The Beast of Blackhoney

On a moonlit night, beneath the uncountable glittering gems in the sky above, there was a man in a meadow using butterflies for target practice. He was called Ser Grady, and his reasons were his own.

As he watched the final winged monstrosity split in two and spiral to the ground with its fellows, Ser Grady bellowed a laugh ripe with glee. Then he spat on the grassy earth beneath him and tossed his bow and quiver into his soulbag.

“Well, Vera,” the former knight turned to his closest ally and asked, “How impressive was that?”

Vera, the horse of Ser Grady, shook her long white mane and snorted in response.

“Truly? I missed only once!” Ser Grady replied. His horse lowered herself into the grass and laid in silence. Ser Grady smoothed the dark blond hair from his eyes and looked to the skies. On a cloudless night such as this, with a moon so elegant and full one could weep, Ser Grady would braid the hair of his truest friend.

“I will miss you forever, Vera.” the man whispered to the world around him. The rage he kept buried within him bubbled as he remembered why he was in the meadow to begin with.

Ser Grady was searching for a daemon, the Beast of Blackhoney.

Ser Grady made it his personal mission to live up to the creed of the One-True Supreme: “Thou shalt not live in peace while a daemon roams the lands.” Once, he feared the abominations. Now his name was spoken in hushed tones by men and monsters alike. It was a fact that brought him a certain joy, and was the only thing that helped pass his days.

A merchant, thick of body and accent, had approached the former knight in the capital of Mortlann, Quinley. The merchant plied Ser Grady with many niceties and gifts before finally reaching his reason for conversation. There were reports of a monstrous thing roaming the woodlands of Blackhoney. With too many fangs, feathery black wings, and eight eyes the color of honey; a fearsome creature that men wise and unwise would avoid.

“Thou shalt not live in peace while a daemon roams the lands.”

By the conversation’s end, Ser Grady had saddled Vera and set off galloping away from Quinley to the demon’s reported location. His heart beat in tune with Vera’s stride, excited at the prospect of slaying another abomination. His reasons were his own.

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Ser Grady wanted to laugh. The people of Blackhoney were useless. Fear gripped the men, women, and children. The guards of the town were tight-lipped and no amount of coin would assuage the fears of them. It was as though mentioning the monstrosity would summon it near, which Ser Grady understood to be a well-believed superstition. The former knight basked in the glow of the midday sun and sighed. He had no time to waste here.

Finding a quiet spot behind a tavern, Ser Grady leaned against its wooden wall and shut his eyes. He took his hand and traced a simple symbol on the base of his skull.

He stepped away from the tavern and into the paved main road, drawing many inquisitive stares, yet no questions. Among the bustle of the locals, Ser Grady could now hear their thoughts.

“Damn the king and his useless taxes!”

“Will the Beast come for me? Those terrible honey eyes…”

“A KISS FROM THE SOVEREIGN OF WINTER WILL SURELY FREEZE YOUR SOUL, YET A KISS FROM THE SOVEREIGN OF WINTER IS SURELY ANY MAN’S GOAL!”

“Why will our lord not deal with the damnable demon in our woods?”

“Oh, One-True Supreme, preserve us all!”

The thoughts bounced in Ser Grady’s mind as though they belonged to him. He did not realize he was smiling until a woman smiled back at him, before she sped away blushing. Then came the disgust that accompanies invasion of privacy. His smile quickly fell, malcontent. He imagined his old instructor would be pleased with his use of subtle magics, and that was something to hate.

“Focus, you fool!” Ser Grady commanded himself. He doubled his efforts and focused on the commoner’s innermost thoughts; about the daemon they feared.

“Eight eyes, all the color of honey…”

“Monstrous thing! And it smells strongly of my black honey! The bastard!”

“Feathery wings… they shed… that is when it strikes!”

“A child’s laughter! It can mimic the voice of past victims!”

“Oh, it killed that poor recluse of a woodsman. May he know peace, One-True.”

“One-True damn these demons!”

