Chapter 2
The Knight
I wake before the bell, a habit so ingrained in me it feels older than the stones of this castle.
The hours before dawn belong to me.
The silence, the peace that comes with watching the sun rise and working my body hard before I have even started the day, helps distract me from my own mind. A place I have found myself lost in far too often lately.
I head over to the lower yard, rarely used by the other knights. I suppose it’s because they all know that I’m here every morning, though no one questions me on it. Setting my sights on the armoury lined along the wall, I grab my sword.
Steel meets my palm, familiar as breath.
Strike. Turn. Reset.
My body knows this sequence, even when my thoughts drift away.
I was trained young, shaped by structure and expectation.
Without a blood family to call home, they took me in when I was younger than most. Many of the elders have thrown the word ‘remarkable’ at me, whispering amongst themselves of my power and greatness.
I would say it’s more reliable than remarkable.
I am who I am because of determination, discipline, and endurance.
I rose through the ranks by showing up every single day, without fail. Not by favour or borrowed glory.
The rhythm of my body and the sword settles my thoughts.
This is where I am most useful.
This is what I am good at.
I return the sword to its place and grab some cloth from my pocket, wrapping it around my head and securing it in a knot.
Darkness settles, immediate and complete.
The straw sacks stand where I left them.
I know the spacing by heart.
I step forward and listen, focusing my senses.
My blade meets the cloth with a dull resistance. I recover and turn, correcting my angle before lunging at the second sack.
I do not rush.
Speed is a useful advantage, but accuracy is what matters.
It’s what stands between saving the lives of your comrades and watching them die.
I shake the thought from my head, lunging at the final straw sack before leaning against it and wiping the sweat from my brow.
I glance through the stone arches, spotting the dull orange haze of the sky as the sun rises. The familiar setting is a comfort, settling the worry building in my bones.
I release a heavy breath before making my way back through the narrow corridors and to the room I can barely call my own, since I spend more time outside it than sleeping in its bed. I arrive back in my quarters, shower, change, and clean my armour.
The same order I always follow.
Routine leaves little room for error.
My quarters are larger than many of the juniors and second in commands, since I have my own wing.
The stone arch at the entrance marks the boundary with no need for a guard.
The outer chamber is the first room you enter, it holds a long, scarred table, a rack for spare armour, and a cushioned bench I’ve never found the time to sit on.
Beyond that lies my bedroom, with a narrow bed resting against the far wall.
A single window is set high in the stone wall, it allows enough light to track the passing of hours.
A washroom connects to the left with an adjoining room on the other side.
Though the space is enormous, enough for at least four people to stay, it is mostly just empty space.
With what little belongings I own, it looks almost untouched.
When you take the oath to be a knight, there is an understanding that the less you can leave behind, the better.
We rarely talk about such matters, but it’s an unspoken rule that exists to prevent wives and children from being left widowed and fatherless.
We don’t take a vow of celibacy, but we keep our attachments brief and ensure desire never lingers.
I pull on my armour, the weight a familiar comfort to me, grabbing my helmet and sliding my blade into the sheath at my hip. Hair still a wet, tangled mess, black tendrils clinging to my forehead. I set off for the kitchen quarters, prepared for another day of watching the castle slowly rot.
“Morning, Sir,” Thomas says, the junior knight stopping to salute me in the corridor.
“At ease, Thomas, you don’t need to salute me every time you see me,” I reply evenly. This is not the first time I’ve told him this, but juniors are all the same. I should enjoy it, really: the respect, the power.
But I don’t.
Not anymore.
Not since the kingdom lost all hope and gave up on survival.
“Oh, yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” he stutters out in a rush.
“I’ll see you in the yard for training,” I reply over my shoulder, heading into the dining area.
“Yes, sir,” I hear called back to me down the corridor.
Rolling my eyes, I turn into the common hall, the smell of breakfast filling my senses.
The food is prepared daily in the main kitchen within the royal wing and brought over in large pots and trays to us in the staff quarters.
The knights all help themselves as their duties allow, but breakfast time is always chaotic.
I take a seat at my usual bench. It isn’t literally mine, but habit has a way of claiming things. A shadow forms to my side. I don’t need to look up to see who has taken the seat in front of me. His voice alone marks the end of my peaceful morning and the start of my busy day.
