Silent Knight

It was late. I should have been asleep, but I had a secret duty to attend to. Phillipe had been limping each night as we stopped to rest. He was a magnificent horse; strong, tall, and swift, and he served as steed to Mikhail, the knight I squired for. Mikhail loved that horse, and so I did all that I could to keep him healthy. I outfitted him with different shoes, I made sure he had a healthy diet, and I even took to carrying some of the saddlebags as we marched. But when all that started to fail, I used magic.

I’d hum a gentle tune to him as I rubbed his sore shoulder. And then I’d pour a little bit of myself into the words and the motion, and a soft glow would surround my hands and his joints. It didn’t take long, and then his limp would be gone the next morning. I knew it wasn’t sustainable. Mikhail knew the old horse was nearing the age of retirement. But we were both determined to see him through his last ride. So I did what I could, and Mikhail thanked me for it.

As I approached, Phillipe whinnied loudly and kicked at the gate to the stable. He didn’t seem to be in any pain, but his eyes were wide with panic. I tried to calm him down, but he wouldn’t stop kicking and hopping. All the other horses were picking up on his tensions, and soon the whole stable was filled with the wild braying of the knights’ steeds. I didn’t want him to injure himself, so I unlocked the gate, hoping that might help. He nearly ran me over. He bolted directly into and through our captain’s tent, tearing it down as he ran, and sending debris flying everywhere. Without stopping, he ran in a straight line, leaving destruction in his path.

I gave chase, but as I reached the captain’s tent, I saw him. Captain Karn, dead on the ground, his face stretched thin on his bones and his eye sockets hollow and black. As I hurried, I stepped over more and more dead bodies.

Eventually, I caught up to Phillipe. He lay on the ground, bleeding from gashes in his neck and gasping for breath. Standing over his body, claws dripping from unnaturally curved claws, was the rakshasi.

She stood a towering seven feet tall, a jeweled cowl upon her head. She was dressed in tattered robes that looked like they had once been for a priestess, and on her neck she wore a talisman. It glowed with a sinister purple hue, and tendrils of blue energy lashed out erratically from it.

I turned to run, to get Mikhail, but I tripped over a dead soldier and her head snapped towards me at the sound. I tried to get up, but before I could rise, she was upon me, foot on my chest and leering down at me with sadistic glee in her smile.

“Go on, boy,” she said. “Scream.”

So, I did. I opened my mouth, channeled my thoughts and let loose the sound of battle. Swords clashed, trumpets called, and the sounds of people screaming and dying filled the night.

She looked around, surprised by the sudden cacophony, and then looked back to me, her smirk replaced by a sneer.

I sneered back.

She lifted me by my neck and carried me into the shadows of the empty food tent. “Clever child,” she said. “They are all awake.” She squeezed my neck harder, choking the air out of me. “And so now I will kill them painfully. And you will watch.” She pulled my eyes to meet her gaze, and held me there as she spoke an incantation.

I saw a flash of purple from her talisman, and felt the excruciating shock of lightning eviscerate my throat. I started to cry out in anguish, but nothing happened. I felt the air pass through my mouth, but there was no accompanying sound.

She threw me to the ground and sprinted away, leaving me clutching at my throat and screaming soundlessly. She faced the might of our soldiers full on. And devastated them with relative ease.

They were new, untested in battle, and heading out on their first campaign. And they could not stop her. She blurred from one target to the next, slicing with her claws or blasting them with magic. And with each death, a wisp of energy left the victim and her talisman grew ever brighter and more wicked.

Until Mikhail arrived. He was shirtless and barefoot. His hair was wild from restless sleep, and he walked with the limp of one who had survived a few too many close calls. But he carried his shield proudly, and brandished his sword with absolute certainty.

“Vindra!” He called.

The rakshasi looked at him, mad with power and fury, and screamed, “Knight of the broken city. Do not sully my name with your wretched tongue.”

“Do not test me, woman,” he said, calmly. “Leave now, with your life, throw yourself at the mercy of the gods, or join the men you have slaughtered in whatever comes after for those of your ilk.” He stepped towards her, but stopped when he reached one of the fallen. Dropping his weapon and clutching the holy symbol on his chest, he ushered a prayer to the old gods, and was haloed in a circle of light. “Vindra,” he said, “Leave, repent, or perish.”

