Sir Aebard and the Knight of the Black Rose
A Fantasy One Shot
This week’s One Shot is inspired by another ’s prompt, this time their Romance and Knights one. It requires heroes and valour, some element of romance, and be no more than 5000 words, this is 4271. Happy reading!
Sir Aebard raised his lance to the King, Queen, various princes and princesses, petty council members, other dignitaries, and finally to Princess Moira. His opponent, enshrouded in his soot black steel plate did the same. The pair guided their horses toward the royal box where, at the front, stood the Princess Moira with a crown of roses, the sign of her favour to gifted to her favourite. Sir Aebard's horse, Thane, whinnied and snapped at the bit. The Princess played with the six rouge roses coiled together and had passed over at least ten good knights in the day so far. Sir Aebard was entranced by her divine beauty and, though against decorum, could not look away. The princess met his eye and gave a cute smile, turning her head graciously to one side. How long ago the previous summer seemed when he and her whispered their affections to one another beneath the apple trees of her father's orchards.
'May triumph gather at your heels and riches flow through your fingers,' the Princess Moira said, to the black knight. She retained her crown of roses.
The black clad knight bowed in the saddle and turned his horse towards his end of the tilt barrier.
The princess gracefully approached Sir Aebard and said, 'May triumph gather at your heels, riches flow through your fingers, and honour always be at hand.' She leant over the side and looped the crown of roses on Sir Aebard's lance, the six flowers spun down the blunted weapon and bounced against his wrist without losing a petal. Thane trod left and right, pulling at the reins.
'Your grace,' Sir Aebard bowed and raised his lance for the crowd to witness. Three cheers shook the stalls and a fourth huzzah for the King boomed as Sir Aebard reached his end of the barrier.
The Knight of the Black Rose raised his shield and lowered his lance. The crowd began to cheer and bang against the stands. Sir Aebard lowered his own visor, raised his shield, and felt the weight of his own lance as it tipped forward to couch on his thigh. His breath was loud and hot inside the helm, his vision a slim one inch by four.
A horn sounded and Sir Aebard dug his heels into his steed. The horse bolted, neighing and huffing. Lance clashed against shield and a spray of splinters covered the two knights. Sir Aebard reached the end of the barrier and turned for the second pass, his shield and lance still whole. The Knight of the Black Rose tossed his shattered lance to the ground and received a second before kicking his horse into a gallop. Sir Aebard urged his horse on but the stallion resisted. 'What spirit has possessed you today, Thane?' A firm pinch with his heels got the horse moving but the ride was uneven. Lance crossed lance and both knight's tilted in the saddle yet managing to remain mounted. Sir Aebard swapped his shield for a fresh one.
The crowd cheered louder and louder for both knights. Princess Moira was on her feet, clinging to the sleeve of her handmaiden while her father, the King, made a deal with a Duke in the shadows of the royal box.
Sir Aebard's steed bucked, froth coming from its mouth. 'Thane collect your wits!' he snapped the reins and charged down the barrier once more. He lowered his lance and as he was sure he had the Knight of the Black Rose Thane faltered, slowing down. Sir Aebards lance dipped as the Knight of the Black Rose's lance caught him in the shoulder. Sir Aebard tilted and then spun out of the saddle to crash in a clatter of steel on the mud of the list field.
The crowd cheered.
The Princess gasped.
The King peered over, acknowledged the result, and collected his winnings from a number of dukes and brothers sharing the royal box.
Sir Aebard struggled to his feet to find his horse panting as it lay on its front legs. White foam frothed from its mouth, eyes swollen and reddened. 'Poison?' Sir Aebard muttered to himself.
The Knight of the Black Rose made a victory lap, his horse cantering prettily. Roses painted black with watery soot were thrown to him from the stalls.
Sir Aebard watched the knight showered in black roses and felt his bile rise. He reached for his sword but it wasn't there, he'd surrendered it, along with all the other knights, on entering the King's tourney. Non-sanctioned fights would result in imprisonment, Sir Aebard remembered, and knelt beside Thane. His squire Edwin appeared at his side with a bucket of water, 'Drink this,' he set the bucket by Thane's head.
The horse attempted to drink, but recoiled.
'No, drink,' Edwin pressed Thane's head toward the bucket.
'What's that?'
'Something to rid him of the poison.'
