Sinod almost wished Sir Gerhard had never given Sir Larson that piece of information, as the knight would probably find a way to apply it after his return to Litten. I probably won’t be there to witness it, though, Sinod thought.

  To make matters worse, a new fear had been added to Sinod’s heart. As they were abandoning the Valley among Waters, the buildings around them starting to turn hollow and meaningless again, Sinod noticed that one thing had turned colossal. The beast was still there, soaring over them as an omnipresent shadow. Though not only its size seemed to have increased, but it also appeared as if its features had intensified. The black color of its body was deep and cold, as if the light of the sun had never touched it. The six wings were larger than its body and the creature would flap them with regal elegance, almost foreign to its foul looks. And its eyes gleamed with the intensity of blood, though Sinod felt no emotions when watching into them. The beast was not flying far away into the distance anymore, but practically over their heads.

  All around them, the people would constantly turn their heads to get a good look at it. But, strangely enough, there was no fear in their eyes. They trust in their knights with their lives, he thought. Sinod could not do such a thing, though. The knights were skillful, brave, and proficient. But, in the end, they were only men. And, for some bizarre reason, he was convinced that no man could ever hope to slay that thing.

  That cloudy morning had received them with a strong gale, a mighty wind that accompanied them for the rest of the day. As twilight drew near, Sir Gerhard had considered stopping and setting up their tents—since there were no longer any inns around them—when the sound of fast-flowing waters filled their ears. In front of them, stood the river Kogelven, a mighty and turbulent current that seemed to break the valley in half, resembling a bolt of lightning shattering the black sky during stormy nights.

  But the Golden Road kept on going, rising over the river in a beautiful shiny bridge unlike anything Sinod had seen before. When they approached it, ignoring the strong winds, he noticed it was made out of solid gold. They crossed the bridge on foot, their eyes filled with admiration. The only one who did not seem surprised was Sir Gerhard, who had probably crossed it in the past. But even the blue knight was taken aback when two men came up to them from the other side of the bridge. They were wearing immaculate golden armors from head to toes and were carrying banners in their hands. One of them displayed three golden towers over a black background that resembled a night sky full of stars, and the other six white towers over a blue background in the likeness of the clear sky of summer. The two men bowed their heads and started talking.

  “Welcome in the name of His Grace, King Swein, First of his Name, Son of Sigmund, from the noble family Stenarm, Lord of the Ivory City of Vittarn, and King of the noble continent of Midten.” The man with the blue banner had lost his breath after the introduction. Sinod considered it to be extremely sumptuous but, apparently, he had been the only one, as the two knights and Sir Gerhard’s squires had instantly knelt and lowered their heads.

  “Long live the King!” they said in unison. Sinod felt ashamed not to have mimicked them and was afraid to have offended the armored men, but they did not seem to care. And soon the one carrying the black banner started speaking.

  “Lord Ludvig, son of Lorens, from the noble family Jurgersen, Lord of the Golden City of Myrr, and Sworn Knight of Midten, also bids you welcome.”

  Sinod had already started kneeling, but he stopped when he noticed nobody else had. They had just made a tiny reverence. At that moment, Sir Gerhard took a step forward, an action that was followed with haste by Sir Larson.

  “A pleasure to meet you, my noble brothers. My name is Gerhard Blasius, Sworn Knight of Midten from the Fortress of Tyvann. These two are my squires, Lukas Forberg and Goran Paus, whom I have given the fine honor of serving me. I have trusted them with my life and, in return, they have trusted me with theirs. We receive the king’s invitation with humility and swear, to the eyes and ears of Gods and men, not to fail him.”

  One of the armored men pulled a piece of parchment out of a small bag he was carrying on his back and started writing with a brown-colored feather.

  “A pleasure to meet you, my noble brothers. My name is Larson Bakken, Sworn Knight of Midten from the town of Litten.” Sir Larson made an enormous effort to sound as solemn as Sir Gerhard had. “This is my squire, Sinod Svert, whom I chose to serve me with his life or his death. I receive the king’s invitation with humility and swear, to the eyes and ears of Gods and men, not to fail him.”

