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!

The moon was gazing lazily on the village of Qaiel when Stiel reached it, hand on the sword hilt and ready for anything. It would get ugly, he knew it, the tension held the air.

Tomorrow’s sun will rise in a shroud of blood, Stiel mused, but felt no joy in it. This was what had to be done, for honor, for justice, and for himself. What he had trained for, been born for.

This was his first Ceremonial Stand.

The scattered houses were dark, all of them. A thin strain of smoke could be seen from some of them, but they were obviously covering their fires. He was expected, and fear clung to the quiet crisp night wind.

Stiel kept to the side of the street, trailing the houses’ walls, feeling lucky that this wasn’t happening in the city, where glass windows were common. Here, in the wilderness, windows were small holes in the wall, barred at night, and most of the days as well.

“He will come”, said a muted voice that Stiel recognized at once. It came from a house the green-haired knight just passed.

“How do you know? We scared him off, so we did!” said another voice that Stiel didn’t know. He sidled up to a barred window and tried to peak in through the cracks, but something was shrouding it from the inside, a cloth most likely.

“Because he’s a noble dumbass, you moron!” sneered the thug.

“Did he really kill Falt in cold blood?” asked a third voice, the voice of a woman.

“Yes!” sneered the thug again.

“Aye, he did”, said a fourth voice that Stiel thought belonged to the last of the thugs from the ambush at the Windy Bridge. The knight-in-waiting didn’t think it sounded very believable.

“We’ve been over this, woman”, said the first thug.

“It’s unlikely, that’s all I’m saying”, said the woman. “If you have a quarrel with him, take it out of our village, that’s all I’m…”

“Shut up!” roared the thug.

Right. Two thugs from the ambush, thought Stiel, and then there’s two unknowns, the woman and the first man.

I’ll take my chances.

Stiel went up to the door, and studied it. No light sipping out here either, which should mean that it’s covered. He pushed it lightly, but it didn’t budge. Probably barred, but the cracks between door and wall were wide enough for his blade, so he drew the sword, carefully slid it in, and found the bar at once. Gently, he tried it, and found that he could lift it.

The knight-in-waiting entered the simple house with force, and slammed the door shut behind him, barring it again in the same fluent motion.

He took in the one big room at a glance, seeing a horrified older man slump back towards the fireplace at the far end, and a stunned woman of forty or so years, grasping her plain woolen dress in surprise. The two thugs from the ambush stood by a table in the middle of the road. It was a simple home, with a packed earthen floor, beds made of hay and wool close by the fireplace. Cloth were covering the windows, and the door.

“You!” roared the big thug, and rushed for his club, leaning against the fireplace.

“You’re a liar and a thief”, said Stiel in a stern voice, pointing his sword at the thug, “and your life is now forfeit!”

The other thug snatched his long knife from the table, but backed towards the fireplace and his companion, not leaving Stiel with his eyes.

“Where is Falt, you scum?” asked Stiel, and advanced on the two thugs, while the man and woman backed against the opposite wall. “Where have you hidden him? Tell me!” he roared, making the knfie-thug startle. “And don’t tell me you’ve killed him, you little devils, or so help me by the Gods, I’ll make you pay!”

“We’ll tell you nothing!” roared the thug with the club, advancing. “You killed him!”

“I did no such thing and you know it!”

The knife-wielding thug cast a sideways glance at his companion, and then at the man and the woman by the wall.

“Falt’s not dead?” asked the woman suddenly.

“I don’t know, answered Stiel.” He had stopped his advance on the thugs. “They have him, I believe.”

“Is this true, Sombar?” the woman asked.

The thug with the club called Sombar spat on the floor.

“Oalp, is he speaking the truth?” she asked.

“No he’s not!” screamed the knife-thug shrilly, but the cry was as hollow as the truth in his words.

“You idiot”, muttered Sombar, and raised his club. “Now we’ll have to kill this moron knight, and then take care of those two!” He cast one evil glance at the man and woman. “Don’t move, and you might live.”

“That’s a good idea”, said Stiel in a cold voice.

Sombar took two steps forward, and then swung at the knight-in-waiting. Stiel easily sidestepped, bringing his sword up in time to deflect a low slash from Oalp’s long knife.

“I’ll smash your skull!” roared Sombar, and swung again and again and again. And with every swing came that low knife-slash from Oalp.