Sir Aebard grunted his acceptance. He leaned back on his heels and caught the princess's gaze. She smiled again and then turned away, worry on her face.
'Shame about your horse,' the Knight of the Black Rose said, on the final quarter of his victory lap.
'You'd know. Tell me what cures him and I won't confront you on the road,' Sir Aebard said.
The knight laughed as he waved to the crowd, accepting a wreath of black roses from a farmer's daughter with rosy cheeks and a round face. He winked at her, causing her rosiness to spread, and then continued on.
The announcer appeared with a horn player at his side. The horn sounded one long high note and the announcer said, 'The next bout is soon to begin...'
Thane drank from the bucket and stumbled up to his full impressive height. Edwin guided him from the field, Sir Aebard in his wake.
Sir Aebard stood before the King and his entourage, along with all the other knights who had competed.
'I thank you all for coming and gracing us all with fine skill. As a token of my appreciation I have ten crowns for each of you,' he gestured to a man at his side. The man, aged, wore the billowing cap of scholarly pursuits. He began to hand out small purses to each of the knights. Next the King came down the line, stopping with each man to speak something personal.
Sir Aebard watched each man to his right smile as the King finished and continued on. A tourney was not unusual, being paid as losers was, meeting the hosting King unheard of. As he waited for his audience he searched the men and women making up the King's party. The Queen held council with a few of her daughters and sons, noblemen plotted out of earshot, other princes, brothers most likely, stood proud and loyal, but nowhere did he see the Princess Moira.
The aged scholar broke his vision, smiled and handed him a purse, 'For your troubles, good knight.' He moved on.
The King appeared next, 'Shame about your fight with the Black Rose. I thought you had him. Did your horse recover?'
'He did, Your Grace.'
'Very good, would be a shame to see such a fine animal perish like that.'
'May I ask a question?'
'You may,' the King raised an eyebrow.
'Is the Princess Moira well, I see she has not joined you here,' Sir Aebard's heart fluttered.
The King's brow darkened, 'That question is above your station, sir knight, I'll forget it if only to preserve the joy of this day.' And with that the King moved on.
Sir Aebard's heart pounded for a few moments more before the King was out of earshot and he remembered he was ten crowns richer. Not as much as the Black Rose received for winning but more than enough for good living for a few months.
Sir Aebard and Edwin prepared to depart, their horses laden with baggage, their freshly cleaned travel cloaks draped over their shoulders. As Sir Aebard mounted a man with a fur collar on his robe came running, 'The King requests an audience.'
'Do I have a choice?' Sir Aebard said, settling into the saddle.
'In truth? No.'
'Lead the way,' Sir Aebard turned to Edwin. 'Remain here.'
Sir Aebard was led into a side entrance of the keep, up a servants staircase and then into a side room. The King sat alone, a sword on his hip, in what appeared to be an apothecaries storage cupboard. 'Sit,' the King gestured to a stool beneath a shelf crammed with dried foliage.
Sir Aebard sat.
'Misfortune has befallen my house and I wish for you to rectify it,' he said.
Sir Aebard remained silent.
'My daughter, Princess Moira, whose whereabouts you enquired, has been kidnapped. I have not received a note for ransom. Find her, she cannot have been taken far, and you may make any request of me that you wish.'
'Your Grace, why are you asking me?'
'Because you asked about her, even if it was above your station I believe I can trust you to act with chivalry and honour.'
Sir Aebard bowed, 'Your Grace's words move me.' He paused before speaking again, 'Was there a hint of who kidnapped her?'
'A black rose.'
It could not be that simple. Sir Aebard returned to Edwin and informed of their new duty.
'Too easy. Has to be misdirection,' Edwin said.
'That's what His Grace said. We can talk on the move, let us ask at the gatehouses about suspicious figures and notable landmarks.'
The Knight of the Black Rose had been seen leaving early in the morning, alone. The rest of the days traffic had been normal. Workers coming in from nearby villages, merchants coming and going, messengers, and the general riff raff looking for work or amusement.
Sir Aebard sat on a rocky hillock eating a meat pie while overlooking the farmland that surrounded the city. Edwin tended to the horses. He scanned the horizon amazed the guards had been telling the truth, there were no notable landmarks. No towers, no forts, no ruins, no postal stops or inns, nothing for miles save a few farmer's cottages and the hills which only the Divine could remove. The only curiosity was a wooded incline that eventually became Mount Targon, none of the guards had mentioned it but aside from cottages and a few barrows it was the best place to search.