Ser Grady inhaled, then exhaled, releasing the spell he casted. The unowned thoughts drifted away, leaving him feeling oddly empty. He was slightly amused by the notion of his inner emptiness. The former knight readjusted the pauldrons and greaves of his patchwork leather and steel armor and began his walk back to Vera.

“We are off, old friend!” he whispered in her ear before climbing onto her leather saddle. There was a demon to be killed.

As he left Blackhoney’s town gates, a child pointed at the former knight and cried with such sorrow.

“How ominous.” Ser Grady laughed to his horse. However, inside, he was very much aware it could be the last time he saw sunlight.

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Ser Grady reached into his soulbag and pulled free a piece of self-burning parchment. He stretched his arms before taking the parchment and placing it inside of his trusty lantern. Once within, Ser Grady gently blew on the parchment and it blazed to life. Smoke wafted into the air before he shut the lantern’s container and rose to his feet. The light pierced the shadowed world around him.

The former knight felt as if he were being watched the moment he entered the woodlands. He kept his hand tight on the grip of his castle-forged longsword. Ser Grady pressed on into the night.

As he traveled through the dark forest, Ser Grady recounted the information he had scavenged from the townsfolk’s minds about the daemon he hunted.

“A beastly creature with eight eyes, black, feathery wings, claws, too many fangs. Can supposedly mimic the voice of those it killed,” he recalled carefully. A fearsome thing, yet only a reclusive woodsman is said to have died by its clawed hands.

“You enjoy the fear, do you not, abomination?” Ser Grady’s jaw was tight. It had to be more intelligent than an average demon. It made no difference to him, however. Each and every one would feel his steel before perishing.

Ser Grady paused. The trees around him rustled, sending leaves cascading to the ground near him. Something dark drifted ever so gently with the leaves.

Feathers. Long and black, they were impossible to confuse. In the light of his lantern, they appeared to shine. Ser Grady drew his sword. He waited for what felt like forever. Yet, nothing came to assault him in the night. Ser Grady knew the demon was an intelligent one.

The former knight sheathed his blade and continued his long walk. Passing under a tree brought no relief from the rising winds, as acorns began to gently rain onto his head. Ser Grady stooped low and grabbed one of the offending objects. The sight of it in his calloused palm filled him with warm memories of better days. Between his studies, Vera and a happier, younger lad would toss tiny acorns into each other’s face. The knight could still hear her teasing laugh. His smile began to wane. Those days were too far gone.

Whenever the warrior was alone (and other than having horse Vera by his side, Ser Grady was always alone), his own thoughts would gather to betray him and force him to remember. Ser Grady even had a name for it. “The persistence of remembrance”, and more often than not, it was his enemy.

He flicked the acorn away and trudged on. He almost did not realize he could hear a child’s laughter in the trees around him. Another sign one had strayed too far from the safety of the community. Yet, Ser Grady’s smile returned. He was getting closer.

And then another laugh, from that of a man. The mirth in it annoyed the former knight. It challenged him. It was too familiar. Being the headstrong fool his mother and father always accused him of, Ser Grady pressed on in its direction. As branches crunched under his boots, the laughter stopped. He took enjoyment imagining the demon was stunned by his audacity.

Ser Grady noted the parchment in his lantern had almost burned through. The yellow of the lantern was slowly being supplanted by the bluish-silver of the moon. As he surveyed his surroundings of bushes, Ser Grady unslung his soulbag, setting it and his lantern side by side on a tree stump. Reaching into the soulbag, Ser Grady focused on having more self-burning parchment appear in his hands. As long as he remembered to refill his supplies, there would be more within.

Triumphant in his search, Ser Grady removed the ashes of the first parchment and replaced it with a fresh sheet. As he did so, the voice of a young girl whispered in his ear, “Are you not afraid?”.

Ser Grady spun, nearly knocking his lit lantern over. A crow flapped its wings above him, desperate to escape his cold stare. Its feathers were dark like the night sky, its eyes the color of honey.“A familiar of the daemon? Keep your wits, man,” Ser Grady reminded himself. He observed the sky through the trees. The moon was as beautiful as ever.

