Charlie Bright - The Knight of Day

Come young princeling, sit by the fire and hear an old man speak. I know what they say about me, boy, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. The fire is bright and warm and I only wanted to share a story with you. I see you smiling. You like stories, do you? Well, this is a story of magic from another age, a tale of betrayal, and a terrible and endless curse. Don’t shiver so, lad, you’re safe enough here, protected by thick walls and your father’s many strong knights. There, good, all settled in? Then I’ll begin.

Few alive today remember the tale of Kavvish and Spyre, two brothers born into slavery in the oasis at the heart of the great desert. Don’t interrupt now, boy, there is an oasis in the desert, and just because you haven’t seen it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Am I going to be dealing with your interruptions all night or may I go on? Very good.

Kavvish was the older brother, with dark hair and from a young age sprouting a beard that Mephistopheles himself might have envied. Spyre, the younger brother, was smooth faced and, I like to think, kinder somewhat around the eyes. The brothers were slaves and were alike in only one way, in the terrible hatred they bore for the raiders who had pillaged their home and snatched them away. These raiders had left them with no family but each other, whipping them, starved them. The sort of thing that your father would never tolerate here, and for that matter neither would I.

Kavvish was cleverer, perhaps, and despite his angry heart, rarely spoke a word. Spyre liked talking. He talked to the other slaves, he told them tales of his near-forgotten home, and he spoke in low tones against the raiders, sometimes within earshot of their terrible leader, Sable. See now, you’ve heard of Sable, haven’t you? Well, it’s easier sometimes for bad men to become legends than it is for learned men.

Sable the Raider King heard Spyre complaining when the younger boy was perhaps ten. It was understandable, so far as complaints go, for the boy was shoveling a camel’s… er, dung, and the shovel had just snapped in two. Nonetheless, Sable spent an hour whipping the flesh from Spyre’s once-smooth back. When the raider tired himself, he went to his great white and red tent to be… entertained by the slave girls, and told his men to continue whipping Spyre until sunrise.

By the morning, the boy was nearly dead. As the sun rose from the desert sands, Spyre’s face twisted in foolish anger that the sun had not risen hours earlier. He tried to rest, but sleep came hard in the day as the desert heat burned his flesh. In his agony, Spyre swore binding oaths to ancient gods and devils of the night. He begged them for healing, and in exchange he offered to live his life by moonlight. Perhaps those powers heard him, for the boy lived.

After his whipping, the years passed as they tend to do, and Kavvish worked for the raiders by day and Spyre through the night. And together at dawn and dusk, they plotted the destruction of Sable and his wicked band.

Kavvish was put to work sorting and polishing treasure, and when the raiders returned from their attacks on innocent villagers and fat merchants, their mounts were laden with many things, from gold and mysterious objects to the pale-skinned women of the outer lands. As he cleaned and sorted, Kavvish labored to discern the secrets of the strange magical items, always seeking power to help in his escape from the raiders. In time, Kavvish learned to read and taught his brother, using the books embossed in gold and crusted with jewels that the raiders had taken over the years for the value of their covers, never imagining that within their simple pages lay far greater treasures.

As Kavvish delved into old and dusty tomes, Spyre was made to tend to the slave women through each night. There were many such women, and their numbers seemed to grow with each week. The slaves had a host of ills, from broken legs to… to ailments that young princes cannot yet fathom. And they were ill-treated in ways you should not understand. He loved those slaves, I think. Spyre was a good man with a big mouth, and though he hated the raiders, those many women who had done nothing wrong in all their lives, I think he loved them all. That is why he too studied the books, not for arcane knowledge, but for wisdom that could heal the sick and wounded.

Still more time passed and Kavvish and Spyre became grown men, still slaves of the raiders. Kavvish learned arcane arts, both light and dark, and as for Spyre, he labored as a healer for many years, and he too studied those books he could for aid. A book on torture explained how to relieve pain, for example. I see you frown, princeling, but you cannot know the suffering those young men endured or the desperate need in their hearts for freedom. In any case, they worked hard, in part to earn the trust of their captors, and in part because they enjoyed their studies.

Even Sable the Raider King began to see how much the brothers’ labors had benefitted him. Spyre cured the raider’s favorite slave woman of an affliction of the… thigh, and Kavvish crafted him a suit of black armor that could protect him from the magics of mages and sorcerers. And that is when Sable made his mistake. He offered the brothers a boon. Anything they wished, other than their freedom. The brothers were terribly clever and spoke as if they had never considered such a thing, but in the end, Spyre said, “bring us the Tome of Mysticism.”

