Black Knight - Chapter 6 (Patreon)

~[A Camp, Hidden Outside of the City]~

“The men find no sleep,” whispers the tall, thin man in his native language, standing there in front of the orb. His name is Fee. He’s tall and thin; his short, feathered blond hair is matted with grease, and his pale face is adorned with bags of purple, his eyes that seem to weigh down all the way to his jawbones. “Night terrors plague them, Your Grace,” he explains, lifting his voice somewhat.

Soft light from the crystal sphere glows up toward him, casting shadows up over his sharp jawbones, which deepens the darkness below his gaze. “Der Ritter?”

“Ja,” he replies, looking down at his hand, which has grown thinner since he left on this mission. He lowers his palm, looking back at the scrying crystal. “What would you have us do?” asks Fee. “The girl is still in the city. From what we’ve seen, she’s reestablishing a network.”

“…It is unfortunate,” says the man on the other end of the magical communication. “That we find ourselves in such a day and age as our old fathers before us.”

Fee lowers his head. “I apologize, your Grace,” relents the tall man. “I was too slow. Had I moved sooner, then -”

“- No,” interrupts the voice of the holy man from the other side, to whom he is speaking. The high-priest, the bishop, who is stationed below only the emperor himself in position. Fee works in the employ of the state temple’s secret guard, which is meant to protect the state from monsters and people of unusual threat — deeply unholy things that most priests and men of the cloth are not equipped to deal with. “It wouldn’t have mattered if you went a week before or a year later,” explains his father-superior. “The prophecy would have unraveled accordingly, in another shape. Der Ritter… he would have always come for her. Just as was the case back then.”

“Yes, your Grace,” relents Fee. He’s very tired.

It is quiet for a while. Men move outside of the tent, preparing themselves for their next outing. They lost so many lives in the failed kidnapping that they don’t have the capacity to stage another one. The black-knight, der Schwarze Ritter, had killed most of them. Getting reinforcements here, in the heartland of the enemy continent, is impossible. Especially now after their failed efforts, which had raised alarms all across the nation.

“What of the girl?” asks the bishop.

He lifts his eyes, looking back at the orb. “She’s gaining a foothold,” explains Fee. “Overnight, she and der Ritter have become a common sight,” he explains. “It is as you predicted.”

“Her illness?”

“The same,” he reports. “Our men watching her have not seen an increased pace of purchases of the medicine.”

The spell around the orb begins to wane as the magical current slowly runs dry. “You cannot beat the knight in combat, Fee,” explains the bishop. “And in the city, she’s untouchable,” he says. “Do you understand?”

Fee lowers his head, closing his eyes. “…Yes, your Grace,” he replies as the spell fades and the orb turns dark.

The man stands there, shadowed in the meager light of a few candles. The city is a fortress, a secret castle unto itself, in which the youngest princess resides, shadowed by her bodyguard. There is no real way to reach her anymore after their failure. That chance is gone. As long as she’s in the city, there’s nothing that he can do to get her.

So he’ll have to get her to leave the city instead, to exit its secure walls. If she’s lured into unfamiliar terrain, she and der Ritter will be at a disadvantage. They won’t need to bother fighting the beast if they’re fast enough this time. A bodyguard is only as good as the reach of his sword. If she won’t leave the city soon, they’ll have to force her out.

Fee turns his head to the front of his tent. “Find out which ingredients her medicine needs,” orders the tall man, looking at the soldiers there. “Disrupt and destroy as many shipments as you can. Make it look like banditry.”

The men nod, leaving the tent.

Fee picks up a delicate fabric cloth, lays it over the orb to cover it again, and then lets his hands rest on the pedestal. His eyes close, and his head begins to droop. He’s exhausted. Sleep begins to come to him immediately, even as he still stands.

— A vision of horrific darkness moves past his closed eyes.

His eyelids shoot open, a sharp intake of fresh air pulling into his body as he stares around the tent.

He hasn’t slept in days.

It’s out there… roaming the world within a day’s walk of him. The monster of those old tales was the thing he had hidden from when he was a boy himself, frightened by the stories of his grandfather, who had heard the same tales from his own grandfather. It is the thing that all children fear, and it is the fear they keep with themselves into adulthood, as a secret from their friends and family but very real — a fear of the darkness.

A fear of monsters.

His eyes stare at a candle, the orange light dancing in his dry retinas like mischievous spirits.

A fear of the monster that creates the foundation of all other monsters, the blackness below evil.

They have to be stopped, no matter the cost, before that fear becomes as real to the world now as it was to him as a child, hiding under his blanket at night.

