Knight of Sorrows
The Sword Carries a Heavy Price

Jonathan Moeller

        

         The walking dead filled Castle Taleisn's great hall. They had attacked during the dark of the night, slaughtering the thanes and the servants alike, and now the castle was theirs.

         Or, rather, their master's.

         "You know, my lord Calwyn," said the dark man lounging on the stone throne, "I've been looking forward to killing you." His cruel smile widened, and his cold eyes shifted to Rosalyn. "Killing your betrothed before your eyes—well, that adds savor to the stew."

         Two of the black-armored skeletons dragged Rosalyn toward the throne, their bony hands tight about her arms. Their finger bones looked dry and brittle, yet felt like bars of cold iron against her bare skin. The skeletons shoved, and Rosalyn fell beside the man lying bound and bloody at the foot of the throne.

         "My lady Rosalyn," whispered the bound man, a hale fighter of about thirty-five. One gray eye had swollen shut, and his face glistened with blood. "I'm so sorry."

         "This can't be, Calwyn," said Rosalyn, trying to clean the blood from his face. "You wiped out the Shadow Order, you killed them all..."

         "Yes," said the dark man, "all but one." He stood, black robes hanging about him like a corona of shadow. "I am Marushan, last Master of the Shadow Order. Your castle, Prince Calwyn, your land, all belong to the Shadow Order by rights."

         "This isn't over," said Calwyn. Even in defeat, his face still blazed defiance. "I fought for years to lift the tyranny of your Order's sorcery. The surrounding realms will not suffer the Shadow Order to rise again. If you harm Rosalyn, her father will summon his host and make war upon you. You will face battle and defeat yet."

         "As you said, it is just beginning for the Shadow Order," said Marushan. "For you, however, it is over. Very soon, the moon will be black. I will then slay you both. Your deaths will unlock the magic this castle guards, magic that will destroy my enemies." He beckoned, and other men in dark robes strode from the shadows. Marushan's acolytes, Rosalyn realized, his apprentices and his servants. "Take them both and secure them. Feed them just enough to keep them alive, but no more."

         The armored skeletons again seized Rosalyn's arms, while the acolytes picked up Calwyn.

         "And place them in separate cells," said Marushan, settling back on the throne. "The presence of an unborn child would disrupt my spells considerably."

         "No!" said Rosalyn. "No, at least let me stay with him!"

         But neither the living nor the dead answered her.

        

        

         Rosalyn huddled in her cell, trying to keep warm.

         She had been frightened when she first visited a year past, a bride to seal the alliance between her father and Calwyn. The Prince of Castle Taleisn, the grim warrior who had delivered them from the Shadow Order, had frightened her. That was before she had come to love him.

         And now they would die together, a month before they would have been wed.

         Rosalyn's face worked, and she tried not to cry. In the bards' songs, the heroes rode to defeat the wicked sorcerer, or the Knight of Sorrows freed the imprisoned maiden. But the Knight of Sorrows rode only in song, her betrothed was wounded and imprisoned, and her father was three hundred miles away.

         Rosalyn sobbed into her sleeve.

         The door to her cell screeched open. A man in dark robes entered, face hidden in shadow. Rosalyn wondered if he had come to torture her, or ravish her. He reached up and drew back his cowl, revealing a scarred face with a massive red beard.

          Rosalyn blinked. "Arwulf?"

          "My lady." Calwyn's most trusted thane knelt. His robes parted to reveal mail and sword. "I'm pleased to see that you're still alive. I thought Marushan would kill you out of spite."

          "How are you alive?" said Rosalyn. "I thought Marushan's creatures killed everyone."

          "Almost everyone," said Arwulf, standing. He pulled Rosalyn to her feet. "Prince Calwyn always feared that at least one Master of the Shadow Order survived. The Prince commanded me to take you to your father if the castle ever fell. Come, my lady, we must hurry." He led her into the corridor. A dead man lay on the floor, blood pooling on the flagstones.

          "Who is that?" said Rosalyn, her voice faint.

          "One of Marushan's acolytes. He provided my disguise." Arwulf gestured into the darkness. "There's a bolt hole that opens onto the beach below the castle. We must go before Marushan realizes anything is amiss."