And despite his cruel heart, Sable was true to his word. He journeyed with his men beyond the desert and the runed glyphs of the first age, beyond the great statue and through a graveyard filled with hideous ghouls, coming at last to a small village in a far corner of the world. Sable, astride his terrible black steed, rode to the village gates, and demanded to see the Mystic who held the tome. When at last the gates opened, a small woman walked out and looked up at the Raider King.

“I can fill your heart with light,” she said.

Beneath his armor, Sable began to laugh a cruel and terrible laugh.

“Foolish witch!” he cried, “My armor is enchanted and your petty wizardry cannot harm me! I have come for your book. Give it to me and I may let you live. Fail to obey and you shall be dragged screaming all the way back to my tent on the far side of the world.”

At this point in the story, you must be wondering why the brothers had asked for this book in particular. The Tome of Mysticism was said to be penned by the great wizard of legend in the age when he reshaped the world. References to the tome were woven into a dozen other texts, some of which said it held the keys to finding the wizard’s power, and others saying that the book was the source of his power. The brothers wanted to use the tome to seize their freedom and then to destroy Sable and the raiders forever.

How that humble Mystic came upon it is a mystery, but you can see why she was loath to part with it. But in the end, she had no choice. Despite her great power, she was surrounded by a band of raiders who had long been able to take anything they set their eyes upon. The Raider King ripped the book from her hands and kicked her into the mud. Her powers diminished in an instant, she was left alone with only the memory of the great power she had once held.

This part of the story raises many questions, foremost being why did the Mystic never seek command of the world for herself? Perhaps her pure heart had no desire for it. In any case, she still lives in that village today, for I have heard travelers speak of the little Mystic. She sometimes grants wisdom to those who call on her, and she still holds the power to change a man’s heart by simply looking into his eyes. But her encounter with Sable twisted her, and where she once inspired only nobility, now at a whim she sometimes fills visitors with the very essence of evil. Hers is a sad story, I think, but it is not at the heart of this tale.

Sable and the raiders returned safely to their camp in the oasis. Of course, you know enough of Sable’s story to know that much. He gave the book to the brothers and relayed the Mystic’s feeble attempt to stop him. Sable the Raider King was an arrogant and foolish man. No need to ask why he didn’t use the Tome for himself. He had never learned to read, of course.

Over the next seven days and nights, Kavvish studied the book by day Spyre read by candlelight until the dawn. Oh, its wonders! Kavvish drank deeply of its knowledge, seeking to improve his understanding of weird objects of power. Spyre found the tome’s insights into the human soul and body to be a Truth beyond any he had known. And then there was the magic. Powerful sorceries penned by the great wizard himself, dead only a generation in that age, and even spells the wizard had wrenched from the Lord of Darkness himself!

And then they found it. The spell that would forever condemn Sable and his band to a terrible fate. Not death, mind you. Spyre was a healer and had struggled against death for years. No, this was a fate worse than death. The spell was complex and required a dozen ingredients, only a handful of which were physical. They trapped spirits of the desert, took trophies from as far as the Cursed Glade of Nemosh, and dribbled blood and gold into the cauldron where the essence of their magics melded together. At last, when all the work was done and the cauldron filled with power, Kavvish and Spyre began the weaving of the great spell, and at dawn, it was cast.

One raider standing beside the campfire was the first to learn of the curse. He had been gripping a pan with his bare hand when the golden wave of energy burst through the desert. The pan was hot, and he howled as he pulled his hand away. But the pan went with his hand, stuck to it, forever. He screamed in pain, but try as he might, he could not remove it from his hand.

Another raider, suspecting an attack by mages, and he wasn’t half wrong, mind you, grabbed for his sword. He could wrap his fingers around the hilt, but when he lifted his hand, the sword was still on the ground. In minutes, it was clear what had happened. They could take nothing and drop nothing. Armor was locked in place on their bodies, those who had held weapons could not drop them, and those who were sleeping nude, don’t laugh now, could never again wear even a scrap of cloth.

There was but one exception, and this was the cruelest twist of all. Gold. They could carry it, set it down, steal it, spend it. Gold has always had the power to buy whatever a man might desire. But no more, you see? They could take gold and spend it… but on what? They could not carry new weapons, could not even put the smallest piece of food into their own mouths. The spell sustained them and even made them invincible, denying them the mercy of death, and let them hold as much gold as they could carry. But there was nothing they could spend it on, and they were forever trapped as they were in the instant of the spell’s release, immortal and tormented. What exquisite cruelty and justice!