  The armored man wrote again, giving little importance to the words.

  “Very well,” said the man with the black banner, “you are all set to go. Now, I request you lo leave the road and head west until you reach the encampment.”

  “Will we not march to the Golden City?” asked Sir Larson, disappointed.

  “No,” answered the man with a tinge of disdain. “You will be given the rest of the details when you reach the encampment. Now… move along.”

  The five men did as they were told. They marched toward the west, steadily climbing a particularly elevated terrain. The grass beneath them seemed to glitter under the tiny dewdrops and here and there rose isolated flowers of vivid colors, valiantly resisting the change of season, their soft petals slowly withering away. It was quite a gorgeous sight… but it was solely the beginning: For the moment the elevation came to an end and Sinod set his eyes upon what lay in front of him again, he could almost feel as if he had been dragged into a fantastic dream. He was finally gazing at the magnificent landscapes Sir Larson had described in his stories. He was finally contemplating the true beauty of Midten.

  Before him, stood the largest extension of trees Sinod had ever seen. It did not matter where he looked, everything in the west was filled with vegetation. The forest was a thousand times larger than the Forest of the Boar, and its trees were twice as tall. And, just as it was wide, it was also deep. Sinod thought that it must have extended over a thousand miles into the west, until several high white peaks stopped its advance.

  “The Forest of the Spirits and the Pink Mountains,” exulted Sir Gerhard, noticing his astonishment. “You should look at this place during the summer, at sunset. It’s the most beautiful scenery I’ve ever seen… and I’ve seen a lot.”

  But now Sinod’s sight had turned to the north, to the place they would have arrived should they have followed the Golden Road: The City of Myrr. A mountainous wall enclosed it as a ring a finger, a great circular fence that made it look unassailable, while three towers stood tall behind it, their peaks grazing the sky. Everything was shining with a golden glitter before the lights of the leaving sun and, while he was not sure of it, he was almost convinced that the city was made of pure gold. Black banners similar to the ones Sinod had seen in the hands of the armored men of the bridge fluttered in almost every corner of the city, waving so mightily before the strong winds that it almost seemed as if Myrr were shivering. And the river Kogelven, gently passing by the city through the east, resembled a path of white light, eternally shining under the shadow of the golden walls.

  It was a fantastic vision. But, unfortunately, it was not their destination. They kept heading west, just like they had been told. And, after a couple of minutes, they found a vast encampment lying in the edge of the Forest of the Spirits. Tents stood here, there, and everywhere, featuring several different sizes, colors, and shapes. And the knights… the knights were so numerous that some could have taken them for ants. Ants about to go after a prey much larger and much mightier than any of them, Sinod thought with a tinge of uneasiness. As his group drew near the encampment, another man wearing a golden armor caught up with them.

  “Have you signed up?” he asked succinctly.

  Sir Gerhard and Sir Larson nodded in unison.

  “Very well… Get your stuff ready and rest. But don’t get too comfortable… You depart tomorrow with the first lights of dawn.”

  “Tomorrow?” asked Sir Larson nervously. “But we’ve just arrived.”

  “You just arrived. There are men who have been here for over two weeks. They are getting restless and so is the king. Come on! Get moving!”

  They stopped near the border of the encampment, trying to take as little time as possible in setting their tents, since some gray clouds had come into sight over them. Sir Larson got into his refuge soon after sunset, arguing he had to be well-rested for the following day. Meanwhile, Goran and Lukas settled on exploring the place, claiming they wanted to meet the rest of the knights. Though the truth was that they had heard that some of the men had brought along their wives and daughters to bid them farewell, and the boys were eager to see them.

  Sinod stayed alone in front of the bonfire Sir Gerhard had built before dusk, cooking the last of the meat they had gotten from the animal that attacked them in the Dark Forest. The blue knight joined him soon thereafter. Both of them were wearing the coats they had made out of the creature’s fur.

  “Is there something wrong with you, boy?” Sir Gerhard’s voice pulled Sinod out of his thoughts, his piercing dark brown eyes fastened upon his own.