          "Wait," said Rosalyn. "What about Calwyn? We can't leave without him."

          Arwulf grimaced beneath his beard. "That was his command."

          "We can't!"

          "We must," said Arwulf. "He's in the north tower, guarded by a score of the undead. I could take four, maybe five, but not all of them. We would accomplish nothing but our deaths. We must leave now."

          "I cannot leave without Calwyn," said Rosalyn. "I love him, and I will not leave him. You cannot think to..."

          Arwulf seized her arm, wrenched her closer. "Do you think this is easy for me, girl?" he hissed, eyes flashing. "I've known Calwyn since we were boys. My family has been sworn to his for five generations, I've fought by his side in a score of battles, and now I must abandon my friend and my lord to save his betrothed. We will go to your father, and he and the other princes will mount Marushan's head on a spike over the gate."

          Rosalyn hesitated.

          "You'll come," growled Arwulf, "even if I have to carry you."

          She nodded, biting back tears, and followed him into the darkness. Arwulf stopped, pressed a stone block, and part of the wall swung aside with a dull groan. He lit a torch, revealing a rough-hewn stone tunnel.

          "Hold this, my lady," he grunted. He pressed the torch into her hands and stepped into the tunnel. Rosalyn followed, and the stone door slid shut behind her.

          After a time Rosalyn smelled sea air, heard the sound of waves crashing against the rocks, and saw the glimmer of starlight ahead. Arwulf drew his sword, and they stepped onto a rocky, deserted beach. Behind them, the towers of Castle Taleisn rose against the dark sky, perched atop their rocky bluff.

          "Good," said Arwulf. "I have horses hidden. We'll be far from the castle when the sun's up."

          They climbed a path up the bluff, and Arwulf led her to a stand of trees. Two horses waited there. Arwulf swung into the saddle, and Rosalyn followed suit. She hesitated, gazing up at the castle. Calwyn languished in a tower cell, and soon Marushan would plunge a black dagger into his chest.

          She stifled another sob.

          "Come," said Arwulf, beckoning.

          They rode away from the trees, Arwulf leading. Again and again, Rosalyn looked back at the castle. She was leaving Calwyn to die. Even if her father's host marched today, he would arrive too late. And when he did arrive, what could he do? Could sword and spear defeat Marushan's dark magic?

          No. To fight magic, she needed magic.

          Rosalyn kicked her horse to a gallop and wrenched the reins to the left. Her mount plunged into the trees, away from both Arwulf and the castle. She heard Arwulf shout in surprise, heard him turn his horse in pursuit. But he was too experienced a horseman to gallop in the woods at night, and Rosalyn was desperate.

          A short time later, she broke free from the woods, Arwulf far behind her.

          Magic could fight magic. Rosalyn turned her horse to the west, toward the one woman who might help her.

        

        

          As the sun set, she came to the witch's cave.

          The ancient woman dwelt alone in a sandy cave overlooking a rocky beach. She had lived there as long as anyone could remember, at least since the days of Calwyn's grandfather. She alone had remained after Calwyn had crushed the Shadow Order and driven the workers of magic from the realm of Taleisn. The freeholders whispered that she spoke with the spirits of sea and forest, that the beasts of the wild heeded her call, that she even knew some of the secret lore of the long-dead Druids. Others claimed that she had been the lover of the Knight of Sorrows himself. Sometimes desperate villagers came to her for counsel, or for healing, or for protection against evil spirits.

          And she would aid them, if they paid her price.

          If anyone knew how to fight Marushan's dark magic, she would.

          Rosalyn slid from the saddle, her legs and back aching. A narrow path, little more than a ledge, led down the bluff to the entrance of the witch's cave. Rosalyn limped toward the cave, grabbing at the tough grasses and roots for balance. If the witch could help her save Calwyn, she would pay whatever price the witch demanded.

          She stopped before the cave's mouth. The air here smelled of smoke and curious spices. Within the cave she glimpsed crude furniture, stone shelves lined with clay jars and bones and strange dried plants. "Is anyone there? Can anyone hear me? I mean no ill."

