2nd Stillday of Bales
In a swamp south of
Kozamost
Ludmer, the Trail
Knight
"Sir Perilake, the
story of your ascension to knighthood is one told up and down the
land. But I've never heard it from the horse's mouth, if you'll
forgive the expression. I do know that it is a story of pious joy,
concerning a hateful mentor and a desire for security, driven by a
sense of duty. Also, a mighty mustelid!"
Perilake the Gilded
Knight
Perilake smiles, but
there is a sadness in his eyes. "I squired under my mentor, Sir
Cyrion. A harsh man to be true. Hateful is not the word I would have
used; though I know the smallfolk who suffered the lash of his tongue
- and indeed, all too frequently his hand, would differ. Yet I owe so
much to his lessons and his wisdom, bitter though it often was."
He takes a seat by the fire, and bids Zoltan to sit by him "He
wore this armour before me, and he had me polish it so brightly that
he could shave by its reflection each morning. In truth, it oft felt
as though his reflection was the only thing that truly existed to Sir
Cyrion. But what Knight does not seek glory? I was his squire, and it
was my duty to serve. We spent many seasons on the tourney field or
in the halls of friendly lords, Sir Cyrion always cutting a fine
figure amongst the nobility. Prestige was more his calling than a
life of the trails, but he certainly earned it - no challenge was
beyond the Gilded Sir Cyrion. If danger and death was the price of
glory, he would pay it in full."
"In my final year as a
youth sworn into his service, Sir Cyrion undertook a quest to slay a
great beast of the forests. A huge and terrible mustelid as Sir
Ludmer says - a great and dire badger, larger even than Blacwyn in
his full span - was seen in the Lord's woods. It made no secret of
its passing, driven mad by some dark plague, yet though we often
caught glimpses of it through the bracken, it seemed impossible to
find, to corner."
"In frustration,
my lord sent our followers - a few canny woodsmen from the local
village, bound by the Baron into our service - to search the woods.
None came back but one, who refused to go further. My lord whipped
him, and me when I stood between them." Perilake stirs the fire
with sudden vigour "But such was oft the nature of my lessons as
a youth, and not all were earned by virtue." "Left without
guides, we wandered the forests looking for the beast and in our
search came across a wonderful and terrible figure; the Enthrowned
Seer." He glances towards the Prey Seer, who sits silently by
the flames.
"Within a sheltered clearing deep within the woods,
a man sat. Or so I thought at first. Yet his throne was he, and he
his throne; silver and steel and gold, entwined with flesh and wood
and more, in a place of silence and power." "He bade us
approach - on our knees. Sir Cyrion refused, and pushed me forward in
his stead. I pleaded with the Seer for guidance, and he saw favour.
With a strange smile, he spoke loudly. I will never forget his
words." "He leaned forward and placed one hand upon my
shoulder from atop his twisted chair and spoke: 'To find the beast,
not one gilded knight will suffice. The only way this hunt shall
succeed is if it is pursued twice - by knight, not squire, or you
shall both suffer the beast's sickened ire. And so I say your service
is at end. No longer a steward's son or a servant, today a Knight -
to this land sworn forever to defend'." "He bid me rise,
and Sir Cyrion glowered from the edge of the clearing, yet even in
his high standing he respected the wisdom of the Seers. From that
point on, we were no longer lord and master - but knights. When next
we came across the beast's trail, Sir Cyrion did not bid me to stand
back but asked for me to lead the charge whilst he encircled it."
"Together, we pinned it between us, though the chase and the
battle was fierce, working as equals we were its match and put it to
rest."
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| A vile creature of the forest |
Perilake looks up and
smiles at the others. "I could not do justice to the battle, but
it was the fiercest I had ever faced in my service. And when it was
over, Sir Cyrion pulled me to my feet and clasped my shoulder, and
greeted me as his brother knight." "We travelled together
for some time afterwards... until we undertook a voyage to distant
shores. An ill-fated voyage, brought short by another great beast. It
was then that Sir Cyrion passed from this world - and passed his
armour to me..." Perilake's hands brush the shining metal of his
namesake. "But that is a story for another time."
Referee
It is afternoon. The
multiplied sun has dipped on the horizon during Perilake's story.
