, and his brother despised him. So, he stole a bolt of fabric to clothe himself from one of the market stalls, using his tiny allotment of talent to create a distraction, and then went and found a home in a tumbled-down ruin, never visited by anyone but spiders and rats.

  For a time, D’Marei lived as a petty thief, venturing out at night and pilfering various lower-end shops and businesses, one of which was an alchemist’s shop. At first, he’d only been interested in the alchemist’s coin and one or two of his healing unguents. Eventually, however, he became fascinated by the alchemist’s books and scrolls. From that point on, he ignored the man’s coin and took only small samples of his chemicals and his reagents with which he might experiment. He wondered that the fellow was so lackadaisical about these thefts but considered that maybe his victim was as lonely as he.

  It was not long before D’Marei’s abilities and wealth eclipsed those of the other alchemist, and he made a point of replacing everything he’d taken and, sometimes, even leaving a rare tincture or poultice to surprise the man. D’Marei would never describe himself as a philanthropist, but he’d known hardship and felt he owed a debt to his unseen mentor and benefactor.

  Within a year, D’Marei established himself as the most legitimate, most successful alchemist in the region. It wasn’t long before Cindor caught wind of it and showed up, unexpectedly, in his little brother’s laboratory.

  “Well, well, well,” the Shaper drawled, looking about himself in mock astonishment. “What have we here?”