          "Whether you mean ill or not, it will still befall you."

          Rosalyn whirled.

          The witch stood on the path above her, wrapped in a ragged, shapeless robe. She leaned upon an oaken staff, worn from long use, and an amulet of bones and feathers hung from her neck. Her face looked older than the world itself. Despite that, her eyes were sharp and blue, the color of flames beneath an iron kettle.

          Rosalyn managed to find her voice. "Are you the witch of the southern shore?"

          "You may call me that, if you wish." She tilted her head. "And who are you, child, so young, so fair?"

          "I am Rosalyn, daughter of Duke Ambrose of Valayn, betrothed to Prince Calwyn of Taleisn. I—I wish to ask for your help."

          "Of course you do," murmured the old woman. "They come to me often, seeking aid, wishing to know the future." She smiled like a wolf. "But they find my aid carries a high price, and to know one's future brings despair." Her blue eyes glittered like twin flames. "So, fair child, do you wish to know your fate?"

          "No," said Rosalyn. "I wish your aid, if you can give it to me."

          "Then speak."

          She told the witch everything, about Calwyn, the Shadow Order, of Arwulf and Marushan's promise. The telling went long, and the sun vanished as she spoke.

          "Can you help me?" said Rosalyn. "Marushan is only one man, and he cannot have more than a dozen acolytes. If I could find a way to break his dark magic, to destroy his undead...Calwyn might have a chance."

          The witch said nothing.

          "Can you aid me?" said Rosalyn. "I will give you lands, gold, whatever you might wish." Still the witch said nothing. "Can you not at least give me counsel?"

          "Then hear it," said the witch. "Find your betrothed's thane, and flee to your father's lands. If you linger here, your fate will be grim, indeed."

          "What?" said Rosalyn, angry. "You would have me abandon Calwyn?"

          "Maiden, mother, and crone," said the witch. Her eyes seemed like ghost lights in the darkness. "The Druids of old said that was a woman's threefold fate. But not yours, child, not yours. I tell you truly; maiden you are now, but if you seek to save him from the dark magic, then you will be neither mother nor crone."

          "Then so be it!" said Rosalyn, blinking back tears. She began to stride up the path. "If you will not help me, then I will save Calwyn by myself."

          "Why do you even wish to save him?"

          The question stopped Rosalyn. "You dare to ask that?"

          "Why so eager to make yourself this man's servant?" said the witch.

          "His wife," said Rosalyn.

          "They are one and the same," said the witch. "Become his wife, and Prince Calwyn will be your lord and master. You will submit to his commands and his embrace as your wifely duty. In time, after you bear his children, you will lose your beauty, and perhaps his eyes will wander to other women. He will send your sons to die in his wars, and sell your daughters to other lords."

          "No," said Rosalyn, "no, it won't be like that."

          "Will it, child?" The witch's smile held no pity. "I have lived in Taleisn all my life, have seen four princes rule in the castle. Do you think yourself the first woman Calwyn has known? He may remain faithful to you for a time, but his eye will soon wander. What woman would refuse the brave Prince of Taleisn, the champion who drove out the Shadow Order?"

          "No," whispered Rosalyn, though she knew the old woman spoke the truth.

          "Then why?" said the witch. "Why risk so much?"

          "Because I love him," said Rosalyn. "He—he overthrew the Shadow Order, saved us from their sorcery, when no one else could."

          The witch said nothing, her bony fingers tightening about the worn staff. A wind rose up from the sea, cold and salty, blowing Rosalyn's hair into her face. She brushed it aside. If the witch would not help her, then she would find a way to free Calwyn herself.

          "So be it," said the witch.

          "You'll help me?" said Rosalyn.

          "Love is naught but madness," said the witch, "but madness has its own power, and perhaps that can aid you."

          "So you'll help me?" said Rosalyn.

          "I?" said the witch, thin eyebrows rising. "I cannot help you, child, and love cannot save you. There is only one who can help you."

          "Who?"

          "The Knight of Sorrows."