At the sound of his voice, infused by the magic of his light, she buckled under its pressure. She hissed in pain. “Your gods have no sway over me. Let us see if they will help you when they can no longer hear her prayers.” She cast her hand into the sky, and everything just...stopped.

The sounds I had created were silenced. The encampment was quiet. Even the echo of her voice was still. And the light on Mikhail’s chest went out.

She rushed him, her claws blurring wildly, slashing at him faster than I could track.

Mikhail stood his ground, parrying her strikes and somehow finding time to advance with his own. I’d seen him fight before, but not like this. His face was set in stone, his focus unwavering. It was as if he knew her every move before she made it, his sword and shield always being exactly where she sought to strike him.

Until she drew her sword from her hip. It was a razor thin blade, and she wielded it with swift and deadly accuracy. She gained the upper hand, and Mikhail was forced to step back as she reigned her strikes at him.

I tried to shout out a warning as he backed up towards another dead recruit, but the shock in my throat made me dizzy with its reminder. And as he fell, memories flooded my vision; the songs we’d sung together, the trips we’d taken, the people we’d saved. I remembered the joy we’d spread, the peace we’d given, and all the good he had shown me people were capable of. I felt the magic surge in me, and I unleashed it in the only way I knew how.

I thought at her.

“Vindra!” She looked around as my voice invaded her thoughts. “You’re a coward and a weakling, and will amount to nothing when the histories are told. You are insignificant.”

I crawled from where she had left me, and hid under the folds of a fallen tent.

Mikhail regained his footing, and landed a strike on her arm, causing her to lose her grip on her sword. She whirled back to rake at his face with her claw, but he blocked with his shield, and thrust his sword into her stomach. The world resumed as the strength in her spell balked, and the silence was lifted.

“Last chance, Vindra,” Mikhail said. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”

Vindra wiped her hand across her stomach, smearing blood up her clothes and said, “Yes it does.” She flung her bloody hand at Mikhail’s face, and where it splattered his skin started to melt.

He yelled, batting at his face to wipe it clear.

She laughed, pouncing on him, and tearing away at his flesh with her claws.

“Vindra!” I said. “Look at the broken knight at your disposal. Relish in his despair. His resolve is a joke.”

And she did. She stopped slashing him, she rolled off of him, and erupted into a deep belly laugh that forced her blood to spill more quickly.

I scrambled out of my hiding spot, and rushed over to grab Mikhail. I knew the enchantment would ebb before long, and this was my only chance to save him. I was almost out of tricks.

“Izdin, what are you doing?” He was still blinking her blood from his eyes, and his chest was riddled with deep slashes. “You have to go, now! You cannot stand against her.”

I shook my head and pulled him to his feet. I looked down at Vindra, who was still rocking with elation, and started almost dragging Mikhail away.

He grabbed my hands and said, “Izdin, look at me. Look. At. Me.”

And I did. And I saw what he meant for me to see. And then my vision blurred with tears, and I shook my head in defiance of the truth.

“I think this was my last ride.” He broke into a fit of coughs that left blood on the ground. “Don’t die here for the sake of an old man. You have to go now.” He centered his sight on me and said, “I command it.”

And then he collapsed against me. His weight was immense. I managed to pull him into a nearby tent, and settled him down on his back. He was still breathing, but it was ragged. The blood from his wounds spilled more slowly, And the rest of him was eerily still.

I focused my thoughts on his honor, his memory, and his face. On how he’d looked as he stood against her, and how he’d move with confidence and strength in every step. And I felt the spell take hold. I walked out of the tent.

Vindra was still choking on laughter, but she was recovering. She looked up and saw me there, and her joy quickly turned to hate. “How?” She asked. “How is it that you stand?”

I said nothing, and simply smirked.

“Answer me, Mikhail!” She screamed. “No words of wisdom? No self righteous gloating?”

I stared her down.

“What about your mercy? Save me, Mikhail. I repent!” She spat at me. “Say a prayer for me and bless my soul. Or in your final hour do you do nothing but relish in my death.?”

I didn’t move a muscle.

“So be it, then.” She managed to make it to her feet as she bled from wounds too deep to heal. “But when the truth of this moment is told, know that as I fall, so do you. For no true Knight would look down and smile as their opponent died.” She leaned in close to me and whispered, “You’re a disgrace to the Gods.”

So I dropped the illusion.

And her madness exploded. She screamed and her talisman flared to life. She gathered a ball of the eldritch light from her chest into hand, and slammed it into my head.

