Twelfth Knight

Chapter 9

Sir Wylan had been training knights at the castle since the time that he lost his leg in the battle only ten years prior. The man did not believe that anything could surprise him. And he also believed that no matter how much training could be given to a person, they would never fully be prepared for what war would bring.

He remembered what the war had been for himself. He was constantly facing his fears and the fears that he never believed existed deep within him. He knew that the war was going to be terrifying, he did not expect the scars that would plague him for the rest of his life.

He knew that he was hard on the squires, he honestly did not care. If they could not withstand his torment, they would never be able to withstand the pain the war would bring to them. This was why he worked them so hard. He wanted them to live past the age of twenty-five. He wanted them to have a life.

There was one day in battle that he would always remember. It was always there living in the back of his mind, dragging him down the way an anchor held down a ship. He would never be the same. He could never be the same.

Growing up, Sir Wylan had a best friend, a man called Sir Percival. He and Percival were closer than probably any other friends on the earth. They leaned on one another. They were there for one another regardless of the circumstance. And together, as they did everything, they entered squire training.

The two years (for then it was only two years of training) breezed by too quickly and suddenly they found themselves on the battlefield, utterly unprepared for facing the barbarians known as the Cyrans.

The knights were unlike the foot soldiers that were the peasants. The knights held more prestige and training than the foot soldiers that were simply given a bow and arrow and told to fend off anyone coming towards them. To be a knight was the highest honor that a gentleman could achieve, it was why so many siblings were found the King’s Knights even though only one family member was required by law.

Sir Wylan and Sir Percival were cocky in their youth. They thought that because they had been placed in command of the foot soldiers that they even knew what was expected of them. They believed they knew what they were doing even though they had not tasted the foulness of war yet.

It was this incident that caused Sir Wylan to completely destroy the lesson plans of the squire training, expanding the program from two years to four and including lessons on war strategy. He wanted the boys to be prepared for what was going to come. He wanted them to be ready.

Because he wasn’t ready.

He and Percival took their small platoon of men into a battle with three thousand Cyrans. Only one man survived and, as can be expected, that man was Sir Wylan.

He had never been so afraid of another human being than that moment. He was dragged from the battle fray into a damp prison where they kept all the prisoners of war. There was little food, little water, little warmth, and so much sickness.

The Cyrans would drag their prisoners out into a cage and force them to fight each other for their entertainment. He could remember the faces of every man he was forced to kill for Cyrans’ pleasure.

He lost his foot in one of those fights. Had he lost it in some heroic feat, he would have been proud. But forever his missing foot would be a reminder of the men he obliterated and the the families he destroyed.

He had met a daughter of one of the men he had killed when he was liberated. He couldn’t look the poor girl in the eye when he said that her father had died in the prison. He deliberately refrained from mentioning how he died.

Sir Wylan had never considered that killing other men would be a mortal fear to him. He did not learn this little tidbit about himself until he was marching into battle with Sir Percival, their foot soldiers surrounding them.

Fear was something that Sir Wylan became intimately familiar with. Both that day in battle and the year he spent thereafter in prison.

He was most known for his liberation of the prisoners in the Cyran prison. He knew that many people sensationalized what had really taken place. As the story was told, he managed to keep one of the knives they’d given him during those bloody, inhumane battles. He hid it on himself and waited until the time was right to use it for their escape.

He took as many prisoners as he could because he did not want to live with the memory of those dreary nights alone. He wanted someone else to live with the punishment of existing while those memories bore into the back of his mind. He liberated the prison under selfish terms. But it was those selfish terms that led to the fame he know possessed.

It was because of all of this that Sir Wylan added fear to his curriculum. He rather enjoyed watching the young squires squirm under the discomfort that was fear. This was a lesson he had learned the hard way. This was a lesson that they needed in order to better themselves.

The most common fear, as everyone knows, is the fear of heights. Sir Wylan knew that among his first year squires there would be such a one that was terrified of what the heights would bring. So, naturally, he woke them all early one morning and forced them to climb Mount Kingston, the mountain which stood between the castle and the northern part of the kingdom.

He did not even both going with them on this endeavor. He only ordered them to reach the top of the mountain and return with the rare frosted-tipped rose that only grew on the mountain at this time of the year.

The whole time they walked, Emberly could feel her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest. It pounded loudly so that the only thing Emberly could hear was her heart and the heavy breathing escaping her lips.

The mountain, itself, was not conducive to those who feared heights. Indeed, the climb was straight up, the only help they were given was by one another. Had the climb been up a long, winding path, Emberly could have focused on something other than the fact that if she slipped, she would fall to her death. This last thought was perpetually on her mind as she forced her legs to move. If she slipped she would plummet to her death.

“Hurry up, Dern!” barked the voice of James Heczah, “we haven’t got all day!” She had thought that with the rest of the group behind her, she would be able to coerce the fear out of her. She would be forced to move with the rest of the group. But this had only proved her stupidity. Her fear of heights was greater than her fear of appearing foolish before her peers. In fact, this only made it all the worse.

She was looked back at James, to tell him she was moving as quickly as she could, when her eyes fell on the ground below them. She froze like water in the winter. Her eyes widened and her breathing, if possible, only intensified. They were so high up, so very, very high. The ground loomed before them, waiting to swallow up its victims when the mountain was done with them.