Large peaceful dragonflies are hovering over the grass while Zoltan
gathers more dry wood for the fire. From time to time he glances over
at the Guilded Knight with newfound admiration.
Ludmer, the Trail
Knight
"An inspiring
story masterfully told, Sir Perilake. You truly are the most noble
among us. As skillful with your words as you are with your arm."
Ludmer breaks a few eggs into a pan, into another he puts some bread
to roast. Looking at Sir Anastaz, he asks: "I wonder if Sir
Anastaz is worth his salt as a storyteller the same way Sir Perilake
is. What is the story behind the flask you're bearing, Sir Anastaz?
Did it ever prove a boon in your adventures?"
Anastaz the Salt Knight
"I am not a man of
many words, but I can try: I, too, was a squire, under Sir Kolosz. He
was well past his prime, but a kind man and a virtuous knight. He
taught me much of chivalry and protecting the weak. He had had one
squire before me, a man by the name of Krisztof. Krisztof was a
charming young fellow and a talented swordsman, but Sir Kolosz told
me that his ambition, his desire to be famed and adored, had poisoned
his heart. I, on the other hand, was totally committed to the
Knight's Code: a complete idealist... naïve even. Nevertheless,
Krisztof had quickly found tutelage under another Knight and
completed his training."
"One day, Sir
Kolosz and I came to a village suffering from drought, where we
encountered Krisztof, now called the Hive Knight. Armored in wood and
leaves, he smelled sickly sweet. We discovered he had given up hope
that anything could be done for the villagers, hoping only to raise
their spirits by keeping them in the tavern playing music all through
the night. Sir Kolosz was appalled at the Hive Knight's cowardice and
sloth, and we embarked across the barren land to the Bright Seer, a
kingly figure clad in gold and orange raiments, whose sanctum shone
with brilliant fires."
"He showed us a
vision of a relic with the solution to the villagers' problem, an
unending flask of fresh water, which could be found in a remote cave.
We trekked toward the cave, but before we entered, Sir Kolosz was
overcome by a fit and had to rest. We stayed there for a time, but
his condition showed no sign of improving, so I offered to retrieve
the relic myself. I crept through the cave, dispatching or bypassing
the few creatures and natural hazards which protected the flask, and
finally came to a glowing basin of water, with a flask of mottled
stone at the bottom. I retrieved it, but when I returned to the mouth
of the cave, I found the Hive Knight waiting for me."
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| Sir Krisztof, The Hive Knight |
"He had followed
us and waited for me to collect the flask so he could claim it for
himself. He demanded the flask, but I refused, shocked that a Knight
could be so corrupt. We dueled: he surely thought that with him a
Knight and me a squire that his victory was assured, but his
overconfidence was a weakness I could exploit. In the end, I feinted,
but I wounded him far more gravely than I had intended, nearly
separating his torso from his legs. His blood was dark and thick,
like sap. I watched in terror and amazement as he feebly crawled into
the corner of the cavern and set himself alight."
"I returned to Sir
Kolosz, and we returned to the village. The villagers, no longer
dying of starvation and thirst, had reason for dancing and singing.
It was important to Sir Kolosz that I be knighted before he passed
from this world, and we went back to the Bright Seer. The Bright Seer
saw fit to knight me, but in his wisdom, he showed me one last
vision. He held a piece of coal to my lips, and I saw the suffering
of all the peasants in the village, the grief of those who had lost
friends or family members. It was a... challenging revelation. I have
heard rumors of the Hive Knight since then, so I presume he still,
somehow, lives. Sir Kolosz died not long after, in his bed. His last
words were a request for water. I have not unsealed the flask since
then."
"Does that answer
your question, Trail Knight?"
Ludmer, the Trail
Knight
"It does, Sir
Anastaz, it does. More importantly, it shows the depth this salty
stillness of yours conceals. You are truly a noble soul and a
storyteller to put all of us to shame." Ludmer collects the
dishes, cleaning them with sand and ashes, before stowing them away
"What about your wings, Brother Heldris? I've been meaning to
ask. Am I correct in recognizing these beautiful feathers as hawk
feathers? Your harness and its wings are very well crafted and
maintained so I assume they tell a story of wealth and pride, do they
not?"