          "The Knight of Sorrows?" said Rosalyn, incredulous. "The Knight is a legend, a fable. A song cannot save my betrothed."

          "A fable?" said the witch. "Then let us speak of fables, child. What do they say about me?"

          Rosalyn hesitated. "They...say you know secret arts. The languages of bird and beast, and the lore of the old Druids. And that," she frowned, "and that you were once the lover of the Knight of Sorrows."

          "Can a woman love a fable?" The witch pointed her staff at the cave mouth. "Go into my home. On the first shelf to the right, you'll find a long bundle wrapped in a cloak. Bring it to me, now."

          Rosalyn obeyed. She stepped into the cave, found the shelf, and lifted a cloth-wrapped bundle. The thing was heavy, and almost as long as she was tall. She carried it back to the path.

          "Unwrap it," said the witch.

          Rosalyn did, and her eyes widened in amazement.

          She held a two-handed greatsword of stunning craftsmanship, the steel blade gleaming blue and cold, the hilt covered in dark oak. Symbols ran down the blade's length, scribed in the forgotten characters of the long-dead Druids.

          "And can a fable," said the witch, "entrust his sword to me for safekeeping?"

          "Who was he?" said Rosalyn.

          "Taleisn is an old land," said the witch, "and many peoples have lived here. Before your ancestors, even before the Druids. What is now Castle Taleisn was built over an enchanted place, a well of power to draw mighty magic from the earth. You have seen it, surely?"

          "I have," said Rosalyn. Calwyn had shown it to her once, a black pit that plunged into the depths of the earth, seemingly bottomless, an icy wind rising from its depths. The air had been cold and heavy, as if during a thunderstorm. "Marushan...Marushan said he wanted to use Calwyn's blood in a ritual, to unlock some power."

          "The blood of a prince has power," said the witch, "power to summon great magic from the well. The ancients knew the well's power could be abused, or turned to evil, and so they created the Knight of Sorrows. They imbued him with the might of earth magic, and set him to guard the well from the powers of darkness."

          "What happened to him?" said Rosalyn. "Where did he go?" She felt some anger slip into her tone. "Why did he not defend Castle Taleisn from Marushan?"

          The witch's thin shoulders shrugged. "Who can say? He warred long against the Shadow Order. Oh, yes. Your Prince Calwyn cannot claim sole victory over the dark mages. Perhaps he grew old, and weary. Or perhaps no one summoned him."

          "Summoned?"

          "Magic requires sacrifice, child," said the witch. "The greater the magic, the greater the sacrifice. Marushan knows this, and he will sacrifice Calwyn to unlock the well's magic. The Knight's magic requires sacrifice as well."

          "I don't understand," said Rosalyn.

          "Listen to me well, Rosalyn, daughter of Ambrose," said the witch, her voice hard. It was the first time she had called Rosalyn by name. "Taleisn will fall into darkness if Marushan kills your prince and unlocks the well. But you can save both the land and your betrothed. Summon the Knight, and he can defeat Marushan and save your prince."

          "Summon him?" said Rosalyn. "How?"

          "The sword will call him to you, if you can master its magic," said the witch.

          "And how shall I do that?"

          "The same way Marushan will work his magic," said the witch. "The same way all magic is worked." Those bright, blue eyes cut into Rosalyn. "Sacrifice."

          "Sacrifice?" said Rosalyn, chilled. "You...mean to summon this knight, I'll have to murder someone?"

          "Different kinds of sacrifices call different kinds of magic." The witch's withered lips twitched into a yellow grin. "You would not like the sort of knight summoned by the blood of the innocent." She turned away. "Now go, child. The power to save your prince lies in your hands. But the cost may be far more than you can ever hope to bear."

          "Wait!" said Rosalyn, reaching for her. The sword started to slide from her grasp, and she caught it in an awkward one-handed grip. "Wait, I need you to tell..."

          The witch was gone. Rosalyn caught her balance and looked around. She looked into the cave, but saw no sign of the ancient woman.

          The witch was gone.

          After a long moment, Rosalyn found the strength to climb up the path, the massive sword in her right hand.

