Fragments Gallery
The Knight
Sunlight streamed in the window to fall across the face of a sleeping man. His golden hair glowed with an inner fire in the morning light. Restlessly the man shifted. His eyes moved beneath his eyelids and his hand twitched towards his side where, had he been standing, would have rested the hilt of his blade. The moment passed and he began to stir peacefully. He was waking up.
Sound shot through the man's head as someone distantly bellowed a challenge. The disturbance was followed by creaking as the outer gate crept open. The gate ground to a halt and then began to shut again. It boomed distantly and once again the morning's normal sounds took over. The man's eyes opened to the uplifting notes of a bird’s song which drifted in through the tower window from the grounds so far below.
Upon rising he stretched, muscles groaning in protest from the rigorous training the day before. However instead of loathing that pain he revelled it. Such was the cost of his training; it meant he was growing stronger.
He walked, somewhat stiffly, towards the small shard of glass he kept as his mirror. The man that looked back at him had regal cheekbones, a straight nose and grey eyes, was slender and of meddling height. Absent mindedly he felt at the light lines which lurked at the corners of his eyes, he was certainly not old, but neither was he so young anymore.
A small laugh burst forth from his throat. Not so young anymore? He was approaching his twenty second cycle, he had been knighted shortly after his eighteenth cycle and soon he would receive the griffin symbol to wear on his chest. The griffon would mean that he was no longer in the lowest tier of knights in the service of the king. He thought he was growing old when he still had many of his prime years ahead of him.
Still laughing at his own folly he washed himself clean of the night’s perspiration. He pulled on his simple clean grey linens, belted on a long bladed dagger, and then ventured forth from his room. The hour was still early so between the tower where he was quartered and the kitchen in the main wing of the keep he encountered few other people. Most of those whom he did see were the servants carrying out one task or another. Those few he nodded to in greeting and they replied in kind.
As always when he arrived at the kitchen it was bustling with life as the kitchen workers rushed about with their assigned tasks. The head chef, a tall thin lady who had managed the kitchen for as long as he could remember, was watching over the chaos with a critical eye. The moment the knight stepped into the kitchen the chef nodded to herself and then gestured for a nearby servant to take him some food. The knight nodded his thanks as he was handed some light, crusty bread as well as a bowl of oatmeal. A messenger boy burst into the kitchen as the knight moved to sit down at a table by the wall.
"We need some breakfast up in the great hall," the boy panted, "A messenger has arrived. The king has risen early."
The chaos intensified as the chef began to shout directions out to her help. The knight rose with his food. If the king had risen early to meet this messenger it must be important.
He ate quickly as he left the kitchens and walked towards the great hall. Once his meal was complete he passed his bowl off to a passing servant. The doors to the great hall up ahead stood open and a voice echoed forth from it.
"They have moved your majesty," said a low female voice, probably the messenger, "His lordship bids me to tell you that they will strike in weeks, if not days. We do not have the months that we once thought we would."
The knight walked through the doors and took a place at one of the benches along the side of the large hall. The king sat in his throne on a raised dais at the end of the hall. Surrounding him in seats on the lower tiers of the dais were some of the high ranking lords and ladies who were awake at the hour. Normally all of the nobility took seats on the great halls floor. They only sat on the lower tiers when the council was sitting, and even then only those on the council had the right to sit there.
The council was sitting. There was a decision to be made.
The other spectators to this session sat, like the knight, in the benches at the tables before the throne or they stood along the outer edges of the hall. Because of the hour the hall seemed much emptier than usual, still there was an assortment of knights, nobility, prosperous merchants and guardsmen gathered to hear the messenger. The messenger ignored her audience instead choosing to focus on the king.
The king had looked away from her and had turned towards the elderly knight who stood at his side. They had known each other for many long years and now that look they shared seemed to pass along a message. The knight nodded slowly before the King spoke.
"Are we ready Sir Edrith?"
"No my King," Edrith responded, "Not as ready as I would like but… we can make do with what which is prepared. We can field most of our forces. I will send messengers; our forces can be mobilized within a couple of days. And those who are not yet prepared… they will follow when they can."
"Very well," responded the King, his cold grey eyes moving to one of the windows at the side of the hall, "I had hoped…"
He trailed off as his audience watched silently.
"I had hoped," He began again, his voice growing stronger, "That we would be able to resolve matters peacefully, but it appears diplomacy has failed. Lord Bleran in the East is leading an uprising against my leadership. We must rise to the challenge. If the council approves…" He trailed off as he looked towards the assembled members of his council, at his look they nodded slowly and as one.
"The council approves," the King continued, "We will join in battle with the rebels. We will protect our people. We must marshal our forces."
In the roar from the crowd that followed the King's statement the knight nodded slowly, a ghost of a smile hovering on his lips.
Soon. Soon Helues Kelriva would have a chance to truly prove his worth.