  “I was just thinking —”

  “About tomorrow, yes?” The blue knight finished his words, almost as if he had read his mind. “Don’t worry, boy. I’m quite sure this isn’t going to last long. I can guarantee you that, in less than one week, we’ll be feasting in the halls of Vittarn, perhaps even eating the flesh of the beast.”

  We’ll be, Sinod repeated sadly in his mind.

  “I can’t do this,” he said after a couple of seconds, his voice broken.

  “Do what?” asked Sir Gerhard, baffled.

  “Survive,” he said in a whisper, after a brief moment of hesitation.

  “And why wouldn’t you survive?” he asked while chewing some meat.

  “Only the strongest survive… and I… I’m a coward.”

  This was his last chance… By the next day, he could be dead… He had to tell someone… someone who would understand him, who would take pity on him, who would be willing to help him. He looked at Sir Gerhard and found kindness in his eyes. Without further hesitation, Sinod told the blue knight everything that had happened in the glade of the Forest of the Boar—how his name had fallen in disgrace and how his reputation had faded in an instant, how his courage had been trampled and how all his family had been immersed into the most terrible of humiliations because of him.

  Sir Gerhard listened to Sinod without saying a single word. And after he was finished, he looked at him and gave him a smile… a smile that gave him hope. Maybe he would help him, maybe he would lend one of his squires to Sir Larson and they would allow him to stay in the outskirts of the forest, watching the tents and the luggage the knights would not be able to take into their mission.

  “Strange man, Sir Larson,” the knight said after a while. “Rites of Midten? I’d never heard of such a thing.” Sinod frowned with surprise. “Do you know how a man becomes a knight, boy? It’s through his feats… By committing heroic acts in the name of few or in the name of many… And, as far as I’m concerned, killing rabbits doesn’t quite fit that description, yes?” Sinod let go of a feeble chuckle. “And there’s something else I’d like to tell you, now that we’re touching the subject of gallantry and cowardice. If there’s something I’ve learnt in my life, it’s that none of those emotions can be forced. They flow naturally from us when the moment is right, when our lives or the lives of those we love are in peril… My moment came during the war, boy… during the Siege of Tyvann. I thought many times of running away through the tunnels, when the Delenin threatened to come in and annihilate us all but… you know… the more afraid to die I was, the greater my desire to live became. As everything turned harder and harder to bear with, the more I wanted to fight and withstand… the more I wanted to protect my city and my loved ones. At that moment, I embraced courage because the time deserved it… because my gallantry could help my home, my people, my kingdom… and myself as well…”

  Sinod listened, captivated by the knight’s words. Never had he heard such levels of wisdom, neither from his father nor from Sir Larson.

  “Do you know what I believe, Sinod?” Sir Gerhard added. “I believe your moment hasn’t come yet. Choosing not to slit a rabbit’s throat doesn’t make you a coward… and the fact that those other boys had chosen to do so doesn’t make them brave men either.”

  “And that moment —?” Sinod dared to speak.

  “Your moment will come when it has to. It may be tomorrow just like it may be in many years from now. But when it does, you’ll know. And if you survive it, you’ll finally discover what kind of man you’re… a hero or a coward.”

  Sinod smiled after hearing the knight’s last words. It was not what he had expected… it had been so much more. Sir Gerhard stood up and looked at him.

  “It’s time to rest. Tomorrow will be a hard day and we must all be properly prepared… Unless you’ve something else to tell me.”

  Sinod wanted to tell him about Sir Larson’s threat, about his cruel intentions, about his dreaded thirst for revenge. Yet he did not dare. His reasons, though, were unknown even to himself. Perhaps it was out of concern, perhaps it was out of shame, or perhaps he was only afraid Sir Gerhard would not believe him, taking his words as a last attempt to escape from his responsibilities as a squire. In the end, Sinod just swayed his head in denial and, after saying good night, he went into his tent.

  Maybe he would die the following day… maybe he would not. But now he knew only one thing: Just like Sir Gerhard during the Siege of Tyvann, he had an immense desire to live. And now, more than ever, he was willing to do anything to pursue it. Even if I have to kill him, Sinod said to himself, swiftly drifting off into a deep dreamless sleep.

