“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.

“I saw your mount, Stiel,” said the knight, “and I reckon it is most honorable for both of us if we settle this matter on foot.” The knight smiled.

Stiel nodded, slightly dumbfounded, and took a step out on the bridge. He was shaking slightly, swallowed hard, and tried to calm his breathing. This was it, his third Stand within reach.

“Knight-in-Waiting! I am Karsten of Stemmel, the Bearslayer Knight, and I challenge your Stand. Do you accept?”

“I accept your challenge, Sir Karsten,” answered Stiel in a firm voice. “Get ready!”

Karsten nodded, put on his helmet with a plume of white eagle feathers, and strapped on his shield.

They met in the middle of the bridge in an epic clash, Karsten’s sword clanging hard on Stiel’s blank shield, forcing the Knight-in-Waiting back a step by sheer ferocity. Stiel retreated another step, avoiding the second swipe from the knight, and then countered with a thrust. It didn’t bother the challenger much, though – he easily swiped it wide, and slammed his shield hard into Stiel, who had to stumble backwards to avoid the following sword slash.

Stiel crouched low and managed to halt Karsten’s advance with an upward slash of his sword, almost nicking the challenger’s sword arm. His balance regained, the two warriors cautiously dealt and parried blows, trying to get a feel for one another. Normally, this wouldn’t bother Stiel much, in fact, he’d won several battles at the academy by tiring his opponent, but his left arm was numb, his parries more and more sluggish, and he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to meet the powerful strokes of Karsten’s sword with the shield. It was getting very heavy.

Something had to be done.

The Knight-in-Waiting retreated a step, and managed to wriggle out of the shield strap while doing so. Karsten cautiously followed, first with a careful thrust, but then, as Stiel took another step backwards, he went into a series of chops and slashes. Stiel backed out of the way as much as he could, and met the rest of the attacks with his blade, almost letting one through, and another nicked his shoulder but was taken care of by his own chainmail. The rings dug into his skin, no doubt bruising him.

Karsten took a step back. “Tiring already, Knight-in-Waiting?” he asked. “I am disappointed. I had expected better of you.”

The breather was what Stiel needed. With a roar, he threw the shield at the challenger, who scrambled to get his own shield up to glance it out of his face, off the bridge. Stiel didn’t wait for it to clash into the ravine floor, he stormed his challenger, hacking away with a two-handed grip, forcing Karsten to parry awkwardly with his sword.

The challenger stumbled backwards, got his shield up, but battle frenzy had reached the green-haired warrior now. The sheer power of his downward chops made dents, then cracks, in the shield, finally almost breaking through.

Karsten thrust his sword out in panic, trying to get some room for better footing so that he could meet the furious attacks from the Knight-in-Waiting. He knew he had the upper hand, still armed with both shield and sword, but he also knew that Stiel didn’t want him to be able to make use of the situation.

The thrust cut open Stiel’s right thigh, slashed his side and drew blood, forcing the Knight-in-Waiting to take half a step backwards to avoid further damage.

Karsten wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip. He stormed up, shield in position, getting ready to finish this fight once and for all.

He met Stiel’s foot dead on in the shield, with such a power that he fell to his back, barely getting his shield up to meet another furious chop from the Knight-in-Waiting. The power of the stroke, the heavy impact, slammed the shield’s edge hard into his forehead, opening a gash. He’d have that scar until his dying days, he thought, but he wasn’t sure if that would be an issue, they might not be far off.

“Yield!” bellowed Stiel, and stepped on the challenger’s sword arm, forcing him to drop the sword.

“No!” roared Karsten, and tried to push Stiel to the side with his shield.

The Knight-in-Waiting anticipated this, and casually gripped the shield and tore it out wide, pointing his sword tip to the challenger’s throat.

“Yield,” said the green-haired warrior.

For a moment everything was still.

“I yield,” said Karsten of Stemmel in a weak voice. “I yield, Sir Knight.”

* * *

Stiel looked back at the Windy Bridge from the horseback. He sat straight and proud, his shield freshly painted green, hung by the saddle nob. Further ahead rode Karsten and Falt, who’d decided to leave Qaiel behind and join the two knights for now. “You’ll need someone to look after you, Sir Stiel, or at least your horse if you think you can manage yourself,” he’d said to Stiel, and wouldn’t discuss the matter any further. Stiel didn’t mind, Falt had proven to be a good friend during his Ceremonial Stand.

