A Knight Of The Word

Hard-eyed and ashen-faced, he leaned forward on the bench, wrapped in the tatters of his shirt, his upper torso mostly bare and red-streaked with his blood. He straightened with an effort and tightened his grip on the staff, his abandoned choices swirling around him like wraiths, his decision of what he must — do fully embraced. He no longer cared about consequences or dreams. He could barely bring himself to think on the future beyond this night. What he knew was that he had been driven to his knees by something so foul and repulsive he could not bear another day of life if he did not bring an end to it.

So he called forth the magic of the staff, called it with a certainty that surprised him, called it with full acceptance of what it meant to do so. He renounced himself and what he had become. He renounced his stand of the past year and took up anew the mantle he had shed. He declared himself a Knight of the Word, begged for the right to become so once more, if only for this single night, if only for this solitary purpose. He armoured himself in his vow to become the thing he had tried so hard to disclaim, accepting as truth the admonitions of Owain Glyndwr and O’olish Amaneh. He bowed in acknowledgement to the cautions of the Lady as delivered by Nest Freemark and her friends, giving himself over once more to the promises he had made fifteen years earlier when he had taken up the cause of the Word and entered into His service.

Even then, the magic did not come at once, for it lay deep within the staff, waiting for the call to be right, for the prayer to be sincere. He could sense it, poised and heedful, but recalcitrant. He strained to reach it, to make it feel his need, to draw it to him as he would a reluctant child. His eyes were closed and his brow furrowed in concentration, and the pain that racked his body became a white-hot fury at the core of his heart.

Suddenly, abruptly, the lady was before him, there in the darkness of his mind, white-gowned and ephemeral, her hands reaching for him. Oh, my brave Knight Errant, would you truly come bark to me? Would you serve me as you once did, without reservation or guilt, without doubt or fear? Would you be mine as you were? her words filtered like the slow meandering of a forest stream through rocks and mud banks, soft and rippling. He cried at the, sound of her voice, the tears filling his lids and leaking down his bloodied face. I would. I will. Always. Forever.

Then she was gone, and the magic of the staff stirred and gathered and came forth in a swan, steady river, climbing out of the polished black walnut into his arms and body” filling him with its healing power.

Silver light enfolded the Knight of the Word with bright radiance, and he was alive anew.

And dead to what once he had hoped so, strongly he might be.

John Ross lifted his head in recognition, feeling the power of the magic flow through him, rising acct of the staff, anxious to serve. He let it strengthen him as nothing else could, not caring what it might cost him. For the cost was not his to measure. It would be measured in his dreams, when they returned. It would be measured in the time he would spend unprotected in the future he had sworn to prevent and, as a Knight of the Word once more, must now return to.

But before that happened, he vowed, climbing to his feet as the damage to his body was swept aside by the sustaining magic, he would find Simon Lawrence, demon of the Void.

And he would destroy him.



Nest Freemark arrived at the museum with the first crush of invited guests, and it tools her a while just to get through the door. When she was asked for her invitation and failed to produce it, she was told in no uncertain terms that if her name wasn’t an the guest list, she couldn’t come in., She tried to explain how important this was, that she needed to find John Ross or Simon Lawrence, but the security guards weren’t interested. People behind her were getting impatient with the delay, and she might have been thwarted altogether if she hadn’t caught sight of Carole Price and called her over. Carole greeted Nest effusively and told the security guards to let her through.

“Nest, what are you doing here?” the other woman asked, steering her to an open spat amid the knots of masked guests and skeleton-costumed servers. “I thought you’d gone back to Illinois.”

“I postponed my flight,” she replied, keeping her explanation purposefully vague. “Is John here?”

“John Ross?” A waiter came up to, them with a tray filled with champagne glasses, and Carole motioned him await “No, I haven’t seen him yet.”

“How about Mr. Lawrence?”

“Oh, yes, Simon’s here somewhere. I saw him just a little while ago.” Her brow furrowed slightly. “You heard about the fire, didn’t you, Nest?”

Nest nodded. “I’m sorry about Mr, Hapgood.” There was an awkward silence as she tried to think of something else to say. “I know John was very upset about it.”

Carole Price nodded.” We all were. Look, why don’t you go on and see if you can find him. I haven’t seen him down here, but maybe he’s up on the mezzanine. And I’ll tell Simon you’re here. He’ll want to say hello.”

“Thanks.” Nest glanced around doubtfully. The lobby was filling up quickly with guests, and everyone was wearing a mask. It made recognising people difficult. “If you see John,” she said carefully, ‘tell him I’m here. Tell him it’s important that I speak with him right away.”