The Knight Who Sought a Crone
Chapter Seven

Piss and vomit and the occasional hint of burped ale filtered into my nose as I squinted to acclimate to the rank surroundings. I hammered in with a steady gait of thick boot plugging into the wooden floor which crackled under my weighted walk and I thought I could feel the termites crawling beneath my feet. Rysa followed behind, clutching my hand as she floated herself against my backside. I kept my right hand firm against the hilt of my sword resting at my hip, hidden by my cloak, I could feel the unease like an expulsion of rancid fumes cut from rotted guts left too long in the sun.

I heard murmurs as I led Rysa to a distant table whose dying candle light reflected the disrepair of the establishment. I scurried an insect off the table as a fat wench came to offer her service. I looked around, catching a glimpse of a pair of men sporting tattoos of wolf heads on their craggy-skinned necks. They turned to me through furrowed eyebrows with sneers of gutted gums. One took to their drink, wiping the murky brown sop from staining his beard. His friend laughed next to him before offering him a toast.

“Bread, thickest loaf you have. Sharp knife to cut with,” I began, “Strong potato liquor, strongest you have. Bottle. For the lady, juyo wine, for myself, a hard stout. Tell your innkeeper, we need a single room, two beds.” Rysa looked at me with her enchanting eyes in a manner to feel I insulted her. I said nothing as the hefty woman smacked her tongue with words and sauntered towards the single bar man serving several others seated in front of him.

I listened to the harsh voices, the banter and laughter of those enjoying their time amidst the foul stench. In these backwoods villages, visiting the local tavern was a way to relax, get away from the thought of your miserable lives and mock those who lived in Sarat or Kora. Rumors of the loss of Seuverat had reached here resulting in several mocking the effort, chastising their empire’s regulars or the Temple Knights as cowards and calling the king a fool. Our actions may have been unpopular, I will give them that. Rysa coiled her fingers towards mine as the stout and the wine reached our table with a bottle of the potato liquor and a room key. The men with the wolf tattoos began to shift in their seats, hoisting their hips over their stubby chairs in a manner to direct their future approach towards us. I needed my bread.

Wood scraped wood as disease and ale stench filtered my nose. The heaviest of the two wolf men pulled a vacant seat against the edge of the table to my right. His shorter partner stood behind him, blocking the bench I was in in a way to prevent me from escaping. I took a chug of my stout as I could see the fear encasing Rysa’s eyes. Her fingers daintily tickling the cup of her wine with nervous anticipation. Skirting beside the heavy man, a block of brown bread dropped onto my table with a cutting knife sticking upright. Thank you, I nodded to her.

Dark eyes glanced to me through graying beard. Pieces of cut meat and slop scattered in the strands like lost mice scurrying in a field, “Do I know you?” His rough voice scratched my ears like shattering glass on brick. This bread sure looks good, maybe I’ll cut a slice and hope there’s no mold. I pulled the clay stein from my lips, shaking my head and ignored his statement.

“I do know you,” he whined, “A man matching your looks killed some of my brothers.”

“I’ve killed a lot of men,” I answered, “You’ll have to be more specific.”

His anger yanked my stein from my hand, spilling the blackened liquid onto the moldy floor, destroying its container.

“Outside Glenheald. Some whore told the Wolfsblood of your actions.”

“Glenheald? I don’t recall the place,” I looked to Rysa who calmed herself.

“You killed four of my brothers. All Wolfsblood and Grimhogs have it for you,” his drunken eyes turned their attention to Rysa, “Or perhaps, I’ll spare you and take my vengeance upon her ripe cunt.” The man reached for her thigh, hiking his hand up her dress to feel for her parts. He pulled her towards him causing Rysa to splash her mug into his face. This only angered him more as he took his right hand from her thighs and slammed his meaty fist around her neck, pulling her away from her bench towards him. She struggled to breathe in his grasp as he used his left hand to leverage his weight to stand. Dumb mistake.

The knife looked better standing upright between his finger bones of his palm, binding him with a hail of gushing blood through the table surface. I swiped the liquor bottle at its neck and shattered it across his face in a flurry of shattered glass embedding into his eyes in a wash of liquor. He let Rysa go in a thunderous scream causing the other patrons to step away. His partner reached for a dagger tucked against his hip as I removed the scabbard resting against my hip.

Looking upon the bigger sword which lay in wait, he abandoned his ailing friend, pushing through the crowds before leaving the door giving me room to leave.

“Let’s go,” I shouted to Rysa as she slipped from the burly man and sprinted to my position a few feet from her. She grabbed my hand to my lead as I felt the sharp burn of the man’s tongue exclaim profanities towards us. I turned in time to see him pull the knife from his hand with flesh and wood splinter, toss it aside, and pulled a sword from his left hip.

I set mine against my back and with the click of my twisted hilt, released the cross guards from their lock. I turned to Rysa and ordered her to replace a place to hide. Before she could leave my side, the gang member took a heaving swipe for my head, as I turned aside to avoid his swing, keeping my hand firmly wrapped upon the hilt. As he swung, I pulled away and in momentum, yanked the sword from its housing with a whistling omen. Twisting back around, I held my weapon to swing at his back only for him to catch his footing, jerk back and block my sword in a lazy manner, effectively countering my swing.