        

        

          The next night Rosalyn returned to Castle Taleisn. The castle loomed grim and silent over forest and sea, the windows dark and empty. Rosalyn took what was left of her food and water, set the horse free, and strode down to the beach, the greatsword slung over her shoulder in an improvised sheath.

          She would find a way to free Calwyn, or she would die trying.

          The sword bumped against her back, and she adjusted the sheath to keep it from cutting her. The blade was sharper than her father's razors, sharper than steel had any right to be. The obsidian arrowheads left over from ancient times might have been sharper, but not by much.

          Rosalyn came to the hidden tunnel and drew the sword. It gleamed sharp and cold, and Rosalyn leaned against the rocky bluff while she lit a torch. With sword and torch in hand, she walked into the dark tunnel. It took all her courage, but she did it. Maybe she could slip past the dead, snatch Calwyn from his cell before Marushan even noticed.

          Rosalyn opened the hidden door into the dungeons.

          The walking dead awaited her.

         Three of the skeletal things stood in the corridor, their black plate glistening in the torchlight. Swords rested in bony fingers, and the undead raised their weapons. They came for Rosalyn, silent and cold.

         She stumbled back, terrified, and almost dropped the torch. Marushan must have sent the undead to wait for her. The undead followed her, unrelenting. Rosalyn wished she had gone with Arwulf, wished she had never returned to this place. The sword dragged at her hand, the tip scraping against the flagstones. Rosalyn turned to run...

         To abandon Calwyn to his fate.

         The thought struck her like a slap.

         "No," she growled, turning. She flung the torch to the ground, took the Knight's sword in both hands, and set herself. They would kill her, but she would not abandon Calwyn to Marushan's clutches. Rosalyn wished she had room to swing the sword properly, and the undead came at her. She stepped back, and thrust her blade past the first skeleton's guard.

         And then the sword began to burn.

         The Druid sigils flared with blue light, and azure fires spread along the blade's length. The flames stabbed into the skeleton. It shuddered and collapsed in a pile of brittle bones and black armor. Rosalyn brought the sword back to guard, waiting for the other two undead to attack. But they did not. They stood just outside the circle of ghostly blue light cast by the burning sword, but came no further. She stepped forward, and the undead shuffled back, cringing away from the light. Rosalyn strode into the dungeon, and the undead made no move to stop her.

         So the sword truly was magic. But why hadn't its power come to life when Rosalyn first saw the undead? The flames had come only after she had turned to face the undead, even at the cost of her life.

         At the very least, she no longer needed the torch. Holding the sword for light, Rosalyn found the stairs and climbed higher into Castle Taleisn.

        

        

         Calwyn was not in his tower cell.

         Rosalyn stared at the dirty straw on the floor, her heart racing. She had passed through the castle's corridors and courtyard unharmed, the azure flames of the Knight's sword keeping the undead at bay. She had hoped to take Calwyn and flee the castle unnoticed. Had Marushan moved him to a different cell?

         No.

         Rosalyn looked out the window, at the moonless black sky. Marushan had said he would kill them at the new moon. Rosalyn backed out of the cell, panic and fresh fear rising up in her throat. Had she come too late? Had Marushan already murdered Calwyn?

         But if Marushan had not...then Rosalyn had to face him. The thought filled her with dread. The magic of the Knight's sword had been enough to turn aside the undead. Could it do the same for Marushan's dark magic?

         Rosalyn doubted it.

         But she could not leave Calwyn to die at Marushan's hand.

         Rosalyn wrapped both hands tight about the hilt and left the tower.

        

        

         A short time later, she came to the Chamber of the Well.

         The great domed chamber stood at the castle's very heart. The castle must have been built around the chamber, Rosalyn realized, if the ancients had indeed raised the fortress to defend the well. Candlelight threw dark shadows across the rough, flagstone floor. The well itself stood in the center of the floor, a bottomless, dark pit thirty feet across, a mournful wind rising forever from its depths.

          A ring of thirty undead stood around the well.

         And over a stone altar stood Marushan himself, a black dagger in his hand. Calwyn lay bound on the altar, gagged and blindfolded. Rosalyn hesitated, trying to devise some clever plan, but she could scarce think through the terror. So she clenched the sword in both hands and strode into the Chamber.