'Saddle the horses, Edwin,' Sir Aebard said, tossing the rusk of his pie to the side.
'It's getting late.'
'And we haven't made any progress. The longer we take the further away Princess Moira gets and the harder our duty becomes,' he rose and fastened his sword belt to his waist.
Sir Aebard found himself thinking of Princess Moira as he rode toward the wooded hills. Focussing on the task at hand only brought his thoughts back to her radiant beauty, and it was then he knew what he would request of the King when he saved his daughter.
The knight and squire tied the horses to a sturdy yew at the base of the hill. The undergrowth was undisturbed, the squirrels skittish. Beetles crawled underfoot and crows cocked their heads towards the pair as if asking why men had set foot in their kingdom. Edwin led the way, branches snapping as he trod.
'Keep quiet,' Sir Aebard said. 'If there is anyone in this wood we want to surprise them not announce ourselves.'
'That doesn't seem very chivalrous, sir.'
'It will keep you alive though. Chivalry does not require you to be foolish, squire,' Sir Aebard said. He drew his sword and picked his way through the thorn and berry bushes using the ancient trees to pull himself up the hill. The chainmail under his shirt clinked softly and his steel greaves gently brushed against the vines and roots latticed over the forest floor. 'If it is Black Rose we must apprehend him. It is not our right to sentence his fate,' Sir Aebard paused. 'Saying that, if it is between our deaths and his, kill him,' the last words sounded more final than he intended.
'As you say,' Edwin said. He swallowed hard and followed Sir Aebard's path up the hill. 'I haven't,' he hesitated. 'I haven't taken a life before.'
'I know,' Sir Aebard said. 'You're trained, you're able, I can teach you little else in swordcraft. Though there are a ways to go in poetry and the Classics,' Sir Aebard smirked. 'Let's keep quiet now.'
Edwin nodded and the pair ascended the hill.
The undergrowth thinned until it was little more than clumps of tough grass. The trees shortened and changed from sturdy yews and elms to birches and something else he hadn't seen before. The incline lessened and the knight and squire emerged to a pathway, old and overgrown but cobbles could be seen beneath Mother Nature's reclamation. The far side of the path was the steep rocky cliff side of Mount Targon all held in check with timber boards, moss ridden and rotten. Sir Aebard followed the path a short distance as it curled around the cliff and stumbled upon a cave, the opening sealed with a wooden double door with iron bar windows. The clearing before the entrance sported no signs of life or recent works.
'It's a mine,' Edwin said.
'The guards failed to mention this,' Sir Aebard approached the doors and prodded one with his sword, it yawned open revealing a shadowed maw and a gust of stale air. Thick cobwebs hung from the hewn overhead rock. Sir Aebard turned to Edwin and pressed a finger to his lips. He crept into the darkness.
Within a yard his eyes began to adjust to the gloom as the last flicker of light bled through the open doors. There were no flames further in, no light at the end of the tunnel. He paused and listened, turning his ear to the cave.
Silence.
'This is foolish,' Sir Aebard said, turning back.
'Wait,' Edwin cupped his hand round his ear. 'I hear voices. Faint but definitely voices.'
Sir Aebard skittered outside and found an dry piece of timber, he tore a strip from his sleeve and knotted it around one end before striking his flint against the stone, igniting the cloth and eventually the wood. 'Won't last long without oil, get going,' he hissed. The knight and squire pressed ahead into the dark, armed with a faint hope.
The old mine had a trio of pathways, all straight and parallel to each other. Edwin stood at the mouth of each, listening. He nodded and pointed when he heard voices and they crept along, Sir Aebard running his hand along the chiselled wall. Soon enough Sir Aebard heard the voices too, to his ear they sounded southern and the only southerners to venture northward were mercenaries, brutal ones. The tunnel curled into a natural cavern about twenty feet long and thirty feet wide. Light flickered from the exit further ahead, a man made continuation for mining.
Sir Aebard extinguished his torch and crept towards the new light. The voices were clear, though heavily accented.
'How long must we wait here?' one said.
'Until the Black Rose says so.'
'It was better in the city, at least there was women and drink there. All there is here is piss and that mare we cannot touch.'
'He pays.'
'Oh he certainly pays,' the mercenary chuckled. 'I expect extra for getting her out the city, those guards are blind and deaf. I bet we could have taken that harlot queen and they'd still be none the wiser,' the two mercenaries laughed.