Stiel was forced back, not wanting to do a straight-on parry against the big wooden club Sombar was working so fiercely. The green-haired warrior remembered all too well how powerful this man’s swings were, and he couldn’t risk being dazed with the knife coming at him all the time.

He was so preoccupied with staying out of harms way, tiring Sombar’s arms so that he could retaliate, that he didn’t see the woman sneak up behind them.

“You bastards!” she screamed, and hit Sombar hard in the back with a chair.

The thug stumbled, and turned. At the same time, Oalp’s knife came at Stiel.

“No!” the knight-in-waiting screamed, as he deflected the knife, and took a quick step forward.

“Lord!” screamed Oalp, as he realized that Sombar’s club wouldn’t follow his slash this time, but Stiel was faster, turning the parry into an upward slash, tearing clothes, skin and flesh from Oalp’s chest and chin. The man fell back, screaming, but Stiel was already past him.

Sombar swung his club at the woman, who tried to get out of the way. The spikes and wood hit her in the side, twirling her through the air and crashing into the table, where she lay very still.

The thug swung around just in time to meet Stiel’s sword with his club, but this time it was the green-haired man who’s strokes were deadly powerful. Sombar staggered back, making desperate parry after parry, stumbling for his life.

He stepped into the fireplace with his left foot, recoiled out of instinct, and found himself impaled on the knight-in-waiting’s sword.

The club clattered to the floor, as Sombar gripped the blade protruding from just under his chest.

Stiel drove it in, to the hilt, and the thug screamed in agony.

“Where is Falt?” the knight-in-waiting asked. “Tell me, and it’ll be over quick.”

“Go fuck a goat!” gurgled Sombar.

He died hanging on Stiel’s sword.

“What are they doing down there?” said Falt, staring down at the village from a rock a way back.

“Looks like they’re gathering for some sort of council”, said Stiel, and patted his restless horse. He saw that well enough from the horseback. “What do you reckon?”

“I don’t know”, said Falt slowly, “but I’d like to find out. I’ll go down first and see what’s going on.”

Stiel raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. He’d come to trust the man, he was harmless, and this little trip to the village of Qaiel had assured him that Falt had indeed been a victim of the circumstances during the ambush at his Stand.

“Go ahead.”

“I’ll be back before sundown”, said Falt, dropped from the rock, and skidded down the slope towards the village.

Stiel dismounted, gave his horse a friendly pat, and then sat down with his back against one of those supposedly remains of that great mountain of giants. He sighed, looked at the sky and guessed that there were just over three hours worth of day left, then the darkness would start to sneak in. Plenty of time for Falt to get down and back.

He had a feeling, a disturbing feeling that something was wrong. Maybe he was wrong about Falt, or maybe it was something else.

Perhaps I’m just worried, he thought, about the Stand. Time is running out, a steady stream of hours and days, pouring away from me.

Sitting by the big moss-covered rock, almost nodding off, the glory of the Moranian Knights felt very far away.

***

Day turned to dusk, and Stiel was nearing Qaiel. Falt hadn’t returned, and the green-haired knight didn’t want to wait any longer. Besides, he still had that bad feeling, a growing one in his stomach. It was shared by his horse, who snorted and felt skittish.

Qaiel was a modest village, he knew that from his travels to the lowlands and the Windy Bridge that was his Stand, but now it seemed almost deserted. It was really just one dusty street, and some scattered one-story buildings. Simple dwellings for simple people, he thought, as he entered the small village.

“There he is!” a man screamed from a distance. The dusk was making it hard to see him, but he was a way in front of him, perhaps lurking in a doorway.

“Get him!” another man bellowed.

From the houses, five men emerged, all bearing pitchforks and clubs, advancing menacingly from the front.

“What is this nonsense?” snarled Stiel, and laid his hand on his sword.

“It’s payback time!” came a voice from behind, and Stiel knew who it was before he turned his head.

The burly thug from the other day stood there, spiked club in hand, and with him his companion.

“You killed my mate”, the thug bellowed, “and you killed poor Falt in cold blood, who just wanted to trade with you!” The thug then seemed to address his fellow villagers rather than him: “And all we wanted was to trade! Not fight! This so-called knight takes his rites too seriously! Will you kill a curious child next?”