“Is that… an extra mushroom on your breakfast?” he says, his version of good morning, I assume.
“Kael,” I deadpan. I look up to face him, his bright smile beaming at me.
Kael is the Master-at-Arms, one rank below me. Exceptionally capable, but entirely intolerable before breakfast. Unfortunately for me, he is also my closest companion. Though not related to me by blood, he might as well be.
He squints at me, taking a bite of his food.
“Are you alright?” he says in a mocking tone.
“I’m eating,” I reply.
“No, no,” he says. “This is how it starts. Small deviations. One extra mushroom today, waking up late tomorrow. Hell, at this rate, you’ll be smiling by winter.” He laughs to himself.
“That won’t happen,” I huff back at him.
“That’s a shame,” he mutters. “Had a whole speech prepared and everything,” he smirks at me, taking a swig from his cup. He stares at me for a beat before returning to his food.
“Trained already?” he asks me, though he already knows the answer. He’s doing it to prove a point.
“Yes.”
“You know, if routine were a weapon, you’d be unstoppable.”
“It is.”
“Fair,” he pauses, then adds casually, “A Mourningwing was spotted last night.”
That gets my attention.
I lower my spoon. “Not possible.”
“Tell that to the kid who came running into The Cup last night,” he says, “You’d have known if you ever ventured past these stone walls.”
“Well, he was probably drunk,” I say, returning to my food.
The Stone Cup is the tavern in the local village.
Many of the knights spend their evenings there, Kael included.
I have always found it hard to relax and let my guard down like the others can.
Most would say that’s why I’m the High Warden, but I know that’s not it.
“I thought the same,” he says before adding, “He was shouting about blue wings with a white glow.” He stops and looks up at me.
We both pause, no words, only silence.
“Where?” I say.
Kael lets out a small laugh, shaking his head as if he has won some unspoken argument.
“Already checked it out. Nothing there,” he replies, returning to his food. I don’t know why I even asked.
The Mourningwings are gone, and with them our only chance at survival.
I nod my head at him, my mind wanders, and I push my plate away half-full.
“Sunfruits are on rations now,” I say to Kael, tongue in cheek.
“Never liked them anyway, that’s good news to me. Weren’t the nicest to trade with either, those Sathyrns.”
“I’d say the Sathryns probably thought we were worse.”
“We were. But at least we are honest about the fact that we’re arseholes. I can take pride in that.” Kael’s knowledge of politics and trade deals mostly stems from ensuring his favourite beer isn’t rationed. Beyond that, he doesn’t really care.
I wish I could say the same, but I have always cared. Too much. Choosing to avoid my problems once more, I turn to Kael.
“Call the knights to the yard, training starts in fifteen,” I reply, already on my feet.
His brows lift. Just a fraction.
“You know, if something’s wrong,” he says, coming to stand beside me. Nudging my shoulder with his. “You’re terrible at hiding it.”
He grins.
“Well, luckily I have you to be insufferably observant.” I roll my eyes at him as he lets out a low chuckle.
“Drills?” he asks me.
I nod, already heading to the yard.
“Swords up,” Kael calls, his voice carrying easily. “Remember, one mistake can cost you your life.”
He walks up and down, watching the knights train.
I take my place at the edge of the yard, arms folded, watching. The sun is high in the sky now, catching on helmets and armour.
There is a familiar comfort in watching the young knights train, seeing those who want to better themselves, push themselves to be the greatest they can be.
But then there are always those who think themselves better than the rest.
Cocky.
Arrogant.
Ironically, I was one of them.
The arrogance I probably still have. But now it’s earned.
I am the best there is.
No doubt.
But it didn’t come for free.
“Blade up Armstrong, your left flank is wide open,” I say to the newest knight in front of me.
“Respectfully, sir. I move too fast for them to even get near me,” he says, raising his eyebrows at me and glancing around at his peers. A few of the others laugh. Someone mutters something about luck.
I tilt my head at him, arms behind my back. “Too fast?”
“Yes, sir."
“How fast?”
He shrugs, rolling his shoulders. “Fast enough, faster than most."
The laughter grows.
I step closer now, lowering my voice.
“Fast enough to see the strike?” I ask.
“Yes, sir.”
“To hear it?”
“Yes.”
“To feel it?”
His grin flickers, something akin to fear flashing across his face. “I suppose-”
I move.