A branch crunched.

Ser Grady turned to see a girl watching him. Between the light of his lantern and the moon, there was no mistaking her for anything other than a fellow human. Yet, as he approached her, his warrior spirit burned. He hated her eyes.

The color of the sweetest honey. Ser Grady’s heart began to ache, his fists clenched. “Oh, damnation,” he muttered. “It is you,” he addressed the child before him.

The poor girl was confused, yet it did not last long as awe won out across her features. She circled the silent man before her and giggled. “Are you here to slay the Beast?” she asked, the wind playing with her wood brown hair and grey dress. She could be no older than fifteen summers.

Ser Grady looked to the starry sky and begged for strength. “I am,” he replied. She laughed with a childish glee.

“Are you a knight?” was her next excited question. It made Ser Grady pause. In truth, he was something more than a simple knight, but to answer as such would demand further explanation. There was no time to waste.

“I am,” he replied once more as he exhaled a long breath he was holding. Then, Ser Grady placed a hand on the shoulder of the girl. Her confusion returned.

“What is your name, child?” Ser Grady asked.

“I… I am called Bel,” spoke Bel. Her skin was pale save for her mouth that was blacker than the rest of her.

“A sign of black honey consumption,’ Ser Grady sighed. He had seen the substance enjoyed all over Mortlann. Its addictive properties made more apparent the longer one was without it. It was illegal in the capital of Quinley, yet it still surfaced around shadier parts of it.

“I will save you, Bel,” Ser Grady affirmed.

“Save me?” Bel looked confused, then, she was amused. She wiped the edge of her mouth and smiled wide, revealing stained teeth. “From the Beast?” she asked, the fire of his lantern causing her honey eyes to glow.

In one swift motion, Ser Grady drew the dagger he kept hidden within his boot and held the blade against the girl’s neck. Her amusement was gone, replaced by a visceral fear.

“I now address the daemon within the human called Bel!” thundered Ser Grady. The girl was silent, her eyes never leaving the cold steel against her neck. She never spoke a word, and neither did Ser Grady. Even the winds seemed to die out, until a man’s laugh shook the world around them. The mirth in it was too familiar to Ser Grady and when he saw the bewildered expression on Bel’s face, he knew it was too real.

His eyes left her face for only a moment, yet it was all she needed to shake free from his grasp and stumble backwards, tripping over his lantern and cracking it. The fire within began to spill out. Ser Grady eyed the burning branches, then the girl. The hem of her dress was blackened.

“Are you ill of mind, Ser Knight?!” her shout got his attention. The fire danced in her honey eyes.

“I address the daemon within-”

“There is no daemon! I am no daemon!”

Those honey eyes speak otherwise,” said Ser Grady. “Eyes like that of the Beast.”

“My… my eyes? Oh…” Bel turned her face away. “Stupid girl. You forgot to change your eyes again.” She twitched as a breeze passed.

“Too much black honey…” he heard her mutter under breath. She sounded so wistful, Ser Grady felt a pang in his heart. Yet, her words gave him pause.

“You forgot to change your eyes? That is not something you should be able to do. Unless… are you some hapless mage from Kywell?” the man questioned her.

Her eyes switched between looking at his sword and his bearded face. “N-no, Ser Knight. I am no mage,” she stammered. His eyes narrowed.

“Hmm,” Ser Grady’s mind raced with different possibilities. Something great disturbed him, yet he could not decide what.

Was it the girl in the woods, seemingly unfearful of the daemon, that by all accounts, haunted this place? Was it her honey eyes that glowed when light touched them? Was it her insistence she was neither possessed nor a mage? It was all these things, certainly. It left him two possibilities, neither of which brought comfort.

Ser Grady growled. “Damned girl, did you make a compact with the daemon in these woods for the black honey?”

The girl was taken aback by his tone. Then, she too became incensed.

