Stiel felt weak, he was shivering, and his shoulder ached. The Knight-in-Waiting was nauseous, but he couldn’t tell if it was from his ordeal in Spikerock Chasm, or because of the knight who stood on the other side of the Windy Bridge.
“Stiel,” greeted the knight.
He was clad in chainmail and a brown hauberk, casually leaning on his shield, bearing the mark of the bear. Stiel had heard of him, he was his senior by some ten years or so, and of the Stemmel family. A sturdy man, square-faced, calm, and a renowned warrior. His black horse were tethered to a tree a few steps from the bridge. Read more
Stiel stumbles out of the cave, soaked in sweat and shaking. He barely remembered his shield and helmet, something seemed to be following him, and he kept expecting one of those small rocks to hit him in the back. None came, although he heard something shuffling about in the tunnel. Probably that little hideous creature, that abomination from the darkness.
Now he sits with his back to a tree, a short distance from the cave, looking at the dark entrance. The cool evening air feels ever so sweet after the suffocating moist and terrible smells of Spikerock Chasm. He keeps his sword at hand, the shield and helmet lays thrown by his side, and he clutches the book intently. His shoulder aches from the hit, and the left arm feels numb.
For a while, he just watches how his panting turns to soft breathing, clearly visualized by his warm breath in the cool evening air. The sun has set, not long ago it seems, and the stars and the moon enlighten the world. Read more
Stiel could see how Spikerock Chasm got its name, the gorge was located in a small forest of spiky rocks, cracked boulders, and beaten ground. He had, however, no problem finding the entrance. Leaving the afternoon sun behind, Stiel entered the Spikerock Chasm, a lit torch in hand. Carrying his shield in such cramped quarters was out of the question, so he left it close to the entrance. At first, it seemed like the cave beyond the entrance would lead nowhere, but the Knight-in-Waiting soon found a tunnel in better shape, and he began walking, having to crouch slightly to avoid banging his head in stalactites hanging from the ceiling. At one point, the green-haired warrior thought that he should have brought his helmet, but he had left it with the shield, to save his head from bumps bound to happen. However, it would’ve obscured his vision ever so much, so the decision to leave it behind was sound.
Suddenly, something moved in front of him, just outside of the torch light, moving deeper into the tunnel. A few powerful strides after whatever it was later, and Stiel sorely missed the helmet, banging his head into the ceiling. Read more
Stiel set out at dawn. Stickle Pass wasn’t far from Windy Bridge, but the trail was rocky, twisted, and not suitable for a horse’s hooves. The green-haired Knight-in-Waiting didn’t want to risk his horse’s health for such a short trek, so he went by foot, the shield swung over his shoulder and the longsword in its scabbard by his side, helmet hanging by the belt.
“Beware the wise-woman,” was Falt’s parting words. “She is a witch and not to be trusted.”
The farmer had volunteered to accompany him, but Stiel had refused. “This is my task, and my battle,” he’d said, “and besides, I travel faster on my own.”
The chain-mail chafed, made him sweat. It felt heavier than usual. Read more
A few days later, Falt arrived with provisions from the village of Qaiel. Together, the Knight-in-Waiting and the farmer had a pleasant day, salvaging skins from the furry possums that roamed the plainsland.
“The old wise-woman asked for you”, said Falt that evening.
“Oh?”
Stiel had heard about the wise-woman before, an old crone living in Stickle Pass not too far from the Windy Bridge. It was what the villagers called the wilderness, and that made them think of her as weird. The old woman had their respect, however, because of her potions, salves, and the help she offered women bearing children, or wanting to. She was as close to a midwife as anyone could remember Qaiel having, she just didn’t live there. The green-haired young man had never heard her name spoken. Read more
Since I get a few questions every now and then as to my own projects and how they are faring, I figured I’d try something new, at least for me. You see, I’m a pretty private person, and I rarely want to talk about how I’m doing, especially when I’m doing good or great. Boasting is a bad thing where I come from, and sometimes this is holding me back. In short, I don’t like to pat myself on the back.
However, given the amount of e-mail I’m getting (not overwhelming, just enough for me to consider as a “problem”, for lack of better word), there is some interest as to what I’m up to, so I figured I’d try and do monthly status reports for a while, see how it fits. I might also work as a spur for me, something I’ve tried before with the OrnTales.com project, now a part of this very site.
So this is the first status report, tackling July 2008, even though there are a few days left. I doubt everything will change in that time, but if it does, I’ll let you know for sure. Read more
The sun had already set, and a chill wind caressed the Moranian lowlands, making the sharp plains grass lay low. It was a cold night, and a night for contemplating.
Stiel of Uthrom, the green-haired Knight-in-Waiting, hardly felt the cold. It was partly due to his heritage, the highlands were a harsh place to grow up in, but also because his mind was far away from the present. He sat on one of those rocks, said to be the scattered remains of the giants’ big mountain, gazing into the starry sky, not caring nor noticing that the fire had faded into glowing embers, biding their time or gasping for wonderful air to flare yet again.
The Knight-in-Waiting thought of his mother, of the Noble Brotherhood, and the stupid tradition of a people who really didn’t have the luxury of turning away a strong warrior. Stiel was honest with himself, he had excelled at the Academy, and should he only be able to prove himself in this, his Ceremonial Stand, he’d be on his way to greatness and glory. He didn’t doubt that. Read more
The blood was sticky already, but the assassin didn’t grunt or even slump, barely recognizing the gash in the side’s existence. He was a trained killer, a master of his trade, dangerous and always present and alert. His heart had calmed, the adrenaline back in its stores, ready to rush through the killer’s veins again, give him the extra strength, focus, even luck needed in times of need. Read more
I’ve reached a decision. I will consolidate my fiction writing under one banner, namely a subdomain under tdhedengren.com, the domain hosting the very blog you’re reading. It’ll be a separate entity, this fiction section of my site, since I don’t want to mix things up too much. Many thanks to those who weighed in on this matter in my previous blog post, and also to those who sent me e-mails of encouragements. It’s interesting to note that none was against this move, although some pointed out that the branding of the various worlds, whereas there are such, like Orn would be less persisting should I decide to consolidate the writing. That was also the original idea with OrnTales.com, enforcing the brand further beyond my writing by having it housed on a dedicated site.
No more, soon. I’ll announce my plans in the near future, and perhaps use the Easter holiday free time to setup a temporary site, and move the OrnTales.com content there. It would be nice to start The Green Knight story on its intended place.
Again, thank you for your input, dear readers. I appreciate it!
Stiel watched the soon rise from horseback. It was shrouded in red indeed, blood had been spilled and so the Heavens cried.
He had ridden out of Qaiel before dawn, after helping the woman with her wounds. She’d gotten away with a broken arm and some bruises – lucky, Stiel thought. They had found Falt in an old outhouse, tied up and dazed, but alive and fairly well. The farmer had cried out of joy, and vowed to come and visit the knight-in-waiting, bringing provisions, in a few days time. And of course he vouched for the green-haired man, telling the villagers – all woken up and gathered – what’s been happening.
Stiel’s name was cleared, justice served.
The first challenge of the Ceremonial Stand was over. It wasn’t a noble duel, or a jousting challenge from a knight, as would be ideal and the stories told, but still. The knight-in-waiting had fought for honor and justice, and for his ideals, which was good enough.
Two more to go.
Stiel came upon the Windy Bridge, feeling numb. He wasn’t sure if it was the cold morning winds and the rain in the air, or the blood spilled on his hands.
Washing it away just didn’t help. The red sun had told him that.
So ends Quest for Knighthood.
Stiel’s adventures will continue in The Green Knight, available early 2008!