The Windy Bridge looked almost forlorn in the afternoon sun. Stiel didn’t think he’d see it again.

But he had held it, he had done it. Stiel of the Uthrom highlands had completed his Ceremonial Stand. The green-haired warrior had become the Green Knight.

Possibly Related

• The Green Knight V: The Book
• The Green Knight IV: Spikerock Chasm
• The Green Knight III: Giving Noble Assistance
• The Green Knight I: A Cold Night
• The Green Knight II: The Wise-Woman Calling

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.

Stiel is at peace, fear flees his body, the adrenaline runs off. Calm settles in.

And then a chill creeps up his spine, makes him sit up straight, wide-eyed, suddenly cold.

He looks at the book, a slightly scorched thing with a cover made of skin. There is no text on the cover. He wants to open it, he really wants to open it. Suddenly the world around him is dark, the air he breathes is like liquid silver, his skin feels like ice, and the only warmth comes from within those covers.

Stiel opens the book, releasing a musty smell, a warmth, and all fears go away. Something powerful lingers just beyond his touch, everything looks so sharp and crisp, his muscles tense with an exhilarating feeling, he feels hungry and satiated, aroused and pleased. He feels terrifying, huge, and dangerous.

Stiel has never felt so alive, so present, so above them all.

He slams the book shut with a scream.

* * *

Blinks.

What happened? It is dark, cold, in the middle of the night. The Knight-in-Waiting shudders, disoriented and scared. He sees himself sitting against the tree, quite beyond himself. It scares him.

All is quiet. Not a noise in the night.

Stiel clutches the book and closes his eyes again.

* * *

Blinks.

Stiel wakes up just before dawn.

“You found it,” says the old woman, standing bent over him, heavily clad in a moldy robe. She stares intently on the book, her mouth half open. Stiel notices some drool in the corner of her mouth, the reek of urine and filth around her reminds him of the cave. “Give me,” she says with a shivering voice.

Stiel swallows hard, and looks down at the book he’s clutching to his chest. His arms and hands feel as if locked in iron. Carefully, he unclenches his fists, forcing himself to loosen the grip. It is almost painful.

He hands the book over. The woman snatches it, holds it tight to her chest and chuckles.

“Opened it, did we?” she asks, almost amused, but with a hint of danger in her voice. And something else, something alert and maddening.

“I don’t know,” whispers Stiel. He feels worn out, sitting there against the tree. There is no strength left in him, he can’t bring himself to stand. Not yet.

“Heh! I see,” cackles the woman. “Get back to your Ceremonial Stand, dear Knight-in-Waiting. I have granted your wish.”

Stiel stares at her. “What?”

“A challenger awaits,” she says, and leaves him there.

Possibly Related

• The Green Knight VI: The Final Trial
• The Green Knight IV: Spikerock Chasm
• The Green Knight III: Giving Noble Assistance
• The Green Knight I: A Cold Night
• The Green Knight II: The Wise-Woman Calling

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.

Not much to do other than to take it easy, and try to clear the stars dancing in front of his eyes. At least there was no blood, his scalp was intact.

Stiel continued down the tunnel, which now sloped a lot. The air was still fresh, but getting a bit moist. He could hear drops echo in front of him, and soon found himself in a cavern with a small underground lake. Here he can stand tall, the cavern is roomy. The faint dripping echo filled the cavern, pleasantly reminding him that he was out of the cramped tunnel.

A light splash alerts him, he takes a step from the small lake.

Another one. They are coming from the other side, but Stiel is reluctant to step into the water. Who knows what dwells in it, or how deep it is for that matter. He trails the wall to his right, and finds a way around it, but there is no sign of anything or anybody, and no more splashes are heard.

Another tunnel entrance. Stiel examines it, trailing its opening, which he’ll have to crouch to enter, with the torch.

Then he hears something, from inside the tunnel, some gravel rustling, and a swift swiveling sound.

“What the…” he whispers to himself, and then he understand, and throws himself to the side, just before the rock exits the tunnel entrance and hits the wall on the opposite side of the lake with a cracking sound.