The pain was immeasurable. There was nothing but pain. No thoughts, no emotions, no passing of time. The pain was absolute. I might have screamed, But I’ll never know.

***

I woke up. Or at the very least, my senses were no longer so oversaturated with pain that I became aware again. My eyes blinked open slowly against the light of the sky. I was in the back of an uncovered wagon, laying next to a pile of weapons, clothing, and rations. I looked for Mikhail, or any sign of the encampment, but nothing I could see was familiar.

Suddenly, the wagon stopped. I reached over to grab a sword, and then threw myself from the wagon. I landed poorly, but made it back to my feet with relative speed.

From the front of the wagon, a man stepped down to approach me. He was taller than me, but not by much. His arms were tight with muscles, and he raised them slowly over his head as he came towards me. His hair was long enough to fall on his forehead, but kept shorter on the sides and the back. The sword he wore on his back was massive, about as wide across as his chest, and it was riddled with knicks and scratches from battles fought and won. The heat of the day dripped from him in tiny rivers of sweat, and his fairer skin had been darkened by the kiss of sunlight.

I stepped back from him and lifted the sword I had grabbed to hold it in front of me. I was relieved when he stopped. I opened my mouth to address him, but again, my throat was wracked by the shock of magic still lingering there. Frustrated, I sent my message to him through my thoughts.

“What happened? Where am I? Who are you?” Short and simple.

His lips started moving, but apparently my head hadn’t cleared from when Vindra had rung my bell last night? Or was it two nights ago? My world was still silent. I locked eyes with him, pointed to my ear, and shook my head.

He smiled and nodded. Then in a flurry of motions that I couldn’t follow, he started to speak again, gesturing in crisp and measured movements with his hands. I didn’t understand them, but assumed that once he finished his spell, I assumed he’d be able to send his thoughts to me in the same vein I had done for him.

But then nothing happened. I was confused, and as I stared blankly at him, I saw a look of confusion and concern cross his face as well.

He held his hands in front of him, palms forward, in the universal gesture of “wait.” And he reached into the wagon to grab a piece of parchment, along with a quill and ink. He scribbled something quickly, set the parchment back on the wagon, and then stepped back to give me a wide berth to approach.

I walked over to it, careful not to turn my back on him fully, and grabbed the sheet. It read: “I found you passed out in the center of a camp to the west. We are headed to Azure City. They have healers there. I am Marcus.” I scribbled a few more questions on the parchment-Where is everyone else? How long has it been? Where is Mikhail?- and left it there, allowing Marcus a chance to approach and respond.

He did, but the longer he continued to write, the more my concern grew. And when he stepped back from the letter, a tear fell from his eye and his cheeks flushed red with emotion. I ran to the wagon, and my heart stopped as I read.

“There was no one else alive. I checked everywhere. Every tent was either abandoned or filled with a dead soldier. Most were butchered with cuts, but some had been drained dry. Of everything. I can only assume some dark magic befell you all. Three nights ago, I was traveling towards my home when the sound of a raging battle split the air. I changed course, expecting to find a battle raging, but just as simply as it began, the battle ended. The trumpets stopped sounding, the shouting stopped, and the swords no longer clashed. And then I just heard screaming. When I arrived it was all over. Everyone was either gone or dead, except for you. I’m not sure who Mikhail is, but there was no one else. I’m so sorry.”

I don’t remember exactly what happened next. I was reading. Then I was silently screaming. Then I was on my knees gasping for air. Something strong slammed into me. It was warm and so I grabbed onto it. And I could feel the source of the warmth vibrating, and somehow found comfort in the sensation. And then I cried. And I felt tiny drops of rain on my head, falling in time with my tears.

Marcus didn’t let go first. Eventually, I was able to calm down, and we decided to head towards Azure City together. My hearing never returned. And my voice was broken. And Mikhail was gone. The priests in Azure City tried all they could to heal me, but Vindra’s curses persisted. Marcus spent a fortune asking for spells and scrolls from anyone he could find, but nothing seemed to work.

He did manage to teach me how to speak in signs the way he did. It was a complex language, but most of it was fairly intuitive. And it was so expressive. Without my voice, I had to use my body to convey emotions and intent. Marcus invited me to travel with him, just while he taught me, and I agreed on the terms that I could act as his squire, tending to his horse, his armor and weapons, and all the other privileges a knight is awarded. He agreed, vowing to find a way to repay me for my service somehow.

