New Hame, Loegria

 

Where there should have been sky, instead there was an ocean. From night till dusk, the clouds that skimmed its surface lit up like the cosmos. Every now and then, a wave would catch the glint of their glow, sending shafts of light to illuminate the hills leading away from the forest.

That dusk, a dull morning mist crept over the grasslands, out of which emerged the Knight. Arrayed in chainmail from head to toe, his armour was draped in an embroidered, hooded shawl that covered his chest. The needlework seemed to shimmer and dance in the light; not enough to expose his position but just enough to reveal the distinctive wing-lamp insignia of a Torchbearer.

As he strode towards the ancient onyx fortress atop the hill, he withdrew a rusty shortsword from a sheath at his side.  

Shadow clad sentries periodically vanished between the battlements, their black, gaseous regalia rippling like torn tongues of flame.

The Knight casually circled round the western wall. As he drew near the flanking tower, a shout rang out from the battlements. He’d been spotted—but it was already too late. He swung the sword and wall of the flanking tower exploded in a shower of stone and brick. The front section of the tower collapsed into a rocky heap. Sentries plummeted into the chasm, their cries cut short by agonising thuds.

As the dust settled, survivors clawed their way from the debris. Swords drawn behind leather lined shields, they crept step by step over the rubble towards the Knight. He counted seventeen in all. That much he could handle, but the fortress walls were already swarming with reinforcements. Time was of the essence.

Twirling the blade one-eighty degrees in his hand, he rammed his clenched fist into the opposing palm. There was a crackle, a flash and a sudden gust of wind, and another knight appeared beside him. No, not another—it was the sameKnight, only now there were two of him.

“Need a little help do we?” said the Copy Knight.

“Let’s wrap this up quick. And don’t get any ideas. You follow my lead.”

He curtsied, “Of course guv’na’.”

They attacked in choreographed unison. As one parried the other swung, as one blocked the other thrust, with no break between their movements as they worked their way from right to left. As the sentries on the far right regained their footing, the knights spun across each other’s backs to meet them.

The Knight swung his sword wildly to the left as the copy ducked to avoid it. The blade sailed within a hairsbreadth of his back, cleaving the very air above him in two. A thunderclap of colliding air currents rushed to fill the vacuum, knocking three sentries flat. Their bodies combusted into plumes of blackened ash.

The Copy Knight whipped up, swinging his sword in an upward arc towards the next four. As it skimmed the surface of the ground, a tumultuous shockwave dredged up grass, dirt and stone, slamming into the sentries. Their limp bodies beat one by one off the fortress walls before disintegrating.

The knights paused momentarily to catch their breath, pacing back and forth, circling restlessly around each other as the remaining sentries regrouped. They wouldn’t let them. Charging headlong, they continued their synchronised assault.

The flat of a blade caught the Copy Knight in his stomach, bowling him over. A backhanded shield strike spun him around. He parried an upswing, but his imbalance, coupled with the momentum of the sword, sent his blade sailing out of his hand and careening through the air.

The Knight was almost yanked off his feet trying to hold his own sword as an unseen force pulled it from his grasp. The twin blades bounced simultaneously onto the grass, slid several feet along converging paths and merged into one.

“Oh, not good.”

The Knight dodged into a roll, coming back-to-back with his counterpart.

“The bloody hell happened?!”

“Sorry guv’na’.”

“You dropped the sword!”

“Right, yes—sorry. I got distracted.”

“By what?”

The Copy Knight paused, “I’m really hungry.”

The twin knights stood defenceless, backing away from the ten remaining shadow warriors. The sentries split off, three of them moving towards the Knight on the left, another three moving towards the right. The remaining four circled around between them and the sword.

“Alright then…”

The Knight stuck his hand beneath his shawl and pulled out a cloth bound hardback book bordered with red leather strips. Flipping through the book, he stopped on a page before gripping and tearing it out. Slipping the book beneath his shawl, he rapidly folded the page into various abstract shapes until he produced what looked like an origami Roman shield. With a flick of the wrist, the paper shield exploded to full size. Grabbing it with both hands, he tore a vertical strip off the side and spun it into the form of a spear.

“Go get the sword. I’ve got this,” said the Knight.

“Right...simple enough.”