A small sling, he notes to himself, and listens intently. Someone is scuttling away, further down the tunnel. Now he misses both his shield and helmet, although the former would’ve been too bulky to use in the cramped tunnel, and the latter would’ve made it even harder for him to see anything. It must’ve been a really small sling to work in this tunnel.

Stiel enters it cautiously, crouching low and moving as silently as he can. He can hear hoarse voices further down the tunnel, but he can’t make out the words.

Then he sees a light, an eerie glow. The closer he gets, the brighter it becomes, but Stiel is reluctant to turn out his torch, or even leave it. What if his attackers turn out the light? They obviously function better in the dark than he does, and knows the area. What did she say, the old woman? They’ve been too long in the dark, or something like that. Was this what she meant?

The moment later he finds the explanation to the light, when he almost steps on a small little mushroom bright with a faint blue glow, not very strong at all, but obviously just a small stalk with a minimal cap. There must be more of these glowing mushrooms, or larger ones perhaps, down the tunnel.

Stiel peers down, and makes the decision. He backtracks a few steps, and then pins his torch between a couple of loose rocks, making as little noise as possible. Let’s see if he can surprise these cave bandits…

Crouching really low, sword in hand, Stiel moves towards the light, and soon makes out a small cave up front, almost fully illuminated by these small mushrooms, around a bend. It is still a very dim and eerie glow, but it is enough for him to see.

Trinkets litter the cavern floor, along with musty piles of leaf and small twigs and branches, beds of sorts he reckons. A couple of spoons, a pan, some soiled cloths, a ceramic mug and a chamber pot full of small round rocks. The smell is anything but nice, but no excrement can be seen on the floor, which is somewhat puzzling since it was the first thing Stiel thought of.

There is movement inside, and hoarse whispers in tiny voices, but even though Stiel can hear that there are words, he can’t understand them, nor guess what language these bandits are speaking.

This must be it, the book must be here.

Stiel straightens as much as he can, and steps into the little cavern.

“Don’t move!” he says, and holds his sword at the ready.

The small spindly creatures do anything but that, all three of them. One is so startled he, she, or it, falls backwards and cowers behind a rock, hissing something in a weird voice. The other two, however, quickly gather what wits they may have, and throttles the intruder.

The Knight-in-Waiting doesn’t know what to make of these small creatures. They are human, sort of, much like children but with long knotty arms and legs, with grey-looking skin in the mushroom light. These weird humanoids have certainly been in the dark for too long, with big lidless eyes and huge irises filling their milky whites. Stiel find them repulsive, yet somehow he’s not without compassion for them.

“Stand back or I’ll kill you!” he warns, but the first one brings up a club made of some weird looking bone and swings it. Stiel easily deflects the blow, and just in time to meet the other one’s attack, wielding a frying pan. A deafening clang fills the cavern as Stiel meets the pan, which is quite big, with his sword.

“I don’t want to hurt you!”

Then a stone hits his left shoulder square on, making his arm go numb, and the green-haired warrior reassesses the situation.

He retreats into the cavern opening, drawing the bone club wielding little creature after him. A nasty smell joins him there, and he sees that his enemy has soiled himself, all the while grinning, or grimacing, Stiel can’t really tell in the dim light, and there is no way to know anyway. He deflects another blow, and slashes out, but the spindly thing just jumps back, leaving a trail of piss behind him.

Stiel retreats another step, bile threatening to enter his throat, tears filling his eyes. His left arm is waking up somewhat, but his shoulder is sore and swollen.

The swiveling sound alerts him, and Stiel manages to press himself to the wall, just to see one of those small rocks bounce harmlessly beside him. There is power in them at this short distance.

“I need to finish this now,” Stiel groans to himself, and charges the room.

The frying pan wielding creature is unlucky, just now preparing to enter the tunnel. Stiel plants his foot in his chest and tramples over him, grinding his teeth as he hears the creature slam the cavern floor, feels the breast bone collapse under his heavy boot, and hears the spine crack against the rock. No time to worry, to think about this, he reminds himself, and enters the warrior state that made him get through all those harsh years at the academy.