“Liar!” roared Stiel, but he knew he was talking to deaf ears on this one. They may be gullible farmers and hunters, but they were outnumbering him, with five closing in on him, and another two behind him.

Still, vengeance was at hand, so Stiel violently turned his mount and thundered towards the two thugs, who barely got out of the way, cursing.

The thoughts were racing through the green-haired man’s head, as he galloped out of the village, chased only by taunts and curses from the villagers. Had they killed Falt? He still didn’t believe the poor man had been in on it, if he had he’d been in the ambush. So where was he? Dead or alive?

Alive seemed the more likely choice. There was no reason to really kill him, the thugs could scare him to silence for sure, they obviously had a strong hold on both him and the village.

Stiel made up his mind. “I’m a knight”, he whispered to the twilight, slowed down his horse and dropped from its back.

With his sword in his hand, and the shield on his back, Stiel darted from cover to cover, back towards Qaiel.

If nothing else, vengeance would be at hand.

“Well, Falt the Challenger”, Stiel said, looking down on the injured farmer. He had just about stopped the bleeding, and now he sat there, looking very miserable.

“I didn’t mean to…” Falt sobbed, unable to continue. “They made me…”

Stiel held up his hand. He believed the poor man. “Indeed they did”, he said, and shook his head. “And now one of them is dead and the other two running for their lives, I’d reckon.”

Falt quietly sobbed at this.

“Did you know them?”

“They are local men. Hunters and trappers.”

Stiel nodded. Dawn was upon them.

“They stole my mule”, Falt said sullenly.

“That they did.”

***

After they had buried the body, unceremonially, and shared food by the fire, Stiel bade Falt to tell him a little bit about himself. He came from Qaiel, where he had a few sheep and a little patch of dreary land. Food was scarce and he lived a simple life, alone, although he wasn’t shied by the other villagers or anything like that.

“It’s a dull place”, he explained, “where people come to hide or just because they have to be somewhere.”

The lowlands were a harsh place to settle, none of the great stone roads leading here, with little trade with the rest of the kingdom.

“Sometimes the plains people come to trade with us”, Falt said, “but mostly they stay out of Qaiel, and our way. We don’t bother each other much.”

Stiel nodded to that, a much preferred arrangement to the wars that had shaken Morania’s core boundaries barely a century ago, before the plains people and their speakers of the wind had been subdued, forced to peace. There were still tensions, he’d heard at the Academy.

“You know, they have a story about all these rocks and boulders”, Falt said, eager to break the silence. “The plains people that is.”

“Do tell it.”

“They say that the lowlands were once all a great slope around an enormous mountain. On this mountain, the giants of cold and warmth lived, a fearsome bunch it would seem since they used all mankind as slaves and wenches.”

Stiel nodded and poked the fire. It was growing dark.

“One day an old woman, all leathery and thin, came across the plains and approached the mountain. She asked the giants to leave her people, the plains people of course, alone. Naturally, the giants laughed. They had their way with her, in spite of her being ugly, and then ripped her limbs off.”

“Harsh”, Stiel commented.

“Yes. They were in for a surprise though. A great shrieking wind erupted from where the old hag’s arms and legs had been, and this wind flew up, formed a great fist, and slammed down on the giant’s mountain, punching it to small bits and pieces!” Falt said, and stifled a yawn. “These bits and pieces are the rocks and boulders that scatter the lowlands.”

“Is there a mountain, or a trace of one?”

“No. But the plains people have a shrill warcry, and are calling themselves Shrieks, so there’s something in the story I belive.”

Stiel nodded. “Usually, there is.”

They sat silent for a while, staring into the dark. Stiel thought of all the big rocks and boulders he’d seen while entering the lowlands, sometimes covered in moss, other times just standing over the plains grass, a mystery in itself. It was an explanation as any, he guessed, when thinking of Falt’s story, and no more ubelievable than the one of the First King of Morania, Conquerer of the West.

“Tomorrow we’ll ride into Qaiel and restock, your so-called friends got away with most of my supplies”, he finally said, coming back from his contemplations.

Falt yawned and nodded, looking at ease. His nose was broken, and the flickering firelight made his whole face look distorted. Stiel silently promised himself to settle the score with the thugs, should he run into them. After all, right was right, and he was sworn to do the right thing as a knight.

“We’ll sleep now”, he said, but looking at Falt he saw that the man, obviously exhausted, had already laid down his head.