“There is no daemon! Are you not listening to me?”

“Then I see only one possibility left…” replied Ser Grady. He watched as the child seemed to brace for his next words. “It is you.”

“I do not underst-”.

“You are the Beast of Blackhoney,” Ser Grady announced. Nothing stirred as his words entered and left the air. He had expected the girl to laugh at him, not look so solemn. It gave him the answer he needed.

“If I am?” Bel asked, almost defiant.

“You killed a man.”

“H-he would have killed me first!”

“You terrorize a town of innocents!” Ser Grady’s rage began to surface. How dared this belligerent child? How did she wield such power?

“I keep them out of the woods, away from… from the black honey. They should thank me.”

“Do not pretend to be the victim here, abomination! You must be far from helpless.”

Her eyes were aglow from the fire, and her own anger. “I defend myself! I will always defend myself.”

Ser Grady glared at the girl and sheathed his dagger. He drew his sword. “Then be prepared now. I will see your true form.”

The girl called Bel clenched her fists. “This is my true form.”

“It is a cold lie.”

The girl bared her teeth. “You are a cold man. As you wish, Ser Knight.”

“No more games,” Ser Grady whispered to himself. “Show me you are real. Show me you must be saved.” His thoughts drifted to Vera.

Then the girl’s bones snapped. There was no mistaking the sound. Or the sight.

The girl called Bel fell to her hands and knees. Her arms and legs snapped at the point of contact with the ground. She howled, greatly pained. Her eyes were wet with tears of blood. Her jaw unhinged and lengthened beyond normalcy. Her darkening skin grew taut and tightened over muscles that grew to the size of a bear’s. Her bones snapped. Her teeth and fingernails elongated as fleshy mounds rippled beneath her ripping dress. They burst open to reveal dark, feathery wings. The thing before him raged as thick wood brown fur grew over its body and its brow split to free several extra eyes to the world.

“By the One-True…” the former knight whispered.

“Why… have you… not fled?” asked the Beast of Blackhoney, its voice guttural yet bearing similarities to the girl called Bel. As it spoke, blood dribbled from its mouth and flecks of it splattered against Ser Grady’s oiled sword, sliding down the blade. A massive horror, muscled, winged, clawed, and fanged.

“Flee… little man,” the abomination growled.

“I will not,” replied Ser Grady.

The Beast roared and the ground seemed to shake from the act. It spread its wings and flapped once, flinging feathers and burning foliage around them, launching into the sky almost soaring above the treetops. A heartbeat, the abomination sped back to the land below.

Ser Grady understood from the Beast’s height and falling angle that it meant to crush him. The warrior within urged him to move and with haste, he did so, flinging himself to one side as the monstrosity landed. With a sickening crunch of bone, the monster behind him howled in pain.

“Hmm,” Ser Grady observed the creature, turning around in time to see it rise and limp around their shared arena. “You cannot support your own weight?” the knight whispered. “Good. Very good.”

Ser Grady rose from one knee. One hand tight on his sword, the warrior used his free hand to prime a subtle magic spell. Light green flowed from Ser Grady’s eyes into the palm of his hand and spiraled. With a subtle flex of his hand, the energy left his palm and floated hastily to his target.

The abomination was frozen in place, almost admiring the trail of light green. He would have laughed at the absurdity of it but he needed to focus.

The essence reached the Beast and quickly rushed into its numerous honey eyes. The Beast went from limping on all fours to stumbling on its hind legs. When it tripped over an easily noticeable tree root, Ser Grady did allow a laugh. The simple spell caused the target to lose all sense of balance and direction and the Beast was no exception. After tripping over its broken hinds for the fifth time, it made no attempts to rise.

It gave Ser Grady time to consider what manner of demon he faced. He was certain it was a demon, however. No mortal could ever change their forms the way the Beast had.

“Mayhaps once she was possessed, but that girl has been long dead,” Ser Grady lamented. There would be no saving her, but there would be giving her body peace.