Yanking his sword from the block, he lofted the weapon in staggered manner above his head to swing downward, the lack of his second hand clearly crippling his stance with the heavy weapon. I pulled back into a stronger stance watching the attacker. He didn’t consider the sword he was facing as the lowering of his blade propelled a top section to shift in a splitting seam. Riding with the direction of his attack, the weapon split in two along the vertical causing the top half to collapse and strike him on the top of his head, striking him with the blunt fuller. He dropped his hilt, reaching for the bruising knot forming atop his scalp.

“You bastard,” he proclaimed.

“I could kill you,” I reminded him of the prowess he faced as I leaned to bend to his level, “You interrupted my meal and you threatened this woman. But worst of all, you tossed my drink to this piss-riddled floor. I didn’t use my sword to kill, so I’m going to let you live and you tell your leaders that if you still continue to pursue me, I will kill every last one who does without hesitation. Your gang war means nothing to me, but in the process, you hurt innocents. I cannot let that stand. Kill yourselves, but don’t allow others to suffer your idiocy.”

I planted the sole of my muddy boot hard into his nose, reeling him into the floor with a bloodier face. “Come on,” I shouted to Rysa, lifting her to her feet with a grip of her hand before darting out of the small tavern. A quick glimpse out of the corner of my eye caught my attention to a shadowy figure emblazoned in fire. I shook my head, thinking I was delusional from the fight, the war or the hard drink I often took to mend my pains. I heard the barkeep shouting about the room as I ignored him sprinting out of the establishment. He gained money of the deal, should be enough to keep him happy.

We rode swiftly with a dashing sprint to the west as I heeled into the horse’s side to clear through the road leading out of town. I couldn’t let him know I was staying there that evening lest he bring others to attack us and exact his revenge. These gang men were a cruel and vicious lot, none more so than those who dared to lay hands on innocent women forcing their innate lusts upon them. I led the horse along the path of the northern edges of the lake as we came through another length of forestry separating the southern edges of Sarat’s realm with the middle regions of fertile farmland. We still had several more days before we could reach the capital city, but that was the least of my concern. I had to ditch Rysa.

Confirming to my backside we had cleared the village, I looked upon the darkness of the nighttime sky. The moon was empty save for a dim shadow, permitting the sky to fill with billions of stars overhead. Rysa wrapped her arms around my waist in the steady sprint and as I relaxed the horse to a slow gait, she leaned away as I listened to her slowed breathing.

“Step down,” I barked, “We need to make preparations for camp.”

“We had a bed to sleep in,” Rysa huffed, “We could have stayed there.”

The horse shifted as she lowered herself to the ground, “And risk his friends replaceing us while we slept. Not in my lifetime.” I dropped as well and began to lead the horse by his reins.

“You didn’t have to attack him. I would have gone along with him, garnered some more coin off of him.”

She was willing to sell herself as a whore to keep the calm. I wouldn’t allow it, “A common tavern whore? I should leave you here. I’ve only had to protect you since we met. You’re no longer worth my time. I don’t care what magic you pulled in that pond, but I can replace your Forest Witch on my own.” I know I spat on her face with my words, but I didn’t care. She was tough, I give her that much. She listened and I could see my words made her angered even more so.

“You need me to replace the village and you need me with you in Sarat.”

“I don’t need you with me anywhere, Rysa.”

Rysa grabbed my arm, pulling me back to face her, “No, but if you plan to venture into Sarat, there is something you won’t be prepared for without me.”

“What could you prepare me for that my sword can’t fend off?”

“If you leave to Sarat without me, your soul will be damaged with what you replace. Trust me. You won’t survive the experience without me.” In her angered eyes, I saw a slight hint of truth.

“How do you prophesy without the verified gift granted by the Council?” My fingers wrapped around the hilt of my blade, ready to twist the weapon unlocked.

“The vision you saw in the lake. I witnessed it too. The crone, the sun and the moon and the shattered sword with the sigil of the sunwheel. Your experience in Seuverat is connected to it. You touched death in Seuverat and in death, the sunwheel came to you.”

I removed my fingers gracefully from the hilt. She couldn’t have known about my death in Seuverat, I never told her. That is when I first saw the crone in the woods. I found myself awake in a triage the next morning and in pain so severe I almost thought my limbs were gone and left alone with a head and torso. Unable to feel my arms and my legs, my eyes burned from a sudden flash and my ears numbed from a deafening boom. I was alone in a silent, darkened prison thousands of miles from home.

“What did you learn exactly in your forest?”

“Enlightenment,” she answered politely with a confident tone to her voice.

The fire crackled to the smell of burning wood. I remained vigilant as Rysa slept against my shoulder, our backs to a tree trunk. The memories of brief death coupled and entwined with her words. She knew more than she initially led on and something about her actions told me she was telling the truth. Who or what she was, still remained a mystery. Could this fabled woman living in a forest truly teach her the ways of magick without a Magi training her? Everything she did hinted to the fact; from her skill with mixing certain herbs, the fire in her eyes when I looked upon them and her touch, the ever elegant touch of a fallen goddess when I entered her within the lake. She exuded the female goddess and her gifts. As I touched her soul, I saw energy pure and vibrant. She defied the teachings of the Magi and the Knights. I looked upon the pommel of my sword resting over my lap and sighed. What have we become?