He slashes out against the club wielder, who scrambles backwards in terror, but this creature was never his intended victim. Stiel propels forward, and punches the third one, the one with the dangerous sling, right in its surprised face, sending it several feet up into the air in a spray of blood and teeth. The Knight-in-Waiting regains his balance by slowing his approach with his knee on the rock where the creature had been hiding, turns around in one fluent motion, and nearly cuts the head of the bone club wielding little monster thinking to exploit the situation.

Nearly being the key, because the little devil manages to duck below the sword, and then apparently decides it had had enough, and disappears into a crack in the wall, giggling or crying wildly, Stiel can’t tell.

All is still. The little thing Stiel punched is either dead or out cold, the adrenaline of battle pounds like drums in the green-haired warrior’s ears so he can’t tell if it is breathing or not, and he has no stomach to go and find out. A wet, heavy, nasty stink is starting to fill the room, coming from the first downed creature’s intestines. Stiel retches, staggers backwards, suddenly weak and with tears brimming his eyes. By chance he sees a book just beside the entrance to the small cavern. He scoops it up, hoping it is the one, and then stumbles back out in the tunnel, fleeing from the nauseating stench of the dead creature.

Possibly Related

• The Green Knight VI: The Final Trial
• The Green Knight V: The Book
• The Green Knight III: Giving Noble Assistance
• The Green Knight I: A Cold Night
• The Green Knight II: The Wise-Woman Calling

“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.

The trek was uneventful, going first across the plains, with the supposedly giant-flung rocks and boulders, through Stickle Fields, where the grass was sharp and Stiel’s heavy boots saved his feet from cuts and scrapes. He climbed the Stickle Slide, falling to his knees twice due to treacherous rocks and slides, with small thorny bushes piercing his skin, finding their way in-between the rings of his chain-mail. He was glad he went by foot. The small mishaps didn’t bother him, in fact, Stiel was glad to actually spring to action. Melancholy wasn’t far away, thoughts of failing the Ceremonial Stand, accepting his fate as a Moranian foot soldier, crowded his mind during the trek. Every thorn and cut he got on the way was a welcome reminder that everything wasn’t over just yet.

He almost believed it.

* * *

The wise-woman’s hut was located in a copse of trees. Stiel ventured up the last slope cautiously, listening to the wind ruffling the trees. It was just past noon, and something didn’t feel right.

The Knight-in-Waiting saw tracks in the dirt, shuffling tracks all around actually. No sign of a struggle though, and there was a tiny trail of smoke coming from the hut in the shade of trees. The smoke bent and twirled as it found its way through the leaf-work, and into the wind, where it dissolved after a brief struggle.

“Enter, Knight!” croaked an old woman’s voice from inside the hut.

Stiel pushed the cloth covering the doorway aside and entered the gloomy hut. A thousand fragrances assaulted his mind, and a dampness at that. The hut was smoky, littered with books and kettles, dried spices and animals incased in bowls filled with liquid. There wasn’t a spot of the walls not covered by some trinket or dried fruit, branch, skin, twigs of some plant.

“Welcome,” croaked an old woman sitting by a small table. A mouse skittered across the floor, a spider creeping up her robed body. The hut felt infested with insects, bugs, parasites, and dirt.

“I am Stiel of the Uthrom highlands, Knight-in-Waiting,” said Stiel in a formal voice. “I have come to…”

“I know,” croaked the woman, and stood up with a snap of joints pained with old age. “I know why you have come and why you are here. Hush, fair knight.”

Stiel said nothing.

“I have been robbed,” said the woman slowly. “They stole a book. I want it back.”

“Who are they? And why did they steal a book?”

“Will you help me?” asked the woman, shuffling towards the Knight-in-Waiting. She barely reached his chest, and hadn’t even if her spine would have allowed her to stand straight, which it didn’t. The smell of sweat, blood and urine hit him then, hard and nauseating.

“I will,” said Stiel, and swallowed. “But you will have to tell me more.”

“Heh!” cackled the woman mirthlessly. “They stole my book. I want it back!”

“Who are they, lady?”

“Heh-heh! Lady indeed, lady I’m not, yet they stole it anyway. My book!” she cackled, tapped Stiel on his chest, sidestepped, and smiled a toothless smile. “They are the horrors of Spikerock, the robbers of the dark, the scum of Stickle Pass Beyond!”

