Lord Knight

I

Five years ago, a Necromancer of incomparable power unleashed a storm of undead across the lands of Aramanna. Every capable kingdom and faction rose in resistance against the nightly assaults. But the macabre nature of the necromancer's army had them at a distinct disadvantage.

Their inevitable casualties birthed new material for more of their adversaries to rise from. They began burning their dead when they could. When they couldn't, soldiers slept through the daylight hours knowing they would face their fallen comrades in the battles to come. Corpses; with blazing white eyes appeared like a tidal wave of stars, only they were far from beautiful like the twinkling celestial fires above. They were cold, twisted, and grotesque.

Nearly two years of war passed before a human King from one of the southern kingdoms drafted together an order of the most skilled soldiers, drawing from every army available. These nine men were to be kept anonymous and were to be blessed by every remaining high cleric and divine mage. They became a turning point in the war for the people across the land and became known simply as the Lord Knights, or the Knights of Aramanna.

For three years, the Knights have led the free peoples against the onslaught of the cruel necromancer's abominations. But now, whispers were circulating among the soldiers of the war finally coming to ahead. The necromancer had been seen on the battlefield the night before, and many now suspected this evening's conflict would be their last. The remaining three knights would either kill the crafter of their enemies, leading them to a decisive victory, or they would fail, and the fires of the resistance would be snuffed out, to the detriment of all...

Brynja was silent, her gaze lost somewhere amidst the worn wall of their tent when Phrin's narrow fingers paused and he looked up. Her expression must have been difficult for him to read judging by the look on his face. He swallowed, stooping down to lift her pauldrons on to her shoulders, the weight of the protective metal pieces was nothing compared to the burdens she bore.

"Are you going to say your oath?" Pharin questioned softly. It had become a sort of evening ritual for the pair; she would recite the oath from the day she was knighted for him as he dressed her in her armor.

Brynja had resolved to skip it tonight...there was a finality lingering in the silence between them and the fading light of sunset that she could appreciate after so many fights, and after so much death...

"Not tonight," she replied before placing a wad of dark green leaves into her mouth that she'd drawn from a pouch on her belt, her gruff voice barely above a whisper.

"Too much of that will make you barren," he mumbled as he toiled with the laces on her armor. Her jaw froze mid-motion for a moment as she glanced down at him.

"If we win tonight, they'll still be plenty of young women to bear children. And they won't have to raise them in fear of the dead," Brynja replied in a stout tone before she continued chewing.

"If we win, you won't have to hide that you're a woman anymore... right?" His elfish accent was always more apparent the longer he trailed on.

"I don't know," she replied honestly. 'Woman' wasn't a word she's associated herself with for a long time. His deep frown tugged at her chest. He moved to gather her bracers, and when he returned to her, she bowed her head.

"I will wield my blade for the salvation of all living things in their natural order. I am the harbinger of justice to all those who would see it undone."

The way Pharin's eyes lit up forced her voice to waver as she continued. The hope it was restoring within him was permeating visibly through the young elf's frame and posture.

"I will wear no crest nor mark of house, nor will I ever remove my helmet in the presence of another. Fore' I am of every race, every country, every people." Brynja took in a deep breath, willing the stinging in her own pale blue eyes to subside. Now was hardly a time for tears.

"I am a Knight of hope," she proclaimed softly, her chin held high. "...A knight of light, a knight of Aramanna."

Pharin wiped his face on one of his billowing white sleeves. His faith in her and reverence for her title wasn't unique to him. Much of the armies and most civilians whispered the name, "Lord Knight," as if they were gods.

But under their helmets and armor, they were just humans, elves, and wizards... They were just men. Well, mostly.

Brynja had been raised as a kitchen maid. Unlike the daughters of noblemen, she didn't really have breasts to speak of, even by the time she turned sixteen. From the time she was old enough to carry buckets of water, until joining the war as a knobby fifteen-year-old, she'd performed daily physical tasks that had left her body lean and well-toned instead of feminine and curvey.

It'd been just as well, because only five months later, she was brought before the King to be knighted. She had also discovered the mix of herbs in her mouth now in the same year, and its usefulness in warding off her cycle, among other things. She, along with the other eight, had also acquired her own page at the time, a young and talented elven healer.

Pharin had been invaluable to her in keeping her situation a secret, and in keeping her sane. She focused on him once again as he paced trying to gather things here and there, now that she was dressed. Bandages, elixirs, anything else he thought they might need... Anything he thought he might have been forgetting.

"What are you doing?" she questioned gently.

"I don't know," he breathed in his native language, stopping mid-stride, with one hand on his dirty forehead. They were all wearing a coat of grime that would probably make the filthiest beggar turn up his nose. "...it feels like I'm just walking in circles now."

He looked frail and tired, and his cheeks were showing signs of the weight he'd lost. She supposed she probably looked pale too, and she certainly did feel thin as of late. War wasn't something a body, human or elven, was built to endure. It left scars inside and out...on faces and landscapes.

Brynja sighed deeply, motioning for Pharin to come close. She placed a kiss just below his hairline before putting on her helmet, watching the distressed elf stain his sleeves further by trying to wipe away more wet streaks from his face.