_______________________________

Sir Knight

Acacia hides under her blanket.

A long, somber wail fills the cold basement. Its desperate cry for mercy rings around from wall to wall.

— A pale, ghostly hand shoots out of the blanket, reaching out into the world to grab something.

A second later, her fingers find it and pull it back into the comforting darkness below the blanket. Acacia’s fingers hold themselves firmly wrapped around the elongated, thin glass flask. The cool glass exterior is a contrast to her shaking, warm, and sweaty hands. Without opening her eyes, she pulls the top off and — sitting half-upright — swallows its contents under the assumption that it’s her medicine.

It’s not that it’s time for her to take another dose. It’s just rather that she’s thirsty and there is nothing to drink here except her medicine. An unwise choice has been made.

Her Majesty has the honor of experiencing her very first hangover.

Acacia’s eyes suddenly open, the overly sensitive girl recoiling from the brightness present even under the blanket in the basement down underground as she shoots upright, hacking and coughing out what she has mis-swallowed.

Black miasma leaks from her throat as she exhales Sir Knight, who had been inside the flask she took.

“…Water…” she hacks out, looking at the miasma in exhausted, confused disgust as she flops back down again onto her pillow, pulling the blanket over her head to hide herself from the world.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” says Sir Knight’s haunting voice, filling the dark room below the world.

— Acacia purses her lips, blowing some more air out of her lungs. Another tuft of black smoke leaves, having been left behind in her body. It wafts through the fabric of the blanket, condensing together on the other side of it in the shadow of a giant.

“- Water,” repeats Acacia, doing her best to mimic the undead of the dungeon in both tone and energy as well as smell.

Something grabs the blanket, lifting it up into the air, and pulls it off of her like someone removing a burial shroud from a corpse.

“HEY!” yells Acacia, flinching at her own suddenly loud voice as she grabs the blanket, pulling it back down over herself. “Where’s your shame?!” she yells, covering herself up again and glaring his way over the edge of the blanket with bloodshot eyes.

“— I was just inside of your lungs,” replies Sir Knight dryly. He turns his head, looking down at the duck-patterned carpet he bought the other day. Nice. “Your mouth smells like you would expect it to, Your Majesty.”

Acacia gasps in offense, covering her mouth.

________________________________________

Twenty-seven.

Sir Knight stops, looking around the city now that he’s completed his next lap. He’s been ordered by Acacia to go around the city one-hundred times after bringing her some water.

If nothing else, it’s proving to be a useful exercise in learning the lay of the land.

On his side is a bench that he sits down on.

– Acacia hadn’t specified in her order that he couldn’t take a break.

The giant leans back, observing the people going about their days. Adventurers and the like run down the main street toward the dungeon as the early morning hours come to an end and even the latest of sleepers begin to rise to earn their daily bread. Merchants are long since at work, hawking their wares. Students and apprentices are running around this way and that, either on their way between lectures or on errands.

Sir Knight turns his head, looking at a large building attached to the plaza. It’s partially walled off, with an inner courtyard distancing the structure somewhat from the road — the magic academy. This is the place Acacia had been thrown out of for failing her studies.

Magic is an interesting thing.

Not every sorceress or priest goes to a magic academy. A lot of people, especially adventurers, just kind of follow the practice of learning by doing and have done so for their entire lives. This works out fine when in the dungeon. But for people who are in pursuit of what one might describe as ‘refined’ magical arts, years of study at an academy of magical arts are not to be avoided.

Any chaotic maniac can put together enough magic to make a fireball explode. But pulling that flame together into a tightly coiled form of a thread? Channeling the perfect amount of temperature control in order to use the spell for delicate industrial applications? Such things require extensive practice and learning.

Many students from the academy move on to become either highly desired casters in adventuring parties or in the many fields of the commercial industries. Even the young students, the initiates, who have yet to choose a branch of specialistic casting, are fairly robust in their talents. These initiates aren’t nobles, many of them being from the lower or merchant classes. However, they’re the prospective upper echelon of low-born society.

Magic is free.

So if a poor person becomes a master at magic, they’ve got a ticket to a good life. But given natural limits, talents, and abilities, not everyone has it in them to make it. Dedication and willpower are another large factor in the equation too.

Sir Knight follows a group of them with his eyes, watching the five of them, wearing identical dark-blue uniforms, walk toward the dungeon together.

— There might be something there, though. The concept of unity between social tiers, of cooperation, is born out of a shared desire to move to a better place in life. The academy might be done with Acacia as a student, but they shouldn’t let the academy be done with them as a new force.