          Marushan looked up, the sword's blue light playing across his pallid face.

          "So you've returned," he said. His eyes fixed on the Knight's sword. "And with a magical bauble, no less." He gestured, and Rosalyn felt some of the darkness within him reach out and brush the blade. "A weapon of the earth magic. A Druid relic, no doubt. Tell me, how did you find it?"

          Calwyn's head turned, the gag muffling his shouts into incoherence.

          "I have nothing to say to you," said Rosalyn, sweat dripping down her face. "Let him go, now."

          Marushan smiled. "Or?"

          "I warn you, this is the sword of the Knight of Sorrows," said Rosalyn. "If you do not let him go, I will summon the Knight to destroy you."

          Marushan stared at her, expressionless. For a moment, Rosalyn dared to hope that he would back down, that he would release Calwyn.

          Then he threw back his head, roaring with laughter.

          "Is that what you think?" he said, still laughing. "The old hag in the cave gave you that sword, didn't she? She told you it would summon the Knight? And you believed her? You are both fools. She, for sending you to your death, and you, for coming here to die." He beckoned to his undead. "Kill her."

          The undead advanced, the candlelight gleaming on their black armor, swords rasping from scabbards.

          "They cannot approach," said Rosalyn, raising the sword in guard.

          "For a certainty," agreed Marushan. "The latent magic in that sword will repulse my servants. Unless, of course, my will drives them onward." He clenched his fist and whispered a stanza in a harsh, growling language. Shadows swirled about his black robes, and mantles of darkness settled over the undead, cloaking them in shadow.

          They hesitated for just a moment, and came for Rosalyn.

          "Farewell, my lady," said Marushan, taking the dagger in both hands. "Do scream loudly enough for Prince Calwyn to hear. His pain and rage will lend all the more power to my spell." He lifted the dagger over his head and began to chant once more in the harsh language.

          Rosalyn was no warrior, but her father had insisted that she learn the rudiments of swordplay. She swung the greatsword in a sideways cut, and the azure flames crashed through an undead warrior, sending bones and armor plates spinning across the floor. She jumped away from a slashing sword and swung her weapon in another massive blow, shattering another undead.

          A blade nicked her arm, another cut into her left leg. The pain made Rosalyn gasp, almost sent the Knight's sword falling from limp fingers, but she kept her grip. She spun back, the undead driving her toward the wall. She swung and managed to destroy another, but still the undead pressed her backward. Once they pinned her against the wall she would die.

          Marushan's voice grew louder. The edges of his dagger seemed to bleed darkness. His spell was almost done, Rosalyn knew, and she saw the growing tension in his arms. He drew the dagger further back.

          "No," growled Rosalyn, rage conquering her terror.

          She threw herself at the undead, the Knight's sword leading, and crashed through two of them. A blade gashed her shoulder, while another tore open the back of her thigh. Then she was through them, and a clear path lay between her and the altar.

          Marushan's eyes locked with hers, and through his spell he smiled. He drew the blade back for the killing blow.

          "No!" said Rosalyn again, but her wounded legs were too slow. At the last moment, she flung herself forward, not at Marushan, but for Calwyn.

          Marushan brought the dagger whistling down.

          The blade buried itself in Rosalyn's heart. The agony sent a spasm through her muscles, and she thrashed, yet somehow managed to keep her right hand about the sword's hilt. She felt Calwyn beneath her, warm and damp with sweat, heard him shouting into the gag. Marushan stepped back, cursing.

          Rosalyn flopped off the altar, hit the floor hard. Her heart sputtered through its last agonized beats. The sword hilt grew hot, painfully hot, but she had not the strength to release it. Nothingness crowded into her sight, drowning her.

          Then the earth began to shake. Wisps of blue light danced around the edge of the well. Then Rosalyn felt power erupt from the earth, raw and raging. Had her impending death unlocked the well's magic? The power raced into the sword, made the azure flames roar.

          Then it poured into her like a molten river.

          And all at once, Rosalyn understood. The witch had not been the Knight's lover. She had not kept the Knight's sword for safekeeping.

