[FN] Necromancer's Knight
Images flashed before me, contained in each, what felt like a lifetime. The lush green hills of my homeland. I was just a boy when they found me, given a sword and shield. Only I survived. I kept on being the sole survivor. I became a squire. A quest for a holy relic. We find it but it only reacts to me. I made a wish. I became The Knight of the White Lily, the most perfect knight because of it. I joined the ranks of the most legendary knights.
The castle is burning. All of us, brothers, we’re fighting each other, killing each other. It’s hell.
Our king is dead. Everything is over.
The orange warmth of candlelights and the smell of a wood smoke and lavender overtook me. A tavern. A woman in simple but stylish dress. She smiled at me. I knew this woman. She danced in front of and then around me. I tried to turn to follow her, but when I did, she was gone. A wind blew past me, chilling me and darkening my surrounding until I could see nothing.
Nothingness, pitch black. I was laying on my backside, clad full in my armor. Where am I, why am I, I thought. And then I remembered: I died. Why am I not still dead? Before I could process any more of it, I heard something, screaming, wailing. It was all muffled. But unmistakable. Past campaigns flashed before me. Not again. And then it appeared before me. An at first blinding vertical light that grew dimmer and wider. The sound of stone scraping against stone until the slab was unceremoniously pushed to the ground, making a heavy, sharp thud. What was that, I wondered. And then I saw my gauntleted arms in front of me, my hands. I wanted to look closer at them, to turn them, to truly identify them, but I could not. They moved out of my vision as my body uprighted itself. I wanted to look around, to get more of a sense for my surroundings, but my body had other plans. It lifted itself out of the casket and marched toward the stone slabs that closed off the mausoleum, my mausoleum.
I could see it. A sort of guiding light beyond the doors, on the other side. My body tried to open the doors with a push, but they did not move.
Not the smartest fellow, huh? You’ve gotta put your back into it. My body stepped back, and this time leading with my shoulder - that’s the way - and slammed into the door, opening it but at the same time destroying the area around where it collided into, causing rubble to pile around my feet.
It was night, but the light of the full moon shined bright. I could not feel the air; its temperature or humidity. It was as if everything playing out before me was only a memory. A child stood in front of me, below the steps leading to my burial site. Her hair was long and unkempt, her clothes full of patchwork, and clutched in her arms where normal children would have a blanket or doll was a thick, large tome with black leather binding. Tears streaked down her cheeks and onto the pages of the tome. I could see it - the magic emanating from it evaporating precipitously. Her eyes pierced me with such hope and recognition. Don’t look at me like that.
She choked the words out. "Please, save my papa!"
Images flashed in my mind. How cruel.
My neck snapped to the left - I could see it, the pillars of smoke. I ran for a good while, perhaps 5 minutes until I made it. It must have taken the child much longer. I felt the wind against my bare skull. Ah, I forgot my helmet in my casket. But my sword clanged against my thigh.
Fire roared and abated, dancing with the wind. The houses creaked and crumbled and crunched into themselves. In the center of it all was a pyre and the man tied to it. He wore rags like the little girl. His face was wrinkled from age and despair. Surrounding him were what looked to be armored knights.
One held a torch. As he bent down and extended his torch arm, he saw me.
"What have we here?" he declared. The others turned around, to me. They wore tabards with a dragon spewing an all-engulfing flame. "I knew it! I bloody knew it! A necromancer!" He was right. But that did not matter.
I tried to speak but I could not. My body moved itself, closer to the man on the pillar, focused on its objective.
"Step back, foul abomination!" They blocked my path and their swords hissed and glinted into the night air.
I stepped forward once more. They then spread out and surrounded me. I could tell how practiced they were with how little they needed to communicate. All it took was a shared look. Did they fear me, did they know who I was, who I became, I wondered.
The first to swing was the crier. It was a long drawn out motion, easy to intercept and swat away. My hand darted out and with it, his sword flew. As he stood dumbfounded, with his arm still held up from his strike, I stepped forward and met his face with my fist. I thought for a moment, to meet sword with sword. But I did not fear them. He flew with grace, and fell with none, his body crumpled.
Combat was complex; a series of movements and orders that had to all be followed and executed perfectly. And all the information we could glean had to all have been identified in only a moment, where next we would act or react.
I thought that was what it would be. A dance where we would compete to lead. But this was nothing like that. I am uncertain if these men had ever even seen combat. They were so slow and clumsy. It seemed wrong to strike them.
Four left.
One shouted to their fallen comrade, "Oi, get up!"
He was not moving.