Now we’re getting somewhere, thought Stiel. Finally, a task worthy of him, worthy a Knight-in-Waiting. A faint glimmer of hope of actually completing his Ceremonial Stand snuck up his spine, no matter how weird this woman may be, she is in distress, and robbed at that. “What more did they steal than this book?” he asked, almost containing his excitement of the prospects.

“Nothing!” the woman screamed shrilly. “Nothing that matters, nothing that matters!” she continued, calming down in an instant. “Get the book. They are hiding in Spikerock Schasm, just north of here.”

Stiel nodded. “I know where it is. Or about at least.”

The old woman half turned away, wrung her hands, and then lifted her gaze, for the first time meeting the Knight-in-Waiting’s eyes fully on. Stiel felt shaken by that look, warm and cold, aroused and sick all at once. The woman’s eyes were cloudy, the pupils floating with the yellowish whites. Dried blood and broken blood vessels warred with the eyelids, none able to subdue the unwavering powerful gaze.

“Find the book, and I will grant you your wish, as a reward. You will be a knight, Stiel of the Uthrom highlands”, she whispered in a voice not at all croaking and old. “Find the book, forget the rest, bring it to me, and I will make it happen.”

Stiel swallowed hard, squared his shoulders. “I will. How will I know it?”

“You will, it is the only book there,” the woman said, again with the croaking old voice. “Don’t open it! Don’t ever open the book! Best leave it if you cannot abhor to open it, fair knight. Do not open it!”

Stiel nodded. “Understood. I’ll go now,” he said and left the hut, glad to be out in the fresh air. Suddenly he felt how suffocating it had been in there. For some reason, he felt dirty and shaken, his knees suddenly weak. The green-haired Knight-in-Waiting shook it off with an effort, extending his stride away, finding his strength yet again.

“One more thing,” said the old woman, appearing in the doorway. Stiel turned to face her, standing by the edge of the copse of trees.

“Beware of the abominations of Spikerock Chasm,” she croaks in a voice that defies the fresh air, and almost doesn’t carry, barely high enough for Stiel to make out.

“They have been in the dark for too long.”

Possibly Related

• The Green Knight VI: The Final Trial
• The Green Knight V: The Book
• The Green Knight IV: Spikerock Chasm
• The Green Knight I: A Cold Night
• The Green Knight II: The Wise-Woman Calling

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.

The green-haired young man did, however, doubt that it would ever come to that. His resolve was there, but the despair of impeding failure crept into the back of his head, chilling his spine in a way that the cold wind never could. It was but half a moon left of his time at the Stand, and had he not proved himself by the time the full moon glared at him yet again, the Stand would be a failure, and his future as a knight would be at the mercy of the Noble Brotherhood’s council. He knew what they would say, knew that his chances of being permitted to join the Moranian knights were not even slim, they were non-existent.

His brush with the rogues of Qaiel counted as one Ceremonial Stand, one of three needed, but that was it. No knights passed through here, no one challenged him, and there was no one arriving to challenge either.

At this time, when things were as they were in the world, Stiel felt that it was a foolish old tradition. When he was younger he’d had another point of view, but with the great shadow in the west, the continents greatest force – the Empire – clearly amassing its armies for war yet again, Morania should be taking good care of its strong sword arms.

The Knight-in-Waiting didn’t doubt the rumors that war was on the kingdom’s doorstep, Morania being the last strong western nation of old not to fly the Imperial banner, surely a thorn in the eye for the all-powerful mysterious Emperor.

Neither did Stiel doubt that he would not fight in this impeding war, but he didn’t want to do it on foot, with the commoners. He wanted to lead, and he wanted to gain fame and glory with the Moranian knights, a legendary force on the battlefield, feared and powerful.

Stiel sighed. Half a moon left, and not a challenge in sight.

It would take another hour or two with his mind lost in the cold dark night before he would let his dreary contemplations go, and get his rest.

Possibly Related

• The Green Knight VI: The Final Trial
• The Green Knight V: The Book
• The Green Knight IV: Spikerock Chasm
• The Green Knight III: Giving Noble Assistance
• The Green Knight II: The Wise-Woman Calling

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!

Possibly Related

• Quest for Knighthood V: Retribution
• Quest for Knighthood IV: The Village of Qaiel
• Quest for Knighthood III: Scattered Rocks
• Quest for Knighthood II: The Stand
• Quest for Knighthood I: A Man With Green Hair

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.