          The witch herself had been the Knight of Sorrows. Age and weariness had forced her to set down the burden, until she could find another who would make the ultimate sacrifice.

          Until she had found Rosalyn.

          Rosalyn stood, the magic taking shape about her. Armor covered her from head to toe, plate brighter than a mirror and harder than diamond. A helmet covered her head, and through its visor Rosalyn saw the pulsing power of the well, the dark magic gathered within Marushan's soul. The magic of the Knight made Rosalyn stronger than a mountain and faster than the falling rain. Memories from a thousand battles flooded through her, drowning her thoughts in a sea of iron. She heard the witch's voice in her head, and the voices of hundreds of others who had borne the Knight's power over the centuries.

          And then she was Rosalyn, Ambrose's daughter, no longer, and only the Knight of Sorrows.

          "It is over," said the Knight, her voice like thunder. The undead fled from her, driven away by the raging magic.

          "No," whispered Marushan. "Foolish child. You do not understand the price of the power you have taken into yourself. And nothing can stand against the dark magic." He spread his arms, the sleeves of his black robe billowing.

          And he, too, changed.

          Instead of an armored warrior he became a beast, a winged thing of shadow and fangs, talons, and armored scales. He became a nightmare faster and stronger than any man, impervious to mortal weapons. With such power already at Marushan's command, the Knight wondered, how much stronger would the well's magic have made him?

          Marushan beat his wings, rocketing into the air, and the Knight wheeled to meet him. Strength flowed through her muscles, and the memory of battle filled her mind, and she swung the greatsword faster than Rosalyn ever could. Marushan folded his wings and dove for her, and the Knight worked her burning sword in a defensive blur, beating back his razor-edged talons. She sidestepped, swinging, and the greatsword's tip crunched through black scales.

          Marushan shrieked, rearing back, and the Knight pressed the attack. Talons raked against her armor, but could not pierce the gleaming plates. The Knight landed glancing blow after glancing blow, driving the winged nightmare back toward the well. Desperate terror came to life in Marushan's eyes, and the Knight knew he saw his death in the azure fires of the sword. The Knight landed a crushing blow into Marushan's flank, and the winged fiend stumbled back, howling.

          The Knight raised the greatsword for the killing blow.

          And Marushan sprang to the left, talons reaching for Calwyn's unprotected flesh.

          Rosalyn would have panicked, but the Knight moved with deadly purpose. The greatsword sheared through Marushan's left wing, sent the fiend sprawling to the stone floor. Marushan flipped onto his back, talons raised to ward off a blow, but he was too slow.

          The point of the greatsword thundered down, all the Knight's weight and strength behind the blow. The winged creature screamed and shuddered, azure fire pouring into its heart. Then the creature was gone, and in its place sprawled a dying man in bloodstained robes, black eyes turning glassy.

          "Beaten," whispered Marushan. He coughed, blood splashing across his chin. "But I promise you, girl...your victory will bring you no joy, and the magic will be more curse...more curse...than blessing..."

          The last breath went out of him. The greatsword vanished in a swirl of azure flames, the Knight's armor plates dissolving into nothingness.

          And then the Knight of Sorrows was Rosalyn once more. She still felt the magic lying on her mind like a hot coal, the sword's power waiting within her until she called it forth once more.

          Waiting until it was needed again.

          She had never felt so tired.

          Rosalyn knelt, scooped up Marushan's dagger, and cut the ropes binding Calwyn's arms and legs. He sat up at once, tearing the gag and blindfold from his face, and looked around with furious and frightened eyes.

          "Rosalyn?" he said, puzzled. "What the devil are you doing here? Arwulf should have taken you to safety." His eyes turned to Marushan's corpse, and widened. "And who killed Marushan?"

          "The—the Knight of Sorrows, my love," said Rosalyn, leaning on the altar.

          "The Knight of Sorrows?" said Calwyn. "But...he disappeared a dozen years past. Where is Arwulf? Did he bring you here?"