Sir Aebard stormed down the passage, sword out straight. The mercenaries stood around a fire facing each other, only one turned as Sir Aebard approached but it was too late. The knight drove his sword into the merc's ribs and before the second could draw his sword Sir Aebard had pulled his blade free and slashed right, severing the other man's neck. 'Edwin hurry!' The tunnel continued in a single direction delving deeper under Mount Targon.
Men appeared further down the tunnel, they were armed with spears. 'Jasta?' the first one called.
Sir Aebard sprinted forward, ducking beneath the spear, and stabbed the man in the gut. 'No,' he answered. The mercenaries behind the dying man flinched giving Sir Aebard the time to grapple the leader and use him as a shield. He wrestled the spear out of his hand, 'Take this!' he shouted to Edwin.
The squire sheathed his sword and took the spear, he thrust over Sir Aebard and the “shield's” shoulders forcing the mercenaries backwards and into a second natural cavern. Braziers burned around the edges of the cavern and between two was a cage. Inside the cage was the Princess Moira, dressed in rags with her hands bound to the bars by thick ropes. Her hair hung damp and limp over her face, her feet thick with mud and dust. Sir Aebard shoved the gutted man at his comrades and assaulted the trio of mercenaries. He disarmed two and severed the head off the third. He was not proud of it but there was no other way.
'Sir, watch out!' Edwin bellowed. He charged, spear in two hands, and pierced the ribs of another mercenary. The thick bearded man gasped and froze, pulled up by his hands like a marionette. Edwin dropped the spear, the man fell with it.
Sir Aebard scanned the cramped cavern glad the only other living soul was the princess. He rushed to her cage, 'I'm here to rescue you, my love.' He pressed his lips to hers through the bars.
Princess Moira clamoured to the bars, her lips white and cracked. 'Thank the Divine! Does my father know what has befallen me?'
'He does. He requested I find you,' Sir Aebard tried to force the lock but it was stuck hard. 'Check the dead for keys,' he ordered Edwin
'They didn't have any,' the princess grabbed the bars and rested her forehead against them. 'Only the Black Rose has the key.'
'Where is he?' Sir Aebard asked.
'Here.'
Sir Aebard rose and spun about to find the Knight of the Black Rose with a knife to Edwin's throat. 'Let the boy go.'
'Why? You said you had nothing left to teach him. I want to see if that's true,' the Black Rose nodded to someone behind Sir Aebard.
A large pair of arms wrapped around Sir Aebard's waist lifting him up and tossing him across the dirt. At the same time the Black Rose shoved Edwin away and said, 'Draw your sword, boy, let's see what you're made of!' He attacked, forcing Edwin to awkwardly draw his sword. Steel clashed against steel and Edwin stumbled backwards, his sword still half in the scabbard.
'Come on, boy, show your skill,' the Black Rose prodded Edwin in the shoulder, blood bloomed on his shirt.
Sir Aebard coughed up dust and scrambled to his feet, using the craggy wall for support. The tower of a man advanced on him, cracking his knuckles and grinning. Sir Aebard swung his sword only for the seven foot man to catch the blade in his hand. A small trickle of red rolled down his palm and splashed into the dirt. The giant lifted Sir Aebard up by the sword and tossed him across the cavern.
Princess Moira screamed.
His back cracked against the wall and he landed in a puff of mining debris. A hundred cuts from the rough rock laced his face and arms, yet he rose again sword in one hand, rock in the other. 'Alright,' he blinked hard, trying to get the blurred image to become one again. The enormous man, browned by time in the hot southern son, stomped towards him. He threw a punch. Sir Aebard ducked in time to catch a foot in the stomach that left him wondering how a man so large moved so quick. As he thought he slammed the rock into the giant's knee. The rock slipped out of his hand, in two pieces. The mercenary yelped. Sir Aebard slashed wildly, struggling to catch his breath or stand upright. Steel found flesh but only the tip of his sword was bloodied.
Edwin clashed blades with the Black Rose, his arm bloody, and a gash along his cheek.
Sir Aebard yelled wordlessly and chopped at the mountain of flesh before him. A hand caught his blade, the same as before, but this time it carved through the heel of the mercs hand and into his wrist. The giant screamed, spittle flying from his lips.