Yes, justice. Don’t you see? They had taken two young brothers from their home, denied them family and friends, starved and beaten them, denied them possessions. It was perfect justice. For the brothers were still, in their hearts, little boys aching for the love of their mother and trapped in the instant of their capture, and from now until the end of days every raider was precisely as paralyzed in that single, unprepared instant.

And with that single spell, the raiders were no more. I’ve heard travelers say that when the full moon shines golden like a great coin in the sky that a band of raiders rides from the desert and takes whatever riches they can hold. But even if it’s true and a man should lose his wealth to them, he has Kavvish and Spyre to thank that they can take nothing else!

And then of course there was, or is, rather, Sable the Raider King. Sable had been riding his black destrier in the desert when it happened. You’ll recall that he wore black armor that protected him from magic. At least, that’s what Kavvish had promised him it did. The armor shielded Sable from blades, it was true, but offered no protection at all from magics.

What’s that? If the armor wasn’t protecting him, how was the Mystic unable to change Sable’s heart? I’m not certain, for a fact, but I have a few ideas. The first possibility is that Sable’s heart was simply too evil to be changed. I’ve heard it said that some members of dark sects are beyond redemption and given over entirely to evil. But I don’t think the case is anything so complex as a cultist’s demon-pact. Remember that the Mystic changes men’s hearts by looking into their eyes. Well, the armor Kavvish had made covered Sable’s head with a helmet of black steel. I believe the armor protected him against her magic, not through any enchantment of its own, but simply because of the tiny slit in the helm’s visor!

In any case, Sable was as affected by the curse as the others and still lives today, forever trapped in his armor. He wandered far, leaving his raiders and his great white and red tent behind, eventually settling in the foothills of the hidden valley. And yes, young prince, that is why you aren’t allowed to wander beyond the ancient doorway on the plain, for Sable still demands a toll in gold or blood from all who he encounters. And what man may stand against the Black Knight, who lives forever and may not be killed?

But this is still the story of two brothers, is it not?

Kavvish and Spyre had different ideas about what to do after the raiders had been cursed. Kavvish wanted to study power, to unlock the keys to even greater treasure that the Tome of Mysticism seemed only to hint at. Spyre took charge of the slaves, now freed, and wanted to lead them to a place of safety. And of course, their two goals were in opposite directions.

As such conflicts often do, the disagreement became an argument, which swiftly turned into a brawl. In the process, the Tome was split in half, and Kavvish took his piece and walked into the desert as the morning sun began to sear away the coolness of night. Spyre pleaded with him not to go, but it was done and within an hour even the footprints Kavvish had left in the sands were gone.

There were people to save, you’ll recall, and Spyre took his duties to the innocent people of the oasis very seriously. As the sun set, Spyre rose and led them into the dark sands of the desert, wandering in the opposite direction that his brother had traveled. In time, they came to this land and swore fealty to your father, finding positions as all sorts of things. Scullery maids, monks, knights. Spyre even went on to become the Royal Doctor.

I see your eyes widening. What, did you think my given name was “Doctor?” Oh come now, young prince, don’t look so surprised. You knew I was old, you just didn’t know how old. I have been here for many, many nights now. Long enough to raise two apprentices and see them wander to the far parts of the world to ply their arts of healing. Long enough to see your older brother and sister leave the castle to traipse about the world following whatever odd characters happen by.

I did what I could to teach them and to prepare them for the world, but I fear they will ultimately find themselves victims of vampires or werewolves or such. It is no fate for a royal such as yourself, young prince. Why do you think I told you the story? It is because I believe you can be so much more than they. In fact, I know you can.

You’re almost old enough to take on a knight’s armor yourself, and when that day comes, I will send you forth on glorious quests, seeking the key to a power that will finally bring peace to our weary people. Why don’t I go? Well, for one thing I have duties here to your father, and to the descendants of those who I carried from slavery in the desert so many years past. But more importantly, I have done my best to honor the promise I made to those ancient powers so long ago, to live my life away from the daylight. Speaking of which, the sun is nearly up and I must go to my rest.

What’s that, boy? Oh, you want to know what happened to my brother, Kavvish. He probably didn’t survive the journey through the desert, and he is most certainly dead by now in any case. As for the other half of the Tome of Mysticism, it’s likely lost forever, though I did hear some years ago of an old warlock who sent visitors on missions like those Kavvish and I completed to cast the great spell. Perhaps someone found it after all. Or maybe it’s Kavvish, and he lives on even as I do. I suppose I’ll never know. Now, I really must be getting to my bed young master. I’ve kept you up too late and the dawn is already peeking its head over the horizon. In any case, rest well, my young prince. May your dreams be filled with the glory of exploring ancient ruins and battling mighty dragons in the days to come.