Twirling the spear like a windmill, he advanced towards the enemy. The Copy Knight ducked as the Knight swung the spear in his direction, colliding with two sentries. As they staggered, the Copy Knight darted around them towards the four guarding the sword.

Spinning in circles whilst twirling the spear, the Knight drove his attackers back. Faster and faster he whipped until he let the spear fly like an arrow between two of their shoulders. As they turned—distracted—to follow the spear, he spun the shield horizontal and smashed it into their skulls.

Pelting towards the four guarding the sword, the Copy Knight dropped like a stone. The spear shot past his back, too quick for the sentries to avoid, and pierced through all four of them in a single stroke. The Copy Knight slid across the grass, through the falling black ash, and grabbed the hilt of the rusty, shortsword.

Several feet away, the Knight grinned. He waited behind the shield for the remaining sentries to close in, then brought the short, rusty sword out over the shield and slammed it onto the ground. The shockwave rippled through the grass, blowing the sentries away in all directions, and tearing them into ash.

The Copy Knight approached his counterpart, tossing his rusty sword up and down as he walked through the raining soot.

“Don’t let what happened back there fool you,” he said, pointing with the hilt, “Just this once, you could let me use the Codex.”

“And I’ve told you already, not a chance,” replied the Knight, dropping the shield and sheathing his blade. The Copy Knight stared momentarily at his own identical blade then followed suit.

“Reinforcements will be here any minute. We have to secure the subject.”

“The ‘subject’? Is that really what we’re calling him now?”

The Knight shook his head at his counterpart and walked over to the wrecked flanking tower, surveying the breach.

“Our intelligence says he was being held somewhere in this wing.” He stepped up a ramp made by the collapsed walls.

The Copy Knight looked around in disdain. Cold, musty and damp, the walls were alive with mildew. The breach left by the sword allowed him to peer upwards through the three levels of the flanking tower. There were flagons and tables. Stale bread and bottles, some of which had fallen through to the lower levels during the assault.

“Of all the places to linger in a Stronghold…There’s a lot more fun to be had on the inside,” murmured the Copy Knight.

“Yeah? You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

“Well…we haven’t all been blessed with freedom.”

The Knight looked back over his shoulder, “If you’re gonna complain, I can put you back. We’re about done here anyway…”

“Fascist.”

The Knight stopped suddenly, hearing the metallic clink of his boot hitting something on the ground. Kneeling, he could just about make out the shiny glint of open manacles. They jingle-jangled in the air as he gathered them up. Then, he stopped.

It was faint at first, but there was a dull scratching coming from the far end of the tower; behind the stone stairs leading up to the next level. Bracing the hilt of his blade, he inched back towards the Copy Knight standing in the breach. The scratching grew louder, reverberating off the wet stone walls. As the first rays of dawn peaked over the horizon, they cast a pillar of light into the tower, broken by the twin silhouettes of the knights. Suddenly, it crawled into the light.

At first, all they saw was the tell-tale, crystalline shine of its eyes hanging like twin moons in the night. Then came the shape of a dishevelled, childlike being; ragged locks of matted, black hair falling across its face and over its shoulders as it dragged itself out of the gloom. When it crawled into the light, its dull, colourless face was still shrouded in shadow. What wasn’t covered in darkness was caked in dry dirt. But the Knight could still make out its face. The face of one he knew.

“Keon…” he gasped.

The bedraggled humanoid, bent over like a wild beast, held his gaze. Did it recognise him too? Then, quick as a flash, he felt a blade curl around his neck.

“I’ll be taking things from here, guv’na’.”

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“Clearly, it’s worse than we thought, and his judgement can’t be trusted.”

Suddenly, the creature bolted past them, through the breach and out into the open.

“No!!”

The Knight could only watch as it galloped over the hills before vanishing into the forest.

“Come on,” the Copy Knight locked one arm painfully behind his back and shoved him outside to where the Stronghold’s reinforcements were amassing in wait. At the sight of the sentries, the Knight struggled violently. As they neared the group, he caught sight of a familiar, silver head cutting through the ranks like a shark fin breaking the waters.

“We’ve waited a long, long time to ensnare you, Torchbearer…” it growled, like slabs of rock grinding together.

“Dout…” the Knight spat.