Then his mind wandered to the laugh he had heard when he first threatened the demon. Ser Grady grew up the target of its mocking tone. After all this time, why would he hear his first Instructor?

“Most disturbingly of all, the daemon heard him too,” Ser Grady exhaled. He was tenser at the notion of being watched by him, of all people, than the current battle. Would he never leave the knight alone? Ser Grady was certain he knew the answer.

“Are you here, Instructor Mart-?”

The Beast roared, clawing the ground with its disfigured hands. Its eyes were no longer awash with the green light. They burned with murderous intent.

“Ah, finally,” said Ser Grady. “An easier problem to address. Here, demon!” the warrior roared back.

The Beast used its strength to pull itself to Ser Grady, tearing up the ground as it did so. Ser Grady sidestepped it and slashed its forearm with his sword. The strike connected, freeing disturbingly red blood to the world. The Beast’s scream was deceptively human, but its movements were anything but. It batted at the knight with its wings, obscuring his vision with feathers and retreated back away from him.

“Coward!” Ser Grady roared. His rage was free now, and he would see this thing dead before the sun rose.

Sheathing his sword, Ser Grady rushed toward the soulbag he set down and pulled free his bow and quiver. Knocking and loosing the arrows in rapid succession, Ser Grady found the Beast easier practice than the butterflies were. Each arrow pierced its hide, leaving it scrambling into trees and breaking the arrow shafts. It ripped down two mighty branches from the trees and flung them at the knight like spears. Ser Grady refused to dodge, instead hastily casted another subtle spell and watched the projectiles veer off-course away from him.

The Beast roared. He could feel the pain emanating from it. “End this,” Ser Grady commanded himself. “Now.”

“You have… one last chance,” he heard the demon say.

“If you were this merciful to the girl, I would not be here to end your existence,” Ser Grady replied, gathering a cloud of red light in his palm. The Beast growled.

Ser Grady began to circle their battleground and the Beast mimicked him, its bones crunching all the while.

“Lumbering freak,” Ser Grady muttered. As they circled, the warrior noticed a particularly sturdy tree a few paces to his right. His smile grew, his plan was set. Ser Grady slowed himself in front of the tree and waited for the Beast to stop moving. It did so with much exertion.

“Here, Beast!” he whispered and released the cloud he had collected in his palm. The red light rushed the Beast. To his minor amusement, this time it tried to cover its eyes, to no avail. When Ser Grady saw the red light emanating from honey eyes, he knew he was successful.

The rage the Beast showed was intense. For a moment, Ser Grady wondered if he had made the spell too strong.

“No matter,” Ser Grady spat, then gritted his teeth. “Here, Beast!” he roared back, his warrior spirit ablaze.

The Beast flung itself from yards away at the knight, glowing with a wrathful hate. To Ser Grady, it felt too easy.

Yet, there was no hitch in his plan. At the last moment, he flung himself to one side and watched the Beast crash into the sturdy tree he was standing in front of, cracking it at the base and collapsing onto the Beast. When he saw the demon stagger over itself and fall with a bone-crunching snap, he immediately rushed it, sword raised high. With a hard swing, the blade bit into the demon’s midsection.

Did it scream? Ser Grady could barely hear it over his vicious onslaught with sword on flesh. Despite his barrage, the demon grabbed the sword by its blade and ripped it free from his grasp. The Beast’s numerous eyes met his faded blue. They were awash with a fire raging very near. Ser Grady watched as it rolled from its back to its stomach. He could almost see the Embodiment of Death hovering over it, its axe and scythe at the ready.

Ser Grady approached the Beast’s side. With much effort, he rolled it onto its back once more. He reached down and pulled the dagger free from his boot. With a roar, he raised the dagger high and plunged it into its heart. It howled, the pain deep. It twitched before it stopped moving.

Ser Grady fell to his knees, satisfied. “Another one bested,” he muttered breathlessly. He began to ache. Then, he began to laugh. If his mother and father could see him now. Would they be proud of their boy before he took their lives? An amusing thought to him. Ser Grady reached for his dagger… and recoiled as the demon cried.