          "No," said Rosalyn. "I—I knew mortal weapons could not fight dark magic. So I slipped away from Arwulf, and sought out the witch of the shore." Calwyn's face went flinty. "She gave me the means to summon the Knight." Something in Calwyn's face made Rosalyn hold back the entire truth.

          Calwyn closed his eyes, facing working. At last, he looked at her, and touched her face. "I love you, my lady, and I am glad that you are safe and Marushan slain. But you took a terrible risk, going to the witch and the Knight. Magic is a vile, evil thing, and those who wield its power are at best mad, and usually depraved beyond words. Better that I should have died than been saved by a worker of sorcery!"

         Rosalyn found herself blinking back tears. "And if I had not gone to the witch, my lord, if I had not—not summoned the Knight of Sorrows, you would lie dead, and war and dark magic would have devastated Taleisn."

          His expression softened, just a bit. "You are right. You were brave and bold, and it has turned out well, despite the dire risk you took. But, my lady, our sons will grow up in a land free from vile sorcery." His voice got hard. "Once we are wed, I swear on the names of the gods that I will mount the Knight's head above my gates."

          So that was what the witch had meant.

          Rosalyn lowered her head. "Yes. My lord."

        

        

         Over the next week, Calwyn's thanes and sworn men descended on the castle for the wedding, gathering to congratulate their lord on his victory and to plan for the future. Seven of Marushan's acolytes had survived, and Calwyn wanted them dead. He would go to war upon them once he and Rosalyn had been wed.

         Rosalyn told none of them the truth.

          If Calwyn learned that she had taken the mantle of the Knight of Sorrows, what would he do then?

        

        

          Eight days after the wedding, Rosalyn awoke in the night.

          Something was wrong. She felt something cold and dark approaching, the Knight's magic burning in her mind.

          "My lady?" murmured Calwyn.

          "An ill dream, my lord," said Rosalyn, standing. The cold feeling sharpened, grew tighter against her mind. "I...feel a bit queasy. Some wine will settle my stomach, I think."

          "Call the servants to get it," said Calwyn, closing his eyes. "You should not walk the castle alone."

          "I will," said Rosalyn. She kissed his cheek and slipped out of the castle. He might kill her, if he learned the truth, but she loved him regardless.

        

 

          Soon she came to the woods, and felt the tingling presence of dark magic. Gray shapes loped through the trees, stinking and rotten. Undead, Rosalyn knew, dead things animated by dark magic. Behind them stood one of Marushan's acolytes, driving the creatures with the lash of his spells.

          They circled about her, black tongues rasping over yellowed fangs. The dark acolyte began chanting a spell, black fire crackling around his fingers.

          Rosalyn smiled.

          She was the Knight of Sorrows, and while she drew breath, no creature of dark magic would walk in Taleisn.

          A sword of azure fire appeared in her hand, and the Knight strode into battle.

 

Copyright 2007, Jonathan Moeller

Cover: "Knight of Sorrows—Marushan's last battle"

What drives the knight into desperate combat?  What burns within?

This illustration was done for the story "Knight of Sorrows" by Jonathan Moeller. The image was made in PSE2 and is completely hand drawn. This is the final big scene in which the Knight of Sorrows fights the dark Marushan who has transformed just for the fight.

 

Copyright 2008, E.J. Mickels, II 

E.J. Mickels II, aka "Hisart", is a multi-talented artist, has a BFAA in Drawing with Minors in Illustration and Graphic Design from the University of Akron. A veteran of the USAF, he has traveled through Europe and most of the USA.

E.J. ventured out as an illustrator and has appeared in The Sword Review, Ray Gun Revival, Dragons, Knights, & Angels, and Fear and Trembling. He also writes and maintains his own website, which contains a small fraction of the art he has produced. He works in any medium and is just as comfortable sitting at a PC with pen and tablet as he is with a chainsaw, airbrush or welder. He has done custom motorcycle and helmet work as well as, in the distant past, worked as a tattooist. He is also a writer; he participated in NaNoWriMo 2005 and maintains his own blog "Sword and Pen" at < www.hisart777.blogspot.com >.

E.J. is currently the ArtWrangler at the DEP magazine Fear and Trembling.