Which was kind.

***

“Do you trust me?” Marcus signed at me. We were sitting at a table in a crowded bar. Everyone was clapping as the performer on stage was taking her bow. She was a wonderful dancer, juggling daggers as she moved. It had gotten quite the rise out of the audience.

“Of course,” I responded, “but slightly less than right before you asked. That question is a trap.” I smiled.

“You caught me,” he signed. “I need your help.” And with that, he rose and went to grab two more ales. Upon his return, we downed them in one go, and he took the stage.

“My Lords and Ladies,” he bellowed, signing as he yelled, “I am Marcus. And I have a story to share. To tell this story takes action! Flair! And passion! And I would be remiss to try and tell it alone.” He turned to look directly at me. “Good Izdin, my squire, is a much more talented teller of stories than I. Won’t you join me on the stage?” He winked.

I felt the eyes of the entire bar upon me. They were lifting mugs and smiling, and I would have been hard pressed to find a legitimate excuse to say no. I smiled, and took the stage with Marcus, having no idea what was about to happen.

“We shall share with you all...a Fairy Story,” Marcus proclaimed, as he began stomping his foot heavily on the stage. Soon, the entire bar was stomping along, and Marcus sang the words in perfect time with their feet. I couldn’t read his lips once he started to swing his sword and prance about, but the rhythm he had set was constant, so his words and my hands aligned.

When the song was over, the entire room was on their feet. Their faces were full of a joy I hadn’t seen in far too long. I missed this. Performance had been my trade before I met Mikhail. And even as I squired for him, storytelling and song were how I helped morale as we traveled. It felt good to provide happiness.

Marcus and I took our seats, and I refused to look him in the eye; his smug grin of self satisfaction gleaming across the table. I was about to throw my empty mug at him, when I felt a tug on my leg. I looked down to see a young girl waving at me, her eyes full of excitement.

Once she had my attention she began signing, “I like faeries. Do you have any more stories?”

“Of course,” I responded, lying. But that didn’t stop me from making one up on the spot. And I just kept telling her stories. Some true, some less true. And as lost as I was in telling her these tales, I was truly transfixed on remembering what it felt like to be me.

When the festivities had ended, Marcus and I left the bar to find a place to sleep beneath the stars. The inn was full, and we were no strangers to sleeping on the open road, so after our food and drink, we found a place nearby to settle in.

“Thank you.” It was all I could manage to sign when I tried to express my gratitude.

He smiled. “Don’t let what happens to you determine who you are. You have gifts. Use them. You’ll change the world someday.”

I hugged him. And he didn’t let go first.

***

“You have to go.” Marcus smiled, blood dripping down his face.

Not again.

I looked past him, into the gaping maw of flame that swelled behind him. I could see a horde of demons approaching; a gathering of nightmares, surging towards the gate that the cultists had opened. We were too late. When the last cultist perished, the ritual did not fail. When Marcus struck the altar where the spell was gathering, his sword had shattered, piercing him with white hot metal in a thousand burning wounds. And in this desecrated pit, my magic could not reach him.

Not again.

Marcus grabbed my face, and pulled it back towards him. “Look at me, Izdin.”

I did. He was barely standing, bleeding from wounds I couldn’t see, and his skin was growing paler by the second.

“You just have to get me to the door.” His signs were frantic and desperate. “Please.” He lurched forward, grabbing me in a hug as his legs gave out beneath him.

I grabbed him, and started to pull. I could feel his jaw moving on my shoulder, but I couldn’t see his lips. I could feel the rumble in his chest, but I couldn’t hear his voice. In fact, I’d never heard his voice. I wonder what it sounded like. Was it high or low? Loud or soft? I don’t know. I focused on the task at hand, and hurried to the door, dragging him along as he spoke his final soliloquy.

Not again.

Marcus regained his footing once we arrived at the door. I still held him tightly, feeling him speaking words I’d never know, but unable to relinquish the last of his hugs I’d ever get.

He let go first. And he gently pushed me through the doorway. “Don’t forget me.” He smiled, and with a final surge of effort, he closed the dungeon door. The magic that had sealed it resurfaced, and Marcus was on the other side; trapped with an army of demons with no one else to take their fury out on. And I couldn’t do anything to save him.

My world had gone quiet years ago. But I’d never felt silence before.