Possibly Related

• Quest for Knighthood VI: The Stand, Yet Again
• Quest for Knighthood IV: The Village of Qaiel
• Quest for Knighthood III: Scattered Rocks
• Quest for Knighthood II: The Stand
• Quest for Knighthood I: A Man With Green Hair

“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.

Possibly Related

• Quest for Knighthood VI: The Stand, Yet Again
• Quest for Knighthood V: Retribution
• Quest for Knighthood III: Scattered Rocks
• Quest for Knighthood II: The Stand
• Quest for Knighthood I: A Man With Green Hair

“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.

Possibly Related

• Quest for Knighthood VI: The Stand, Yet Again
• Quest for Knighthood V: Retribution
• Quest for Knighthood IV: The Village of Qaiel
• Quest for Knighthood II: The Stand
• Quest for Knighthood I: A Man With Green Hair

The burly man had approached the bridge, holding a wooden club with some rusty spikes, looked around, shrugged and then left. Stiel was glad for it, he had reeked of shit and disease, or just plain old stink, it was hard to tell which in the crisp air. No acceptable challenge, that meant that he was glad to be rid of him.

And now, a few days later, a second man approached, on a mule it would seem. Stiel stood on a rock, they laid littered all over the place here as well, partly covered in moss and lava. He had made his camp in the shade of one, built a simple shelter and dug a fireplace. They served as lookout points as well.

The man wore simple clothes, a farmer that had scourged his neighbors for necessary equipment for this endeavor, Stiel thought.

He knew that the man would challenge him, in spite of him being able to cross the small chasm without any real effort. The man’s sword that made a rhythmic clunky sound hitting against the plain wooden shield told him that.

“Ho, my good man!” he called, having jumped down from the rock and pulled on his hauberk and fastened his sword belt. His shield and helmet lay by the bridge’s foot.

“Ho to you, knight!” the man called back. He wasn’t far away now, so he dismounted and tied his mule to a bush, a scraggy old animal with brown fur and discolored spots. The beast started to devour the rash plains grass, at first with some doubts, but then finally settling for it.

Stiel stood firm while the man, appearing to be around his age, perhaps a bit older, fumbled with his sword and shield. It was simple equipment, and as far as he could tell, the man only wore thick layers of cloth, no real armor. He did put on a fur chestpiece, but it didn’t look much to the world.

“I challenge you, knight!” the man bellowed.

Stiel nodded. His honor forbade him to decline a challenge. “On foot, I take it?”

“What?”

“You challenge me to a melee battle on foot, I take it?”

“Yes, yes!” almost screamed the man, somewhat flustered. He looked around anxiously.

“We’ll cross swords”, Stiel said, but inwardly he shook his head at the poor state his challenger’s weapon was in, with rust eating its blade, “on the bridge then.”

Moments later, the two men faced off on the bridge. Stiel knew he frightened the pitiful man, it was all that the farmer could do but not to clack teeth. He knew why, as any onlooker would, seeing the poor posture and arms that the man sported, and then the strong pose of the Knight-in-Waiting, a trained warrior.

“I am Stiel of the Uthrum highlands, Knight-in-Waiting making this Stand”, said Stiel in a formal voice, as the custom bade. “You shall not pass.”

“My name is Falt of Qaiel and I challenge you”, stumbled the man, obviously uncertain of what he should say.

At that Stiel advanced, and Falt swung his sword in a wide arc, panic in his eyes. The Knight-in-Waiting easily deflected the blow with his shield, and made a few thrusts just for the sake of it, not actually looking to hurt the man.

Falt screamed with pain, as Stiel’s tip nicked him in the side despite this. The man was so unsteady on his legs that he’d stumbled forward, following his initial swing, that he almost threatened to impale himself on Stiel’s sword.

Stiel took half a step back, slashed out at the rusty sword, and almost managed to disarm poor Falt, who jerked it out of the way just in time, a stinging buzz in his hand.

A frenzy overtook the farmer then, screaming and wildly thrashing his sword and shield about, in no way harmful for the skilled Knight-in-Waiting. Stiel dodged a blow, parried another, and took two others with his shield. This man is a danger to himself, more than to me, he thought, as he waited for the breath to leave the crazed would be berserk.

