What follows is the first installment of The Green Knight, written for the #SwordsofStValentine event. Please enjoy.
The first thing that occurred to Ajax was that the man he was watching from his concealed perch was very likely insane.
It was the only logical conclusion, really. The man was a stranger, walking blithely through the forest. In the first place, the sane tended to stay where they were not strangers. Familiarity was cognate to survival in a world where what was strange was frequently lethal, if not worse. And then, there was his dress. Had Ajax felt like standing out as painfully as the stranger, he could hardly have done better than the heavy boots, broad-brimmed black hat, and black canvas duster - a far cry from the watcher’s garb of greens and browns.
Yet for all that, the stranger did not act as one deranged. He walked with all the deliberation and intent of a man who knew where he was and where he was headed. His gaze shifted methodically as he scanned the area, as any lucid man would do in new terrain. Ajax supposed that, were the need great and the man brave, going into an unknown wilderness in a world marred by the Blight might not automatically be madness, even if it was tantamount to courting death.
Ajax sighed. Mad or not, it was time for the stranger to learn that he was not alone. He checked that the cable of his drop harness was secured to the perch, let the stranger pass directly underneath, and stepped into space. Eighty feet and five seconds later, he stepped out of the harness and drew a long-barreled magnum revolver. Leveling it at the stranger’s back - the man had not had a chance yet to react - Ajax put as much force into his voice as he could muster.
“Hold and turn, stranger. Make no unfriendly move, for you are in land claimed by the Freehold—”
“—By the Freehold of Greenbarrow,” the stranger finished, placing his gloved hands in the air and turning slowly around to face Ajax. The corner of his mouth turned up as he added, “Or so I assume you were going to say.”
“True enough.” Ajax met the stranger’s gaze. The man bore no signs of insanity in his steel gray eyes. “What is your business in the forest?”
“Oh, just taking a walk.”
Ajax felt the anger rise like a low fire slowly kindling. The stranger was making no effort to keep the mirth from his voice.
“A walk? Perhaps you are as mad as I first thought. The closest settled land from here is Albany, and that would put nearly a hundred fifty miles on your ‘walk.’ Unless,” his icy blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, “you do not seem French.”
At this the stranger laughed. It was a soft, rich, bass sound with no malice. “I would think that a Freeholder - and a pathfinder, as you clearly appear to be - would have detected any trace of Quebecois in my speech and killed me on the spot. The fact that we’re still standing here chatting in the middle of the woods is a pretty clear indication that I’m not Canadian. You’re also quite right, I did not come from Albany, nor from anywhere else in the Duchy of Manhattan.”
“The Duchy is the closest built-up land,” Ajax said evenly, “and you say that you are not French. What, then, do you claim to be? Where are you from?”
The stranger smiled, as if at some joke that only he was in on. “For the time being, say that I’m from Wales.”
“I have never heard of it. How far does it lie beyond the Duke’s lands?”
“Suffice it to say it is quite far. I have not seen my home in a long count of years.”
“Very well,” Ajax pressed, “but you have yet to state your business in the freehold, and I am bound by law to judge it, foul or fair. Why are you here?”
“I have business in the settlement of Waterbury. I was on my way there when you,” the stranger looked up significantly, “dropped in.”
“There is no business in a settlement of the Freehold that would not have been told beforehand to the sentinels. You go no further until I am sated on the truth of your words.”
The stranger looked as if he would say more, but at that moment as if by a shared signal, both men realized that the noise of the forest had completely ceased. No birds called, no crickets chirped, nothing rustled along the forest floor. It was as if the entire landscape had caught wind of something and was holding its breath.
The very next instant brought a bellowing roar that came from somewhere behind Ajax that was not close, but not nearly far enough to allow for comfort. The sound of cracking wood announced that whatever produced the roar was moving in their direction. The color drained from Ajax’s face as he heard a string of clicks and chitters that seemed insectile in origin but sounded far, far to big to be anything wholesome.