Cried? It shrank before his eyes, wings folding into its back, fur creeping into its body. He could see bloody cuts on pale skin and twigs in tousled wood brown hair. He waited with baited breath.

The thing opened its eyes, salty tears rushing from them. “Please,” it said through a cracking voice. “Leave me be.” The creature’s head rolled back onto soft grass. A butterfly floated gently down onto its bare stomach, picking at one of its wounds. The sight infuriated him, but something greater disturbed him.

Daemons never begged. He spent another lifetime bringing great torment to them at the behest of his Instructor. They never cried either. Something was terribly wrong. In the back of his mind, dread was growing. He was watched by more than just the damnable butterfly.

“Oh, Grady. Look at what you have done.”

The knight’s heart skipped several beats. He knew that voice. He hated that voice. He feared it even more. “No, no, no, no…” he whispered to himself, clutching at his head and shutting his eyes.

“Look at me, boy.”

“No! Stay away from me!” Ser Grady roared, rising to his feet but keeping his eyes shut, his hands over his ears.

“Look at me, Grady.”

Hands gently grabbed his face.

“Stay back…” the warrior pleaded.

“Look at me, child.” The command was clearly heard and Ser Grady could no longer deny it. His eyes widened against his will, much to his dismay.

“I thought I was stronger.”

“You are,” Ser Grady heard the whisper in his mind. “Yet not stronger than I.”

There he was. The man that raised him when his mother and father were too busy with their duties for the Cult. Taught him to swing a sword, cast a spell, and admonished his growing attachment to his one friend. Instructor Martin had aged not once in all the years Ser Grady knew him. His olive skin was creaseless and smooth, his face clean shaven and dark hair cut close to the crop. To any outsider, the two would appear close in age, but Ser Grady knew how foolish the outsider would be.

“Look at what you have done, Grady,” his old master admonished him as though he were still that young boy without any world-weariness. His instructor’s night black cloak shifted in the wind. Butterflies of all different sizes and colors danced on their canvas. A sword hung from his hip.

The knight’s eyes could not leave the face of his old teacher. The grey eyes seemed haunted and haunted him.

“Is this not what you wanted when you approached me as that merchant?” Ser Grady barked at him. “Would you rather see me dead?”

“Never, boy,” reprimanded his instructor. “I always want to see you triumph. But to think a child had given you such a challenge.”

Ser Grady spoke, jaw clenched. “That is no child. That is a One-True damned abomin-”

His instructor raised a hand and Ser Grady fell silent. “I will admit. She is more than just a girl. As you are more than just a knight. She is the salvation of Chrysalis.”

“I will see her as ashes in the wind before she could be of any use to your Cult.”

“We were once your family, boy.”

“My family? You were a slaver and my mother and father served a daemon. Are they still alive?”

“Alive and quite well. They miss you.”

“A pity. I will correct that one day.”

Instructor Martin sighed. Then, he chuckled to himself, gently slapping Ser Grady’s face. “You have grown so much, child. I will see you return home.”

Panic creeped into Ser Grady’s heart. If his old teacher wanted him home, there would be nothing he could do to stop him.

“Not yet, however. It must be your choice. And that girl must be by your side when you do.”

“I will end her miserable existence,” Ser Grady growled. “And then my own, and I will be free of your machinations.”

Instructor Martin smirked. “You will do no such thing, because that I cannot allow. You will live. And one day, you will bring Bel home to us.”

“I will… I will n-”. The words could not break free. Ser Grady would scream if he could.

“You will teach Bel everything I taught you before you left us. And you will bring her home to us.”

His throat felt tight. He could not speak.

“I understand you hate me, Grady. But the simple truth is, you are needed. Use that compassion you tried to bury and take care of the girl. Sleep well, boy. We will meet again.”

Why could he not scream? His eyes shut against his will. He dreamt he was being devoured by a hoard of the winged monstrosities he hated so.

