Aldric relied on every ounce of strength and patience during the arduous descent down the icy mountain. The path was the same, but everything differed from when they had climbed the peak. Sir Emeric had led the way during the ascent, as the gods and the Thorne King intended, and that was how Aldric also liked it. The young squire knew his place and found his role as subject and helper to his knight comfortable—safe. Now, because of a haunted lantern, that was gone. He was the one in charge, not Emeric.
Aldric was the benefactor of the finest training in all the kingdom, practicing with other knights and squires in the shadow of Thorne Castle. But no instructions had prepared him for his present situation; no training on dealing with magical artifacts discovered in unchartered caves. The weight of the responsibility to take care of his cursed mentor left Aldric feeling woefully ill-prepared to navigate the journey home and the frozen trail in front of him.
“Don’t worry, sir. We can do this,” Aldric called out, trying to rally his inner courage, desperate for Emeric to speak.
No response came. The squire stole a glance at his mentor. Emeric’s posture remained perfect—his back straight and sword sheathed at his hip as he sat in the saddle strapped to Demon—as if everything was normal. Aldric did not know how the knight kept his seat, perhaps because of the years of training or maybe due to something crueler…the dark magic that controlled his soul. It doesn’t matter.
“I will do this… I will get you home,” Aldric promised and turned away, unable to bear looking at the man he idolized. Unwilling to gaze into the knight’s eyes—dark and lifeless like a child’s doll—wide open, never blinking, staring straight ahead, yet fixed on nothing.
“At least,” Aldric ran a trembling hand through his long locks. “I hope, by the gods, that I can,” he whispered, hoping the stiff, frigid wind would be mighty enough to usher his prayer to the heavens… and to the merciful ears of the gods.
The path narrowed near the base of the cliff, and the dangerous bridge appeared as the group rounded the corner. A stumble here would mean death for both men and their horses. Demon hesitated—ears twitching, nostrils flared. The horse had been with Emeric since the battlefield of Gumarich, carrying him through more bloody battles than Aldric could even imagine. The steed obeyed Aldric without protest, which frightened him. It was as if the horse understood something was wrong with his knight and that the man astride him was no longer alive, yet not dead either, but in a cruel limbo that hovered between the two realms.
“Steady now, Demon. Easy as we go, Blaze,” he instructed the stallions, trying his best to keep his tone calm and assured, trying to emulate his mentor. “Hold tight, sir,” Aldric called out as they entered the bridge and the final stretch before they were off the mountain.
Slowly, he maneuvered Demon—with Emeric astride his back—and Blaze, tasked with carrying the cursed relic within the satchel tethered to his saddle, across the narrow bridge spanning the gorge at the base of Megiddo Mount. The frozen planks creaked and groaned beneath his boots. Aldric paused, giving the old wood time to adjust to his weight and that of his party, waiting for the sounds to cease, careful not to look down…
“It would be easy to disappear,” Aldric said, unable to stop himself from contemplating abandoning his knight on the mountain and with Sir Emeric, the life of a squire.
He could do it… disappear into one of the outer regions of Iosia. His skills and training would make finding a stable boy or farmhand position easy. It would be a life far below that which he dreamed of, one shadowed by a degree of shame, a life of a coward…
“But it would be a life.”
Blaze released a long whinny as they exited the bridge. He stomped his front hooves excitedly on the solid, flat terrain at the mountain’s base. He gratefully nuzzled the back of Alric’s neck. Aldric released the breath held tight in his chest since they had stepped onto the bridge.
“Blaze, settle down, boy.” Aldric’s tone was playful despite the command.
He peered up at his faithful horse, tears forming in his eyes as shame flooded through him. Like the knight he serves, a squire pledges loyalty despite the risk of harm…even death. Now, that oath was more than words; it was real.
“I can’t leave,” Aldric said, needing to hear the words. He turned, held the side of Blaze’s head, and stared into the dark brown eyes watching him warily. “Besides, if I did, I’d have to sell you. I’d never leave you behind, boy. Aside from Emeric, you’re the only family I have.”
He pressed his forehead against Blaze’s and wept. For the first time since being chosen to squire the kingdom’s most decorated knight, Aldric feared the future.
“I’m scared, Blaze. I’m afraid of my future.”
Aldric wiped the tears away with the dirty sleeve of his tunic and stared over at the knight he revered—a man with hollow eyes—seated on Demon’s back.
“But, I’m terrified that you shall have none, Emeric.”
Hours faded into days as they journeyed from the base of Megiddo Mount towards Caelius. Each slow, calculated step crushed a bit more of Aldric’s soul. They traveled by moonlight, stopping for short naps during the day. Or at least Aldric napped. He did not know if his knight slept behind the vacant eyes that never closed.