"Damn it." He said quickly and quietly, a mixture of denial and regret. He turned to me and charged. There was no thought in his action or movement. No analysis or recognition of who I was or what I was capable of. Just pure outrage. Oh, to be so free. To have no care whatsoever of the repercussions of your actions. To feel so fully. To be young. Such a long time.
His sword was above me. I did not need to do anything, and so, I did not do anything.
His sword bounced off me and flew out of his hand. To lose grip of your weapon without anyone even contesting it. He would have been shunned and abandoned in the old days. They were given full armor, so I assumed they had earned it. That they had touched some sort of divinity or mystery. But they had not.
Another tossed his sword aside and unfasted his mace from his belt. The rest followed suit. Good, we’re learning. He shouted, "At once!" And they attacked me at the same time in a triangle formation. Again, I did not move.
The maces were denser, so they did not bounce off me. But they did not mark or move me either.
I took the head of one man into my palms and crushed his helmet enough so I could better grip it. Then I lifted him up off of his feet and threw his body into one of the other men.
I turned to the last man. He had already dropped his mace. His hands were raised and he stepped back slowly. "I give, I give! Please, don't kill me." He continued to step back. And when he realized I would not pursue him, he turned and ran.
I had no intention of killing them, once I realized how little fight they had. But what happens if I leave them alive? What are the chances they come after the girl? Would they know her father had a daughter? They were able to find the father somehow. Can I take the chance?
Their deaths at my hand flashed before my eyes. No. They were so weak, not even a threat. They don’t have to die.
Someone stood in the corner of my vision. I turned my head. It was the girl. How long has she been there? She looked at all the downed men, eyes wide. Then her eyes darted to the man tied to the pillar, her father. She threw the book aside, rushed past the soldiers, and tried to undo his bindings. But she was too small and weak.
She looked at me, and this time with much less desperation in her voice, “Come, help.”
My body moved again, instantly. It was a strange sensation, like I was a puppet being pulled on strings. But once I understood the order and was in the midst of it, my body began feeling like mine again.
Once free, he began to fall. He could not stand. His daughter dutifully rushed underneath to catch him. It would be too much for her. My body rushed over and caught him. Another automated movement.
He lay resting, still breathing, but it was heavy and slow. There were bruises and cuts all over his body. Blood streaked down him from head to toe. It was still wet and red.
"Papa, wake up!" she implored while clutching his hand with both of hers. I wanted to tell her that he needs his rest, that she should leave him be, but I could not.
His eyes opened slowly. His voice was coarse and quiet. "Maggie, is that you?" The space between the words was long, as if it took all his might to utter a single syllable.
She tightened her grip, knuckles white, inched closer to his face, and said excitedly, "Yes, it's me, Papa!" He looked at me, then at the white lily crest upon my chest. His eyes widened. He whispered, "A compatible soul." He looked back at her, his eyes glimmering with focus and determination. "Run."
She said with pure intention and nothing else, "What about you?"
He took one last, long breath. "Always with you." And like that, he lost all of his strength, his hand slipping from his daughter's grasp, his neck falling to his side, and his eyes, closed.
She froze, staring at him, as if assuming he would be back up in a moment.
"Wake up, Papa! Wake up! Please, please wake up!" She gripped onto his shirt with both her hands, buried her head in his chest, and began to cry and wail, endlessly. "No, please please please. Don't leave..." I wanted to reach out to her, to hold her. To tell her everything would be okay. But I could not. I could do nothing but watch.
It was hours before she would leave that spot. It was then that she heard groaning and her head darted sideways. It was one of the armored knights. She rose to her feet but they failed her, causing her to collapse. She would have fell to the ground if not for me. I had held my arm out for her to catch. And she did.
She looked to me, eyes wide, as if she had forgotten I was there. And I looked back at her, waiting for an order. “Let’s get out of here.” I picked her up and hung her over my shoulder. She looked around and pointed. “Grab that book.” And I did.
We began walking on the road. The sun was rising in front of us. As we passed my crypt, she told me to stop. Then she entered it and left with a helmet in her hand. She raised it up, at me. I simply looked at her.
"Take it." She said.
I took and equipped it. It would be best if people didn't know what I was. After a while of walking, she started to slow down. I wanted to tell her I could carry her, but I could not. After another hour or so of walking, she collapsed. It was a long night for her. She was still conscous. Her legs simply gave out. Again. I wanted to do something for her. To lift her back up. To tell her it was okay for her to rest. But I could not. I could do nothing without her order. It seemed as if she may fall asleep on the spot. Her eyes closed and her head turned away from the sun, she whispered, “Keep… going.”
I knelt down, scooped her up, cradled her in my arms, and walked. She held tight onto that tome. I could understand why. It was all that she had left.