  CHAPTER 10

  The Hunt of the King

  The sun shone that day with such intensity that it seemed as if the clouds of autumn were running away from it, fleeing and fading into oblivion, and leaving behind a shiny and clear sky that resembled a perfect blue canopy, with no trace of rain but some dewdrops glittering in the grass and an intense albeit soothing smell of humidity in the air. So lovely was the day that it reminded many of the best days of summer, along with the many activities the season brought along with it: The fishing and hunting trips, the coming and going from the beaches, and the tournaments in the great cities of the north.

  Most people in the encampment had taken the light of the sun as a portent of the success they would achieve in the Forest of the Spirits… but others saw it as a cruel taunt from the Gods. “They throw us this spectacle to make us miss the pleasures of the summer. But remember this… all of you. This is not the summer. Soon the rains of autumn will return and, after them, the icy snows of winter will fall upon us. This is not a good portent… it’s the last light before the darkness.” Very few chose to listen to the bad presages, though, expressions of confidence on their faces as they walked around the encampment, the sound of their steps and voices slowly effacing the silence they had submerged in during the night. What not even the most pessimist could deny, however, was that this was a gorgeous day, filled with winsome sights and captivating sounds, perhaps a perfect day to start a quest that might shape the rest of their lives forever.

  Indeed it’s a fine day, Sinod thought as he contemplated the environment. He had woken up early, to the songs of the birds—a fact that allowed him to see the rising sun and hear both the good and the bad omens. In his mind, though, there was not even the slightest doubt as to which embrace. He decided to stick to the first ones, his mind filled with optimism, his hopes suddenly renewed. Though his reasons obeyed neither the dazzling sunshine nor the beauty of the landscape where he stood. It had been his conversation with Sir Gerhard. Now, he knew what he had to do… or at least he thought he knew what he had to do. It’s better than nothing, he said to himself.

  The knights were starting to come out of their tents, some already wearing their armors, others in their bare skins, calling their squires and demanding them to attire them. Sinod also noticed some red-dressed women leaving many of the tents, their eyes full of jitteriness as they tried to sneak out of the encampment.

  As more and more knights kept leaving their tents, turning the fields around the forest into a sea of iron and steel, Sinod could not help remembering some of the words Sir Larson had said about the glorious Order of the Knights of Midten. He had always said that the knights were sworn brothers, equals before the eyes of the king, and perfect before the eyes of the people. Yet, and as more men kept flooding the encampment, Sinod could not help realizing how easy it was to spot differences between these so-called brothers. Some men were wearing unsullied suits of armor covered in precious rocks that protected every inch of their bodies while others were donning rusty pieces of metal that barely shielded their chests. Some men were carrying swords, spears, axes, and bows while others were only holding knives that seemed to have been taken out of a kitchen. Some had over ten squires with them—all tall, svelte, and whom many people could easily take for knights—while others only had some skinny children by their side—young boys who did not even seem capable of holding a wooden spoon in their hands. What truly took him aback, however, was that the noble-looking knights actually had a name for the others. The beggar knights… That was how they called them… An appropriate name for your brother, Sinod thought.

  Neither Sir Larson nor Sir Gerhard was as graceful or elegant as the noble-looking knights, but they could easily pass off as royalty compared to the beggar knights. And, as he took a long look at a shabby old man wearing what looked like a rusty metal skirt, he could not help wondering how men like those could have obtained the knighthood in the first place.

  Sir Larson, Sir Gerhard, and his two squires soon joined him, their looks and voices concealing immense tension and excitement. Goran and Lukas sat next to him and promptly started narrating their previous-night adventures. Sinod was smiling politely before their words regarding barely-dressed women and meat cooked to the very bone when the quaver of a horn reverberated in the field. Raising their eyes, they all saw what looked like a carriage approaching. It was made of black wood, but it had several golden engravings on its surface. Several men in spotless suits of armor were escorting the carriage, though these, unlike those who had received them in the bridge, had black silk capes waving behind them, beautiful fabrics that resembled feathers caught in a gale.

 

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