Heldris the Dove Knight
Heldris looks musingly
at the Salt Knight, wondering how many stories hide behind his calm
appearance, and happy to have been deemed worthy of hearing his story
as well as those of their friends. He turns to Ludmer. "You know
your fauna well my friend, but between these hawks feathers, some
gentle dove ones hide as well, let me tell you how my wings came to
be..."
"I grew up in a
castle on a Western land beyond the Sea. Steep rocky cliffs, before a
jagged shoreline, sweetened from time to time by a quiet inlet. Where
white seabirds lay their nest, between delicate shrubs. Inland, green
pastures under a constant drizzle. We keep the Sun in high regard
there, for when She shows her blissful rays and chases the rain away,
we rejoice our green land even more. I am the second son, and as soon
as I was old enough, I started following my dear brother Cadwr as a
squire. We set out for the Great Forest in the north, where a horrid
winged beast was rumoured to dwell. After days of travelling through
the dark woods, we finally stumbled upon its lair. Before us,
distorted by the elongated shadows of the trees, stood a horrid
beast. The head of a hawk, the body of a serpent, the wings of a bat.
I handed the spear to my brother who charged without fear. As soon as
he reached the monster, his spear broke against its awful scales. He
was quickly unhorsed, the blow sent him against a rock where he lay
dead, his last breath leaving through the tall dark trees. I turned
tail and stumbling and tripping I reached a clearance, where I
finally fell on the ground and stopped. “Enough running,” I said
to myself, “I’ll have my revenge dear brother of mine, or I’ll
die trying and be with you again."
"I drew my sword
and as I turned to face the horrid beast, through the clearing I saw
the Sun shine as bright as ever She did. I stupidly looked up, away
from my enemy, and I swear I saw the face of the Sun smiling down at
me. As I lowered my gaze, before me a white dove was pecking calmly
on the ground. The horrid beast lying slain before me, my sword
covered in thick dark blood. An eerie calmness throughout the woods.
I looked at the dove, and it was a bird no more. A strange woman, her
skin as if burnt from the Sun, but as if beautifully carved, was
standing before me. I was made a Knight that day. I’ve been
carrying the freedom of wings and the constraint of revenge with me
ever since."
.jpg) |
| The Sundlit Seer (artist's impression) |
Anastaz the Salt Knight
Anastaz has been
staring solemnly at the ground since he finished his story. As
Heldris's story concludes, the Salt Knight reaches out a hand and
squeezes Heldris' shoulder.
"And you, Trail
Knight? From whence came your unwavering principles? Your revulsion
at Mira and that knight Cormorant surely has a tale behind it?"
Ludmer, the Trail
Knight
"Of course, my
brother. Let me gather my thoughts, so as to not miss any pertinent
details."
Referee
The Suns - now low on
the horizon - are throwing strange shadows around the Knights and the
hunched Seer. The evening is approaching and with it mist rises over
the tall grass. A day of stories has almost come to an end
Ludmer pours himself
another cup of tea, inhaling the familiar, bitter aroma. He leans
back, his eyes on the rising mist beyond the firelight. For a moment,
his face is unreadable, etched in shadows and flame. He swirls the
tea in his cup, watching the ripples settle before finally speaking.
“I’ve been told a story gains meaning by the way it’s told. But
mine...” His voice trails off as he stares into his cup, the
red-tinted liquid catching the light like blood. “Mine is not one
of valor or honor. It’s one of fire and smoke. Of ashes.” He sips
his tea, letting the bitterness linger on his tongue before
continuing. “I was born to wealth. Not earned—never earned—but
taken. My father was called Slavomír, and he ruled our land with an
iron hand. ‘Glory of the People,’ he called himself, as though
their suffering crowned him.” Ludmer sets the cup down, fingers
lingering on the handle. “His people were his cattle. His fields
were their burden. They toiled, bled, and starved, all to feed his
endless hunger for comfort. The finest silks, spices from distant
lands, teas that danced on the tongue... all paid for by the backs of
men and women who had nothing but callouses to call their own.” His
eyes flick to the others, lingering for a moment on Sir Anastaz,
before returning to the fire. “He saw himself as a father to his
subjects, a shepherd to his flock. But he was the wolf in their
midst, cloaked in finery, his teeth hidden behind honeyed words. He
called it his ‘duty’—his right by birth. And the smallfolk
suffered beneath him, bound by blood to his service.” Ludmer’s
fingers tighten around the cup until his knuckles turn white. “I
was to inherit it all. That throne of lies. That legacy of pain.”
