Interlude: Stories of Knighthood

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."

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."

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."

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, the Trail Knight  

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.”

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....