The Black Rose parried Edwin and slashed him across the midriff, 'Surely you can do better!'
The Princess screamed.
Sir Aebard looked from Princess to squire and then to his foe. He freed his sword from the hand of gore and thrust it through his throat instead. The man crashed to his knees, eyes rolling backwards, and gargled his last breath.
Edwin staggered and fell, holding his sword feebly. The Black Rose batted it away. The castle steel clattered against stone. 'How disappointing,' he made to cut the squire's neck.
'No!' Sir Aebard sprinted, his bones aching in warning, and leapt to deflect the killing strike. Steel found steel and the Black Rose trained his gaze on Sir Aebard with a crane of his neck. The knight wore his soot black plate armour, save for his helmet. His dark eyes were shrouded under a deep brow highlighted with slim, sable eyebrows and a tussle of thick coal coloured hair.
'Fool, you will both die in this place never to be found,' the Black Rose kicked a fan of dust at Sir Aebard and created distance. 'You lost the joust, what makes you think you can win with a sword?'
'You cheated.'
'Prove it,' the raven knight lunged into a flurry of attacks.
Sir Aebard deflected each one but retreated every one, 'Why did you kidnap the Princess?'
'The money those southern satraps will pay for a beauty like her, you have no idea. She will be well treated in some harem, better than marrying some eastern lord and live out her days in an icy castle,' the Black Rose taunted.
'You're a slaver? What sort of knight are you?'
'A rich one.'
Sir Aebard had found his rhythm, fuelled by righteous anger, and traded evenly with the Black Rose. Edwin dragged himself to his sword and used it as a stick to stand.
Sir Aebard saw Edwin intended to join the melee but he was certain he would die if he did so. Suppressing the ache of his bones and stinging of his cuts Sir Aebard pressed the attack, forcing the Black Rose to concede ground but never managing to find an opening in his offence or defence.
'You cannot win,' the Black Rose grinned. He deflected a high blow, feinted low, and struck Sir Aebard high on the chest.
Sir Aebard winced as the tip of the blade slipped between his mail shirt and cut along his collar bone. He lashed out, swinging high and then kicking low. The blade grazed his foe's pauldron while his shin crunched into his knee. The Black Rose slumped to one side, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. Sir Aebard smacked the sable knight in the nose. Blood burst over his face as he fell backwards. Edwin was there and thrust his sword into the Black Rose's throat. Shock spread across his face as his life drained out of him.
Sir Aebard rushed for the pouches on his belt, finding a hefty purse of crowns, a flint, arrowheads, and finally, a long iron key. He fumbled with the cage lock and when it popped open the Princess threw herself at him, locking her arms around his neck and sobbing. 'Hurry, we cannot stay here. Who knows if he hired other mercenaries,' he rose, weary, and held Princess Moira around the waist.
Edwin leaned on his sword, buried in the Black Rose's neck, staring down at the man.
'How does it feel, your first kill?'
'Second. My first was one of his mercs,' Edwin said, without looking up. 'Could we have apprehended him?'
'Not in our state,' Sir Aebard said.
'As you say.'
Sir Aebard and Edwin knelt before the King, Queen, and Princess Moira. No others had been permitted to attend. No others were to know of what had befallen Her Highness.
'It saddens me that a knight would resort to slavery and be so concerned with worldly riches,' the King said. 'My daughter has corroborated your story, so even though you did not return with proof, I will reward you for dealing with a serious criminal.'
'Thank you, Your Grace,' Sir Aebard kept his eyes focussed to the mosaic floor.
'As to your reward for rescuing my daughter, I bid you make your request.'
Sir Aebard paused for a moment but in truth there was only one thing on his mind, he looked up, 'I ask for the Princess Moira's hand in marriage.'
'What?' the Queen hissed. 'Preposterous!'
'Mother!'
The King scowled, first at Sir Aebard then at his daughter. 'I see something has escaped me. While I am loathe for her to marry a petty noble knight I am also a man of my word.'
'You cannot be serious!' the Queen admonished.
The Princess Moira beamed with joy and ran over to embrace her knight rescuer.
The King smiled at his daughter's delight, 'At least we know she will be happy.'
Thanks for reading, if you enjoy my work please consider upgrading to a Paid Subscription. Not only would I be eternally grateful but you will unlock copious more stories to read right here and now, thank you.
Nice work!
The fight scenes were well done. That is a difficult task.