Sir Knight ponders. There might be something here. Winning the academy over could be as important as winning over the merchants and the adventurers. They’re a social force; no… they’re a force multiplier.

But how does he get the magical academy to welcome back, support, and even adore a student that they themselves had expelled?

“Well, hello,” says someone from next to him. He turns his head, looking at the stranger. She isn’t the first one to harass him on his way today. “Are you here often?” she asks.

Sir Knight stares at the elf with short, blue, straight hair. He doesn’t know her, but he does recognize her from Acacia’s memories.

Junis.

Acacia, to put it kindly, strongly dislikes Junis. There are a large variety of deeply colorful fantasies and daydreams from within Acacia’s mind, of quite varying kinds of content that he has access to but which he politely ignores. Some of them stem from her time back at the academy, but some of them she still has as recently as last night. Junis is one of those souls that leaves an impression on one, apparently.

“No,” replies Sir Knight. “I usually only sit outside of schools at night,” explains the man in armor, looking back toward the building. She starts laughing next to him. A second later, she sits down on the bench.

“You’re funny. Are you that guy?” she asks. “- The one hanging around Acacia all the time?” Junis plays with one of her ears and smiles. “I’ve heard rumors about you. You’re kind of a big deal here now,” says the elf. She shifts sideways on the bench, laying down and resting her head on his leg, looking up at him from below. Apparently she’s not too bothered that they’re in public and that he’s a complete stranger to her. “I was very surprised. Little, sick Acacia and a big man like you?” asks Junis, shaking her head and tsking, a finger playing with a strand of her blue hair. “Now how did that happen?” she asks curiously, lifting an eyebrow.

Sir Knight looks at her. “That’s just how life goes,” he replies.

“Oooh~?” asks Junis smugly. She lifts an arm, her finger tracing up his breastplate. “Well, why don’t you tell me all about how life is going?” she asks. “Because I don’t see her anywhere, and I think that we can do a little better for someone like…” She crawls her hand up his armor like a spider, tapping her fingers against the metal. “- you.”

“I believe that there is a fundamental misunderstanding here,” replies Sir Knight, looking at the smug elf who is trying to pull off something or other. From Acacia’s memories, he knows that she’s always scheming something. Junis is a master social manipulator. “I work for Acacia,” he explains. “Nothing else.”

Junis stares blankly for a moment. “…Huh…?” she asks as he gets up, her head landing down on the bench. “’Work’?” asks Junis. “Like… work-work?”

“Correct,” replies Sir Knight, walking on to continue his laps around the city.

“Huuuh?” asks the elf in a long, drawn out voice behind him, her rising tone clearly surprised and pleased. It’s like the build-up of her voice is already leading to some idea she has.

Before he can walk off, she’s next to him again, strolling with her hands locked behind her back at his side. “How does poor, sweet Acacia have money for someone like you?” she asks, looking up at him as they walk. “There’s no way.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” replies Sir Knight, strolling onward and looking around for a good corner to lose her at. “Shouldn’t you be getting an education?”

The elf continues to carry her self-satisfied smile, which reminds him of a cat’s pleased face. “I’m educating myself right now,” replies Junis. “Sir Knight.”

So she does know his name.

She clearly knows who he is already. In some form or another, she’s done her research on him, at least enough to know his name and that he’s always around Acacia. But why? Is it just rumors that have made their way through the city to her, or is she still actively digging into Acacia’s life, even if she’s out of the academy?

— The enemy?

Sir Knight looks down at her, wondering if she couldn’t have some connection to the people who tried to kidnap Acacia back then. Surely they still have spies in the city. They won’t have given up after one attempt, not after going through so much trouble to begin with.

…No…

That seems like a reach, or?

“Are you going to be following me now?” he asks.

“Don’t be silly,” replies Junis. “We’re walking together, you and I,” she explains, grabbing his arm. “The real question is, where are you going to take me?” asks the elf, holding a finger over her lips as she stares up at him with large eyes.

Sir Knight stares blankly at her before turning his head back ahead to look down the road. “In a circle for the next few hours,” he replies, continuing on his march.

“Huuuh?” she asks coyly, as if he were playing a game with her.

_________________________________

Ninety-seven.

It is a few hours later.

Junis sits on the bench, panting; her hands are on her knees, and sweat runs down her face. The midday sun has come out in force. There is still ample snow around, but much of it is melting and turning into an unpleasant slush.

“Told you,” replies Sir Knight, looking at her.

“Stop…” She tries to catch her breath, lifting her gaze to look at him. “Stop saying that.”

