"Knight" by Steven B. James

Pleading fright.

"Oh god, Martin! Hurry, please hurry!"

Martin took the steps two at a time, holding his sword loosely as he ran towards the roof of Castle Rachinor. Spurned on towards his goal by the pleas of his love. Around and around the tower steps, up the damp stairs of stone. Not much farther, just a little longer love, just a little longer.

Anger, hope, determination.

Finally after an eternity, his legs burning with fatigue, he crashed though the heavy wooden door into the cold winter morning. He stopped and wildly looked around, searching for Jasimene and the wizard that held her.

Frustration.

"Show yourself, Offlar, you coward!"

A voice seemed to fill the air around him, laden with arrogance. "Oh, poor Martin, you forgot to say, Lord Offlar, you should be ashamed."

"You shall not be a Lord for much longer, I shall spite you on my blade." Martin stalked around the roof, frantically searching for the pair.

"Behind you, Martin, turn around."

Rage.

Martin spun on his heel, facing the sound of the wizards voice. He was standing behind Jasimene, holding a thin dagger at her throat. Martin's blood boiled at the sight, filling him with rage.

"Now, now Sir Martin. That's no way to look at a superior. Your insolence shall not go unpunished."

Stillness, smoldering anger, helplessness.

Martin lowered the point of his sword to the ground. "No, wizard. Let Jasimene go. It's me this quarrel is between."

Offlar grinned, showing perfect teeth, his purple cloak billowed behind him in the wind. His wizard staff hung from his hip, shimmering with dark energy. He wore plated armor on his chest, engraved with the words of fell and evil power. The dagger he held to Martin's bride glittered darkly beneath Jasimene's brown hair. He pressed the point towards her exposed throat, a thin trail of her blood iced down the blade. She whimpered from the pain, trying not to swallow.

"Now, I could just let her go, and kill you. But. . ." He paused. "I think it would be much, much better retribution for your treachery to just, rid you of your beautiful bride."

"NO! Damn you Offlar, you need not do this. Any chance of you living shall be naught if she dies, I shall hunt you wherever you go!"

"Too, bad."

The blade twitched in Lord Offlar's hand, a small movement. Jasimene made no sound.

Blood flowed from the wound, feeding the fell spirit in the dagger.

Death.

The wizard released her from his grasp, she fell. Blood pooled around her once life filled face.

With another smile to Martin, the wizard sheathed the dagger next to his staff. He clapped his hands once and disappeared in a translucent haze of black energies.

Despair.

Blind hope.

Sir Martin dropped his sword, dully noting its clang onto the stone as he fell by Jasimene's still side.

"Love? Jasimene?"

Realization.

Devastation.

"Oh, lord. No. . . No."

Tears.

Emptiness.

*

"You couldn't save the one you loved, Sir Martin. You couldn't save me. You're worthless. How dare you. Vile, accursed. I should strip you of your Knighthood!"

Sir Martin woke up with a snap. Amid sweat soaked sheets.

"A dream. Another accursed dream!" He lay his head back on his pillow, left hand searching the sheets next to him for his love. He found the same thing he had found for the past year. Nothing.

Grief.

Desperately, he reached with his right hand along the dresser next to his bed. Feeling cold steel between his fingertips, he drew the dagger into his palm. The dark reassurance of steel bathed his mind in a still certainty.

Deep sigh.

Clarity.

Determination.

The dagger was unsheathed. A sharp whine of metal on metal, echoing though his chamber. Glittering malevolently. Sharp metal.

He regarded it with a cool curiosity, as if he had never seen a blade before in his life. His left hand trailed the nine inch length of promised release. He didn't even notice the blood trickling from his thumb as he tested its edges. Sharp dagger.

Warmth.

Happiness.

"I shall see you soon Jasimene, I'm sorry I didn't realize this before."

He grasped the ebony hilt of the dagger with both hands. In the pale light of the morning it glimmered with a beauty rarely seen. Mystified once again, Martin gazed at it.

Transfixion.

Renewed hope.

Outside a morning bird chirped, oblivious to the goings on in the small home.

Release.

Pause.

The Wizard!

"NO!" Sir Martin dropped the dagger from his grasp. It barely missed his chest as it thunked into the bed, sinking its length of death into the sheets.

Renewed anger.

Necessary Evilness.

Cold soul.

Icy determination.

"Revenge. . ."

*

Nobility lost, Sir Martin searched the lands for the wizard. Leaving slaughtered villages, razed lands. Anyone who knew of the wizard was interrogated, then executed. Finally, he found the now old Lord in a small inn on the outskirts of a trading town.

Martin asked if he could sit next to the wizard.

He sat.

They talked. A realization passed over Martin. This man does not remember what he has done.

Pity.

"Tell me, young man. What leads you to sit with this old sage, to talk of times long forgotten?"

"I am sorry, my Lord. Allow me to invite you to my home for the evening. I would be honored to serve you in such a capacity."

"You are most kind, young Sir. Tell me. What is your name? You. . . You somehow seem familiar. Did I once know you?"

A glitter of teeth from Martin, a waning smile. "Yes, Lord. We once knew each other very well. My name is Sir Martin."

Realization, from the wizard.

Hidden fires burned in Sir Martin's eyes.

Reluctance. "I would enjoy your company, Sir Martin. Please, lead me to your noble home."

They stood, Martin led the old man from the inn out into the dusk lit street.

Empty.

Fright, from the wizard.

Sir Martin: "Please, follow me my Lord. The night draws close, and there are many dangers at night around my home."

A nod.

The wizard was led from the town, out towards the now dark outskirts of a forest.

Sir Martin grasped his sword hilt.

"Vengeance. . ."

The wizard: "Excuse me?"

"Oh, nothing my Lord. I must have been speaking to the spirits."

Hollow chuckle.

Cold hatred.

"Tell me, my Lord. Do you remember how we were acquainted?"

"My memory is hazy. . . However I do remember you being in my service for many years. You. . .You had a bride as well, did you not?"

Growing hollowness.

"Yes."

Curiosity.

"What happened to that fair maiden I so fondly remember now?"

Barely restrained anger.

"She. . .Died, my Lord. Murdered."

Deep sorrow, truthfulness.

"I am sorry for your loss, Sir Martin."

Unexpected release.

"Thank you, my Lord."

Regained honor.

Renewed happiness.

Warmth.

Forgiveness. "I am sorry my Lord. I have deceived you. My home, it is nowhere near here. You, you see? I brought you out here to destroy you. It was you Lord Offlar, you murdered Lady Jasimene when I refused to kill a merchant for paying you for goods late. But, I no longer wish to kill you. Please, let us return to the inn, I shall pay for your room and board." <P>From the wizard: Stunned remembrance. <P>Fear. <P>Genuine sorrow. <P>"Oh. . .Oh no. . .Sir Martin. I am dreadfully sorry. I was consumed by the dark one, my forays into wizardry led me down the dark path of power. You have all right to take my life, I beg for your mercy, good Knight." <P>A nod, truthful smile. "It is granted, my Lord. I wish you to live." <P>Sir Martin left Lord Offlar at the inn. <P>Warmth. <P>Sorrow, healing. . . <P>Forgiveness.