The ranks parted like mist as the figure emerged, each weighty step heavier than his unnaturally tall, slender frame would seem to allow. His lidless eyes were like two pearls hammered into dark, veined granite; his face framed by locks of silver hair that hung past his knees.

The Copy Knight lowered his blade from the Knight’s neck and tossed it to Dout. As it sailed through the air, the Knight’s matching blade flew out of its hilt to meld with it. Two sentries placed heavy, black shackles on the Knight’s wrists and ankles.

Dout turned the pitiful blade over in his hand, noting the unique craftsmanship of the hilt. Clearly, it had been forged in the Far Reaches of the North, but other than that, there was nothing remarkable about it. It scarcely seemed able to slice butter, let alone break stone.

Walking over to the fortress, he swung it at the walls. The blade clattered off the stone with a spark, but barely left a scratch. He turned it over again as though holding it up long enough would somehow yield its secrets.

“You can stare at it all you want, it won’t work for you,” said the Knight defiantly, enjoying Dout’s bewilderment.

He strode over, stopping within a hairsbreadth of his face. The Knight winced as Dout’s jagged nails bit savagely into his jaw; almost choking on the hot, sulphuric blast of his nostrils.

“Where did you get this?” he hissed.

“Do you mind? —Your breath reeks…”

“Where?!” he roared, yanking the Knight forward.

“It was a gift—from the King!”

Confused murmurs rippled through the ranks of the dark warriors. Dout’s visage seemed to crack as his eyes flared. He dragged the Knight closer, spitting each word with vile and venomous contempt.

“Underland—has—no King!…”

 

Newham, London

 

A mushroom of tight, black curls emerged piecemeal from behind the tower of assorted library books. A single eye locked on to the girl wandering down the aisle wearing a skirt and over-the-knee socks that pushed the boundaries of the school dress code. He slipped back behind the books, mouthed a silent ‘wow’, then inched out for another look.

He guessed she was a year or two older. Her shoulder-length golden hair—dark at the roots—was bordered by two locks that fell past her shoulders, enflamed in red tips. A glint of gold drew his attention to the unusual pendant looped at the end of a chain swinging around her neck; like the outline of eight crescent moons spiralling into one another. He would make a note to look it up later, but right now he—whoops! He’d been spotted.

“Hey! Sorry, I’m looking for Miss Leyton.”

He rose from his stool and returned the book he was thumbing through back to the shelf.

“Nah it’s cool. Uh—I dunno where she is, but I can prob’ly help.”

He marvelled momentarily at how the red tips complimented her copper complexion.

“I’m looking for a book on Victorian London. Preferably one with pictures?”

He held up a finger and strode down the aisle. He stopped, scanned the third shelf and pulled out a big, square volume labelled, Victōria Londinium: A Visual Guide to Old London. He sauntered back over to the girl and handed it over.

“That’s the one you want,” he said.

She nodded with a ‘not bad’, “You really know your way around here, huh? Are you Miss Leyton’s prefect or something?”

“Naaah. I’m in detention. Jokes on them though ‘cause I actually like books.”

“Detention for what?” she chuckled.

He sat down and shrugged, “Got into a fight.”

“Alright, Scrappy,” she said, nodding in intrigue.

He sniffed a chuckle.

“Here, let me show you the book,” he gently took it back, folding it open to reveal paintings of Greater London when it was mostly undeveloped fields.

“I used this a few years back for a history project. Thought it was mad ‘cause of how different things used to look back then. Here, like this…” he turned to an eighteenth-century painting of green, rolling hills before a large stretch of forest.

“This was where Newham Hospital is now. Can you believe that?”

“Wow,” she nodded, only partially interested. “You spend a lot of time there?”

He snapped the book shut and shrugged, “A bit. It’s where my mum works…”

“Master Wesley!”

They turned to see Mr. Kersey, his student mentor, standing in the aisle, arms folded. He was exasperated, and not for the first, second or even fourth time that week!

“And that’s my cue,” he said, saluting as he walked over to his impatient mentor. “But, let me know how that goes…y’know…if it’s helpful.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks,” she said, blinking back to attention. “It was nice meeting you, uh…?”

“Keon.”

“Keon,” she nodded.

He smiled.