.jpg) |
| Sitting on a Throne of Lies: King Slavomir |
He lets out a breath,
slow and measured, the steam from his tea curling like smoke. “I
hid from him, in his library, surrounded by gilded tomes filled with
self-flattery and delusion. But behind those books, in the dust and
shadow, I found the truth. Words written by ancestors who ruled
differently—who saw stewardship, not tyranny.” His voice drops,
almost a whisper. “They knew what he would not—that power was not
to be taken, but earned. That to rule was to serve. And in those
pages, I learned of the price paid for his luxuries... of famine and
sickness. Of broken backs and hollow faces. Of children who died so
he could sip tea from the farthest corners of the world.” He picks
up his cup and takes a long drink, his eyes hardening. “I could not
unsee it. Could not unread the truth. The words burned in me, hotter
than any flame. They would not let me rest.”
His gaze lifts, fixed
somewhere beyond the firelight, lost in memory. “I confronted him.
Told him what I knew. He laughed. Called me a fool. A child. Told me
I did not understand the burden of power. The burden of rule.” His
voice hardens, iron beneath the calm. “He was wrong.”
Ludmer’s eyes snap
back to the fire, the flames reflected in his gaze. “I stood before
his throne—his throne of bone and blood, built on the suffering of
my people—and I renounced it. Called him a thief. A despot. He
called me ungrateful. Traitorous. A son who had forgotten his duty.
He tried to strike me, as he always did. But this time, I stood
firm.”
His hand drifts to his
side, fingers brushing the worn gambeson. “He always wore his
armor. Polished to a mirror’s gleam, as if he could hide his
cruelty behind that golden sheen. But he never expected to be struck
by his own blood. With his own steel.”
His fingers tighten
around the fabric, his voice low. “I killed him. There, on that
cold stone floor, surrounded by the wealth he had stolen. I killed
him, and I burned that castle to the ground. Burned every last
remnant of his reign. Watched it fall into ashes.”
He lifts his head,
looking at the others, his face a mask of resolve and grief. “I
rode away with nothing but this gambeson meant to be worn beneath
gilded plate, my brother’s crow-beak axe, and my horse, Věrný.
Faithful when all else was ashes.”
His voice softens,
fingers brushing the crow-beak axe. “I rode for weeks, the smoke
never leaving my nostrils. I caught this cough... a bitter reminder
of the poison he spread. This tea...” He lifts the cup “...it
helps. I suppose that’s why I drink it so often. To wash out the
taste of his ashes.”
He finishes his tea,
letting the silence hang, the only sound the crackling of the fire
and the soft whisper of the rising mist. “I fled. Rode until I had
nothing left. Until I was nothing. That’s when The Welcomed Seer
found me. Half-dead, my soul burned to cinders. They called me a
knight. Told me I had a duty to the land. To protect it. To atone.”
He places the cup down
with a hollow clink, his eyes fixed on the dregs at the bottom.
“Perhaps they saw something worth saving. Or perhaps they knew... a
burnt forest is only fertile when the ashes settle.” He looks up,
his gaze meeting each of his brothers, calm and steady. “So that’s
my tale. Not of honor, nor glory. But of a throne I would not take,
and a fire I would not put out.” He leans back, his shoulders
relaxing, the tension finally leaving his face.
“Right then. Tea,
anyone?”
Referee
And with Ludmer's last
words the cursed suns in the sky are replaced by the pale harvest
moon. The Knights of the Black Fleece are sitting in silence for a
while, sipping their tea and listening to the sounds of the swamp:
Crickets chirping and fat toads croaking in the dark.
Zoltan
Across the fire, Zoltan
pulls his cloak around him, his eyes bright with more than the glow
of the fire. It lingers longest on the Trail Knight....
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