With the lands of Andoria flat and sparsely populated, Aldric did not have to walk beside Emeric to protect him. Riding Blaze rested the squire’s weary legs, allowing for slightly faster travel. Still, with Emeric bobbing to and fro in rhythm with Demon’s slow steps, the difference in speed was hardly noticeable. Despite the meandering pace, Aldric remained vigilant, keeping Demon’s reins securely tied to his stallion’s saddle.
They had not encountered anyone since departing the mountainous southern region. Aldric was unsure if it was due to luck or the blessings of the gods, or a bit of both. Whatever the reason, he was thankful he did not have to explain the knight’s cursed condition nor defend him from thieves or the remnants of Onyx loyalists scattered throughout the kingdom. Aldric knew he was a fair swordsman. And, if he was honest, far better than fair. But no knight could defeat a gang of rebels armed with daggers and dark magic alone. Not even the mighty Sir Emeric, Aldric reminded himself.
For a fortnight, they rode and camped and rode again. Each night, the moonlight led them closer to home. And, Alric hoped, closer to a cure for Emeric. The glow from the lantern remained steady, a pale amethyst haze escaping from between the bag’s coarse fibers. The flames’ siren’s calls had lessened. The allure diminished with each mile they journeyed away from Megiddo and the cave. By the time Aldric and Emeric reached the region of Caelius, only faint whispers reached the young man’s ears.
“I think the lantern’s power is almost gone now that we are so far north.” Adric peered over at Emeric and shook his head. “But why have you not returned to your old self, my friend? What will it take to break this spell? Free you from this wretched curse?”
They reached the banks of Lake Revan as the sun’s final rays descended over the horizon. Home was on the horizon’s edge… where the sun disappeared, and less than a day’s journey. Yet, riding straight through at such a late hour was too dangerous. No one in their right mind, nor most without their wits, dared travel through Gidot Wood at night. Not even the legendary Sir Emeric Kierterad—Royal Knight of the Thorne king, slayer of giants, breaker of siege lines—was that foolhardy, even in his prime.
Locals called the royal woods cursed. Aldric knew that was untrue. Emeric’s face displayed what a true curse looked like. No, Gidot Wood was not cursed. Nor was the forest haunted. Still, it was dangerous. Sentinels, shape-shifters loyal to the king and more sadistic than the Onyx magicians exiled in Valdisia, invaded the woods at night, hunting other beasts…or men foolish enough to wander in.
“Whoa, boy.” Aldric pulled back on Blaze’s reins. “We’ll stop here for the night. No Onyx sympathizers will dare wander this close to the capital or King Rumilar.”
Aldric swung his leg over Blaze’s back and jumped to the ground. With a swift, practiced movement, he reached up and guided the knight down from his mount. Emeric offered no resistance, his body following the squire’s lead, his limbs stiff and automatic…
As easy as leading a pig to slaughter, Aldric thought and winced, disgusted with himself.
“Should have you safely back at Thorne Castle tomorrow night, Emeric.”
Aldric, sleep-deprived and exhausted from the burden of the quest, set up a proper camp for the night. He pitched the tent just under the tree line, a short distance from the lake’s crystal clear water, not wanting to be exposed nor too near the prime watering hole for all manner of creatures in the region. He built a small fire and fed Emeric spoonfuls of cold broth like a child. The knight swallowed without awareness.
“I told you not to touch it,” Aldric said, his voice little more than a breath swallowed by the wind. “Why do you never heed my words?”
He tossed the broth in his bowl onto the grassy knoll, unable to stomach any more.
“Why couldn’t you listen? I may be a commoner, but I’m no simpleton, Emeric. You’re always so damned stubborn!”
A proper squire would never dare dream of speaking to his mentor, or any knight, in such a manner. In his cursed condition, Emeric was no longer a knight or mentor, nor alive—not really…not in the ways that mattered.
“Emeric, you always told me to never trust the pretty things. The most dangerous women and foes are not cloaked in shadows but veiled in silks.”
Emeric did not answer. He sat beside the fire, his mouth slightly open, lips cracked, breath foggy like a slumbering man—if sleep came with eyes wide open and a vacant mind.
Aldric didn’t sleep. All night, his thoughts raced inside his head faster than the rapid beats of his heart beneath his tunic. The most treacherous portion of the journey was behind them. Yet, he was more afraid than at any moment since departing the cave. Even crossing the rickety bridge over the gorge had not conjured the level of dread and terror pumping through his body. He feared entering the city of Caelius and leading the cursed knight through the castle gates.
“How am I ever going to explain this? To the royal command? To the Thorne King?” Aldric whispered to the night.
He stared at the saddlebag and the faint purple light seeping out. It pulsed slowly, rhythmically, like it was waiting…like it knew.
THE END of Part 2.
The final part of The Hollow-Eyed Knight Tale will drop next week.
Until then, share this with someone who believes in magical whispers and lost legends.