He shrugs. “Should’a stayed in class,” replies Sir Knight, turning to keep walking. He has three laps left before he can go back to Acacia and start with their actual plans for the day. By now, she should be rested from her debilitation. He needs to start making some more public appearances with her. Now that they’ve handled their first big quest — the den of thieves — she needs to start reaping some of those social fruits.

The guardsmen of the city, the bureaucrats, there will for sure be some people who are interested in talking to them about the issue and maybe even asking about some further problems that need resolving, things that haven’t found their way to public quest boards yet. This is how they’ll get their foot in the door with the social elite of this city, by working their way up.

“Where are you going?” she asks, fully out of breath. She might be a talented caster and a model fledgling adventurer, but her cardio form could use some work.

“Taking another few laps,” he replies.

“- You’re kidding, right?” asks the elf incredulously. “In all that armor? How in shape are you?”

He shakes his head. “- And after that, I might look at some ducks in the park too.”

“…Huh?”

The avatar of total darkness walks away, the sunlight of the day almost seeming to weaken as it graces the area near his presence. The stones of the road come close to shaking as he walks over them. “Quack,” replies Sir Knight.

_______________________________________

“One-hundred Obols a week!”

“No, thank you,” replies Sir Knight.

The guardsman runs after him at his side. “We’ll fastrack you. Get you your own career as an officer started!” he promises.

“I’m already working,” replies Sir Knight.

The man sighs. “Look, what’s it gonna take?”

Sir Knight looks at him but doesn’t stop walking. “I’ll let you know when I find out,” he replies, leaving the recruiter who had been trailing him behind. The city guard has taken notice of him, obviously. It’s fun in a way because a lot of them go out of their way to talk to him. But it’s also annoying, because a lot of them go out of their way to talk to him.

Finishing his hundredth lap, Sir Knight returns to the alleyway behind the adventurers’ guild and makes his way down the stairs, opening the door.

— The room is empty.

He looks around. The bed is made and it’s cleaned up; the smell of alcohol and the lingering problems it brings have been aired out already. Acacia isn’t here.

Sir Knight turns his head, looking back down the alleyway, as he senses where she is.

__________________________________

“You’re late,” says Acacia, sitting there on the bench in the park with crossed arms, her crossed over foot impatiently shaking in the air.

Sir Knight walks toward her, sitting down. “One hundred laps around the city take a while,” he replies, sitting down.

Her finger taps against her arm for a moment, but then she sighs and loosens her posture. “I’m sorry,” relents Acacia. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“I understand,” replies Sir Knight, looking at her. “I would have been upset too if someone had smelled my terrible breath.”

— An elbow sharply hits him in the side, which is a mistake given that he’s an empty suit of armor. Sir Knight looks at Acacia, who is sitting there with closed eyes and pursed lips, doing her best not to give the impression that her elbow is now hurting — a lot. A dull ring echoes out around the park, vanishing into the noises of the city and the serenade of quacking ducks.

“Sir Knight,” she says stiffly, looking his way with a cold glare. “Are you trying to provoke me today?”

He thinks for a moment. “Not on purpose, but now that you mention it,” he starts. “It might be fun to keep trying.”

Acacia sighs and then reaches over to her other side. She pulls out a small bundle, holding it out to him. “…I bought this while you were gone,” says Acacia, showing him the little basket containing small pieces of everything from mixed breads, sausages, cheeses, and fruit. They’re usually meant to be given away as gifts, but it turns out that adventurers took a real liking to them, and they’ve become sort of a staple amongst themselves to take into the dungeon. “I still don’t really understand your eating situation,” explains the once princess, closing her eyes. “But I thought we could share this.” She looks back toward him with one eye open. “Just don’t pull out any goblin organs today, okay?”

Sir Knight looks at the little basket that she sets down between them.

Being a person is a difficult challenge, isn’t it?

“Thank you,” he says, reaching down to take some of the fruit slices there. “How’s your head?”

“Devastated,” replies Acacia, grabbing a sausage and biting into it. “I’ve been drinking water all day, but I think I’m about over it now.” She sighs. “It’s good that I had a quiet day today,” she says, shaking her head and chewing as she talks with her mouth full — rather graceless for a noblewoman. “I wouldn’t have made it otherwise.”

“We’ll save the drinking for your coronation,” replies Sir Knight, causing her to laugh and then hold her head for a second.

“So what’s the plan?”

“We’ve started working over the merchants, the adventurers and the city officials now,” he replies. “Our next step is to work on you.”

Acacia stops chewing, looking back his way. She swallows. “Pardon? What do you…” Acacia stops, looking at him. She narrows her eyes. “- Sir Knight,” says the girl. She reaches over toward him, fumbling with his arm. “What is that?” she asks, pulling out a slip of fabric free from him — an embroidered handkerchief had been wedged in his armor down at his side.