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Bel awoke, her eyes opening to sunlight. The simple act sent pain radiating throughout her body, which she quickly discovered was bandaged. Her confusion quickly changed into anger when she saw her would-be murderer watching her from across the room. Had the bed not been as soft as it was, Bel would have risen up to attack. Yet, confined she was. Instead, she gathered up what bloody phlegm she could and spat in his direction.

“You tried to kill me, you… bastard!” she shouted with a cracked voice. To her mild surprise, the knight looked crestfallen. Her head throbbed and pain seared behind her eyes and in her muscles. All was silent for a few breaths.

“I… I did,” the man finally spoke. Bel glared at him. Her honey eyes were met with faded blue ones.

“I am so sorry, child. I truly thought-”.

“That I was a daemon?” she interrupted, pain and anger waking her fully.

“Yes. No one in this world has the power you do,” the man replied before turning away from her. She could hear him silently curse himself.

“Will I die?” Bel asked between sharp breaths. She was unbearably warm despite the cool breeze entering the room.

“No,” the knight replied firmly, his eyes staring into hers. Then he looked at her bandages and looked away again. “I cleaned your wounds and bandaged you myself. You will live.”

“What fortune,” she growled, pain stinging her. “Why did you save me?”

“I… was wrong. You did not deserve death for my foolishness.”

“Why…” she tried to twist in her lying position and stopped the moment the pain became too much. “Why do I itch so badly?”

“The healing salve I created for your wounds. The ingredients from Blackhoney’s apothecary are fresh. It will serve you well.”

“Then why do I itch so bad?” Bel repeated, the sensation quickly passing annoying.

“That would mean it's working, child,” the knight replied.

“The knight,” Bel thought, resisting the urge to laugh and split in two. A knight that can cure sword wounds and play tricks on your mind with a wave of his hand was something more than a knight. “Who are you?” she wanted to ask. Yet, she was too incensed for niceties.

“I told you my name is Bel!” she said through gritted teeth. “Stop calling me a child. Already, I have survived two attempts on my life.”

The knight opened his mouth but paused. After a few heartbeats, he replied, “Of course, you are correct, Bel. My apologies.”

Feeling satisfied with the downcast man, Bel took the time to observe her new surroundings. Before she woke, she was bleeding to death in a forest. Now, she was in what appeared to be a heavenly inn. Despite the pain, and the damned itchiness, if she focused hard enough, she could smell something quite delightful coming from under the door. Bel felt herself settle deeper into the feathery bed.

She looked at the knight. “What is this smell?”

“Fresh game caught this morning being prepared into a stew for you. The locals are… overjoyed to see you alive.”

The two were silent for a time. The ache in her stomach slowly became unbearable.

“Why did you not kill me?” she asked the man.

“Daemons do not beg for mercy,” was all he offered. The knight rose from his seat and neared the door.

“I will return,” he said before stepping out of the room and gently shutting the door. Bel could hear his hurried footfalls retreating away. She wondered if he truly would return. Then she saw the sword that nearly killed her in the far corner. Bel wished he would not.

Return, the knight did. Armed with a spoon and a bowl of the game stew. The knight set both on the bedside counter beside her. Bel looked at the tantalizing food, then stared at the knight. Yet he was already moving his chair closer to her bedside. She watched him rearm himself with stew and spoon. The knight scooped a bit of chicken and broth from the bowl and blew on it gently. The scent alone made her salivate.

The knight fed her morsel by morsel until the bowl was emptied.

“Would you like more?” he asked her, already standing. She would not beg the man for anything and remained silent, yet her growling stomach answered his question. He left with haste and returned almost immediately with a steaming bowl and a tankard of water.

After her sixth bowl, Bel was satiated. She would yawn and drink the cool water offered to her. Her thoughts sped to and fro in all the quiet. There was much she needed to know.

“I must ask, what is next?” Bel inquired, breaking the silence.

“I must track down the merchant that hired me. Something about all of this has disturbed me greatly and I must know why.”