Stiel’s horse neighed and made a thrashing sound from his small camp on the other side of the bridge.

“What the…” the green-haired man said, and managed to sneak a peak over his shoulder.

There, two men were trying to calm down Stiel’s horse, the beast not wanting to go with the unknown robbers, while a third was rummaging through the Knight-in-Waiting’s belongings, taking as much as he could.

“You bastards!” Stiel silently growled, turned towards his now very scared challenger, out of wind, and out of luck it would seem. Two quick steps forward, a quick feint to the right to open up Falt’s defenses, and then following up with the shield, slamming the farmer’s face hard and sending him to the ground in a blur of spurting blood.

“I didn’t…” started Falt, just before the hit actually registered in his head and he lost his bearings for a time, hitting the bridge without managing to keep a hold of his sword, the plain shield only staying with him due to the strapping that held it fast.

Stiel had already turned and was spurting towards the camp.

“Hold, scavengers, or I’ll chop you to pieces, you scum!” he screamed, enraged.

The one rummaging through Stiel’s camp took off, arms full of trinkets, pelts from Stiel’s hunting, and some other things that the Knight-in-Waiting had taken with him on the trip.

The other two, however, stopped fussing with the horse and drew weapons. One had a simple sword and a long knife, while the other had a spiked club. Stiel recognized him as the burly and foul-smelling man from a few days past.

Stiel slowed down somewhat as he neared the two, meeting the club’s downward blow with his shield, and actually dodging the low slash of the sword.

“You’ll regret this!” he bellowed, and struck out with his shield, forcing the burly man back, lashed out with a thrust of his sword, nicking the other thug in the thigh but nothing more.

The club came at him again, with quite some strength behind it this time, and Stiel had to deflect it to the side with his shield for fear of going numb with the blow. Another swing followed, with the same action from the green-haired warrior, but the pure strength behind the blows forced Stiel to just parry the simple but effective slashes from the other fellow.

“We’ll take your armor too, good Sir!” spat the club-wielder, as they forced Stiel backwards, much thanks to his swings. “And piss on your corpse!”

It was obvious to the Knight-in-Waiting where the danger lay here, so he dodged the next high-swung club, spurted to his right, towards the sword-wielding thug, and slashed out at his throat. The thug, not being fast enough to parry the attack safely, dropped to the ground and rolled away.

Stiel felt the club’s spikes gash his left shoulder as he spun about, but he ignored it and slammed the shield hard, flat side first, into the thug, who staggered backwards, more chocked than hurt, but somewhat dazed nonetheless.

That gave him time. At a flick of the hand, he loosened the shield’s strapping, turned and sent the other thug, just getting to his feet, sprawling to the ground again with a well-aimed kick in the belly. He then spun about and threw his shield, side first, at the club-wielder, who’d gotten his bearings again and was going for Stiel’s exposed back.

The shield hit him square in the throat, making him fall to the ground in agony, a scream dying with the lack of air.

Stiel spun again, and met the thrust from the other tug with his sword, sidestepping a poor knife-slash, and then he advanced, a series of high chops, which the thug had to parry using both sword and knife for fear of letting them through his defenses and cleaving his head. Stiel forced him back a step, and then another, with his seemingly ferocious assault.

Suddenly the green-haired warrior went down almost to a knee, and slashed low, upwards, under the thug’s parry, opening up his gut, spilling blood and entrails, a hot steamy mess spraying him.

Stiel spun yet again, just to see the other thug stumble away, he’d soon crossed the bridge and was stealing Falt’s mule, fleeing. Falt himself sat on the bridge where he’d fallen, trying to stop his nose from bleeding, looking thoroughly miserable.

The Knight-in-Waiting glanced at the dying thug on the ground, his hands trying to stop his life from running out of him, but the dirty puddle on the ground and the lack of strength in his eyes, in his movements, was telling enough.

Stiel lowered his sword. All was still.

Possibly Related

• Quest for Knighthood VI: The Stand, Yet Again
• Quest for Knighthood V: Retribution
• Quest for Knighthood IV: The Village of Qaiel
• Quest for Knighthood III: Scattered Rocks
• Quest for Knighthood I: A Man With Green Hair