She unfolds it in the air, looking at it and then back at him. The white fabric square with dark lipstick imprinted on it waves in the wind between them.

“Oh,” replies Sir Knight. “You know what? I bet that’s from your friend, Junis,” he says, watching the ducks. Acacia’s hands clench together, as if poison were drawing through her veins.

“- Sir Knight,” she says coldly.

He shrugs, watching the ducks. They’re fantastic creatures. “Are you going to do the thing where you get mad at me because it looks like I was after her?” he asks. “And then I’ll have to go through some convoluted process to make you realize that this was some kind of weird set-up?” he asks. “I’d rather just feed the ducks, honestly.”

— Acacia lifts the basket between them up, scooting over the spot toward him. “Sir Knight,” she hisses again, setting it down on her lap as her leg rests next to his. She takes the handkerchief, neatly and very patiently, folding it together, and sets it down on the bench next to herself, lifting her nose into the air. He looks at her as she reaches into the basket, pulling out a small cookie to give him. “Eat this cookie. This instant,” she orders.

Sir Knight looks her way. He takes the cookie and shoves it into his helmet.

“Do it again, but look happy,” she orders without emotion, pulling out another cookie and smiling, as she turns his way. Her eyes are cold and dead, but the fake smile she is wearing, born of years of formal training at noble tables, is as convincing as can be.

He takes the cookie from her, shrugging. “I’m not very expressive,” replies the hollow suit of armor with no face.

Acacia leans back a little from him, holding the back of her hand over her mouth, and lets out a loud, overly theatrical laugh, her other hand hitting his arm as if he had just told a fantastic joke.

“You good?” he asks.

She looks back toward the water. “As if I’d fall for that snake’s games, Sir Knight,” replies Acacia, looking at him from the side of her eyes. “I can’t stand Junis,” she replies. “That girl wasn’t happy enough with just sabotaging me back at the academy, but now she’s after the rest of my life too,” says Acacia in a very dry tone. She sets the snack-basket off of her lap, placing it to her right, and then leans her head against his arm, holding onto it with her hands. “I bet she’s watching us right now,” mutters Acacia quietly as she stares at the ducks. “I can feel them,” mutters the former princess. “- Her ugly, ratty eyes staring me down from the bushes, waiting for me to explode in some kind of dramatic scene.”

Acacia inhales deeply, calming herself down. “…As if I’d give her the satisfaction,” she says, exhaling.

“So… you’re trying to make her jealous now?” he asks, looking at the top of her head, which is leaning against him.

“Yes,” replies Acacia, narrowing her eyes. The metal of his armor creaks a little as her thin fingers apply a surprising amount of pressure to the plates. “Whatever her plan was, I want her to watch it backfire.”

“Got it,” replies Sir Knight. “So, what’s her problem with you anyway?” he asks.

Acacia shakes her head. “She doesn’t have a problem, Sir Knight,” says the former princess. “She is the problem.”

The helmet turns toward her. “Scary,” he remarks at her explanation.

“I have to be,” replies Acacia, looking up at him and lifting a hand to poke his ‘face’ as if she were being playful with him. “Or the riff-raff will forget their place.”

He nods. That’s a good attitude she has going here. That’s the kind of dominating energy that they’ll need going forward. Junis is the smallest problem in their way. She’s just some girl from some school who has an ego bigger than her footprints. But when pressure comes from politicians, minor nobles, and people of renown, a bit of backbone is going to be exactly what’s required to stand up to them.

Acacia really isn’t useful for fighting in any physical sense, but at these social games, she really is a practiced master — if not a little volatile.

“Sir Knight. Take me out of this park and to a nice dinner, and make a show out of it,” she orders. “I want that girl to hate herself.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” replies Sir Knight, rising. “Maybe tone it down a little, though,” he says, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. “You seem kind of intense about this.”

Acacia looks at him, standing up as she takes his hand. “You don’t understand, dear Sir Knight,” she replies, turning to walk away. “When I become the Queen, I’m not only going to shut down that academy, but I’m going to retroactively take away Junis’ degree too.”

“I feel like that shouldn’t be our first argument when we try to win their support,” he replies. “Let’s get you that food first, then we’ll plot distant revenge schemes on a full stomach, okay?”

“Hmpf,” she lifts her nose into the air, pulling on his arm to get him to walk away with her. The two of them leave the park.

Moments after they’ve walked away, someone who had been watching them from nearby scurries over to the bench, taking the left behind handkerchief and basket, before vanishing back into the overgrown greenery.