“A merchant hired you to kill me?”

“And skin you. Supposedly, he wanted your hide as an oddity attraction.”

Bel felt cold despite the warm food she had enjoyed. “And what is next for me?”

The knight inhaled deep, then exhaled. “This is certainly also a pressing situation. I must take responsibility for you.”

Her eyes widened. “You must what?”

The man stared at her surprised face. “It is the only way this can end without further bloodshed.”

“W-what… why? Why is that the only way?”

“These are the facts. The people of Blackhoney believe I saved you from their demonic Beast. They have already sent parties out into the forest to claim the corpse and reestablish a supply chain to get their precious black honey flowing once more. Obviously, there will be no corpse,” the knight replied, pointedly eyeing her.

Bel felt herself begin to perspire.

“That will not be a problem for you, until you decide to slink back into the woods to take them for yourself.”

She scoffed. “Why would I?”

“I have seen men within the throes of black honey withdrawal. You will try to seek it out once more. I am certain. I can already see the onset.”

Bel felt an ache in her gums and was very warm. “I will be fine,” she spoke through gritted teeth.

“Oh, you would survive, of course. The locals of Blackhoney however… I do not see them besting you in a fight,” said the knight.

“I only fight… to defend myself!” she shouted back, her nerves fraying.

“I will not leave that to chance. I am sorry, but after what I saw, there is no other choice.”

“You could kill me and be done with the whole business. I will not live as your prisoner,” Bel swore.

The man shook his head, his dark blond hair swaying with the motion. “I will not take your life unless in the defense of an innocent. That I can promise you.”

“I will not be a prisoner,” Bel repeated.

“If it helps, think of yourself as my closely watched traveling companion.”

“I could turn into a crow and fly away,” Bel threatened. “You will never be able to watch me forever, Ser Knight.”

“Ah, yes. I had forgotten about your strange shape-weaving ability. You certainly could escape… hmm,” the knight placed a hand on his chin and paused, deep in thought. “What will I do to curtail those thoughts?”

The knight stood once more. Her heart raced as he pulled free a dagger from his boot and stood over her. Bel glared at him, defiant. She waited for a strike that never came. Instead, Bel watched as the knight made a shallow cut on the back of his hand. Her confusion only grew as he drew a strange symbol on her bandaged leg.

“Have you lost your mind?” was all she could ask. The knight merely chuckled. Then he closed his eyes and whispered words too quietly for her to hear. The blood symbol glowed gently before disappearing before her eyes. Bel could only feel the fullness of her stomach and the occasional itch or throb of pain. Nothing more.

“What did you do to me?” she demanded.

The knight returned to his seat. “A very minor tying of our life forces.”

“You… what did you say?”

“I solved the “you-may-escape” problem. Now no matter where you go in this realm of existence, I will know. And I will find you.”

“I could kill you,” she growled. He laughed.

“You would need Saint Arlinn on your side for that to happen, Bel. I believe I am safe from any danger.”

“Why would you go to such lengths?” Bel demanded. “For the sake of Blackhoney?”

“Not only for the safety of others. I believe we were fated to meet, girl.”

That gave Bel reason to pause. Who was this man capable of both magic and swordplay in equal measure? Now, she had to know.

“Who are you?” asked Bel.

The man raised an eyebrow. “Did I not say my name yet?” He chuckled at his supposed forgetfulness. “My apologies. I am called Ser Grady Fisher.”

“You are a fink, Ser Grady Fisher.”

Ser Grady laughed. “Mayhaps. Alas,” the knight rose once more. “I believe we have spoken enough for now. You need your rest.”

Bel watched him approach her once again and traced a word she could not spell in the air. Faint golden sparks danced around her vision as Ser Grady placed two fingers on her forehead.

Was she always so tired? It was sudden, and swallowed her senses.

“Rest well, Bel,” she heard him say. Before sleep took her, she could see him return to his own sleep and close his eyes.

In her slumber, Bel dreamt she was a sparrow chasing butterflies.