The stranger said, “Sir Freeholder, whatever your opinion of me or my motives, I hope you will believe me that I am not more of a threat at the moment than the thing that is coming our way. Shall we make a truce until we’re past this little danger?” The mirth had fallen from his voice like an abandoned coat, leaving only something grim and hard behind.
“Your claim’s unproved yet,” Ajax answered, “and beside that, we have no chance at making Waterbury before it catches us up. All the same,” he lowered his gun, “we have a greater shot at living past the next five minutes standing side by side rather than face to face.” He extended his empty hand. “I am called Ajax Clarke, sentinel of the Freehold.”
The stranger looked at him for a moment before grasping the offered hand. “And I am Robert Mayhawk - but you can call me ‘Bob’.” The brisk cheerfulness returned to his voice.
Ajax nodded and turned about-face, at the same time stepping back and to the side so as to be next to Bob. He filed away for later consideration the lingering look that his new ally had given him when he’d heard Ajax’s introduction. From under his jacket he drew his second gun, the twin of the magnum he had most recently had trained on Bob.
Moments later, the “little danger” as Bob had called it charged into view from the thicker woods. It was the size of a bull and shifted atop at least six segmented limbs like some kind of irrationally large insect. Its carapace was shiny but livid in hue, and whatever was meant to pass for its head - a nob toward the notional front of the thing, devoid of features but a gorgon’s head of writhing tendrils of various lengths - moved from left to right as if scenting. “Blightspawn,” growled Ajax.
As if in response, the creature reared onto its back four legs, so that it was now in a “standing” posture and using its forelimbs as arms ending in wicked pincers. It held for a moment. Nobody breathed.
Then it lunged, and mayhem ensued.
As the monster bore down roaring upon the two men, Ajax squeezed the grips of his twin pistols. The sudden adrenaline surge brought on by the appearance of the beast had made his heart beat to the rhythm of a steam train; however, his mind was clear and he was unafraid. He glanced toward Bob, and saw that he had mirrored Ajax’s own stance - right leg forward and slightly bent, left leg back and at an angle slightly away from straight on the monster’s charge path. He had no obvious weapon, but still glowered menacingly at their foe from under the broad brim of his hat. There was no time to coordinate or give the man orders, so the Freeholder simply prayed that he would do the intelligent thing and get out of the way in time. He looked Bob in the face; the stranger glanced over at the young Freeholder and winked.
Half a heartbeat later and the beast was on them. Ajax launched himself backwards and fully unloaded the chambers of both guns into the beast. Ten 220 grain, 45-caliber slugs slammed into the monstrous carapace. Just the force of the rapid impacts staggered the creature and broke its charge. Ajax could see the holes clustered in the third segment back from the head. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to be enough and the Freeholder knew it. Blightspawn were extremely resilient and bled annoyingly little.
Without breaking gaze on his target, Ajax re-holstered his guns. With a few deft taps executed with the speed of muscle memory, he instructed the built-in speed loaders to chamber incendiary rounds for the next go-around. The mechanisms drew rounds from the ammunition pack under his green-and-brown jacket and chambered them with a loud and wholesome-sounding click. In another instant, he had his right magnum trained on the “head” of the monster, favoring precise shots now over stopping power.
One after another the burning missiles penetrated the body of the beast. The desire to fall to the ground and writhe was evident in the twitching movements as it re-oriented itself to again face its quarry head-on - but the instinct to hunt, to take down prey, overpowered the pain. Smoke curled out of the side of its body as it chittered angrily, coiling its body.
Ajax swapped guns, taking careful aim at the “head” of the creature. He was under no illusion about his odds of surviving the next thirty seconds, let alone five minutes, but he was resolved to at least take this one damned Blightspawn out of the world with him. For a few seconds, his thoughts turned to the stranger, Bob, and he hoped he had managed to get away during this diversion.
So focused was he on his thoughts and the certain death before him, that he was completely oblivious to the sound of unsheathing steel as his enemy prepared to leap.
I hope you enjoyed this introduction so far. You may find links to all the installments of this story here as it unfolds.