She heard voices around her, but she could not say for certain what they were snapping at her. Certainly, the boys were wanting to finish the exercise and leave the mountain, but Emberly could not move. Her eyes were trained on the ground as though it would jump out at her if she looked away.

A hand touched her shoulder. “Kyler,” a voice said gently, “we’ve got to keep moving.” Emberly could hear the pleading in his voice. She tried to reply, was even able to open her mouth to do so, but no words appeared. They had evaporated when the pounding in her chest intensified.

That was the thing about fear. It, like death, does not discriminate and it comes for all people in different ways.

“I’ll take him back,” she heard Arran tell the others bravely, “you go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

Arran pulled gently on her arm, forcing her back down the mountain to where Sir Wylan was standing with a wide smirk plastered to his face. This had worked out just as he expected, just like it usually did.

“Thank you for joining us, Dern,” Sir Wylan spat at her. “Some knight you’ll make if you can’t even climb a mountain.” She turned her face away in shame.

-----

Emberly did not realize until the boys returned from the top of the mountain, about an hour and a half later, (a time she spent listening to Sir Wylan describe in great detail that she was a terrible knight,) that she was not alone in having to face her fears. The frosted-tipped rose was a hallucinogen, a very specific hallucinogen. While it looked kind and beautiful from the outside, it gave fearful illusions to anyone who held it for an extended period of time. When the boys picked up their own flowers, they found themselves facing their worst fears.

It was clear from their faces that each of them had seen something different, but equally horrific. Arran, who plodded over to her immediately, his face unusually pale, demanded her to tell him if she saw any snakes crawling up and down his arms. And while she had assured him otherwise, he still ran a hand over his arms to ensure she was telling the truth.

She did not know what the others had seen, no one was particularly willing to admit what they had seen coming down the mountain. But knowing that the others had to face their fears made Emberly feel better. She was not alone in that endeavor today. They all had to face something that terrified them.

“You can keep the flowers,” Sir Wylan rasped, laughter dancing in his eyes. How many times had he watched the squires go up and down the mountain? Emberly wondered briefly what he would have seen up there had he gone too.

No one kept the flowers, they all fell to the ground, the boys take special care to step away from the flowers in case they were pricked by the awful visions once more.

-----

Emberly was restless that night. She found herself pacing her room after she finished her extra training exercises. Her mind kept playing over that day, wondering what the others had seen while they carried the frosted-tipped roses down the mountain.

Kyra had gone off to bed earlier that night, an annoyed expression on her face. Emberly had seen her in the stables during her training, but no matter how much Emberly prodded, Kyra refused to say anything on the matter.

Kyra had always been like that when it came to vulnerability. All their lives, Kyra would shout out her opinions, acting as though she were the toughest human being alive. But it was moments like these that proved otherwise. Kyra hated it when anyone knew what was going on in her mind, especially when it came to explaining the suddenly affection Kyra had for the stable boy who had no idea she was really a woman.

In this respect, Emberly felt sorry for her friend, whom she had coerced into going on this adventure with her.

Emberly’s restlessness only increased the more she paced around the room. Restlessness, it seemed, was food for more restlessness. It was late, but Emberly decided that if she was not going to be able to sleep, the least she could was put this time to good use.

Knowing the stables were lit for most of the night, Emberly strode out of her room, down to the stables, desiring to spend time with Feste. He was probably awake himself. He had this new and aggravating habit of sleeping whenever he was bored. This especially came out when they were practicing with the lances. Somehow running extremely fast down a field was not interesting to the poor horse.

When Emberly entered the stables, she knew she was not alone. She could hear the soft whimpers of crying from the doorway. She turned away, not wanting to intrude on someone’s private moment. Whoever it was certainly would not want to be found crying in the middle of the night.

Before she left, though, she found herself glancing around the stables to discern who it was that was weeping. Her eyes landed on the last person she expected to find in there.

Prince William was standing beside his chestnut horse, gently rubbing it behind the ears. He wiped the tears away with the back of his hand. “How he expects us to sleep after something like that is beyond me,” he murmured quietly to the horse. “It was awful, Maria…” Emberly stepped backwards, cautiously walking away from the scene. She crouched at the door. As she expected, the prince was not finished bearing his heart out to his beloved horse. “I-I’ve had dreams of that before, you know,” he sniffled, “especially when I was sick last year...I cannot–” she heard him take a deep breath– “I cannot be the king that lets everyone down. I-I’m terrified of being king one day, Maria...The idea of letting everyone down…” He paused. “I don’t want to let anyone, especially my father, down.”

Emberly crept away from the doorway, not wanting to hear anymore.

Only when she had returned to her room did she allow herself to consider what she had just heard. She had resigned herself to loathing the prince for the rest of her life. She would, like a good citizen, swear her loyalty to him as her king, but not to him as a man. She had thought him utterly wretched, especially when he helped leave her in the middle of nowhere.

She had never considered that the prince was just a scared kid like the rest of them. He was always walking around with his head held in regale pride. Only now did she understand the mask he seemed to wear. He was worried for the future of the kingdom, like a good future king should.

Maybe there’s more to him than you think, a voice said her mind. Immediately, Emberly dismissed the thought. Sure, she had seen him crying. But this suddenly conscience and vulnerability did not atone for past wrongs. The prince was still the loathsome insect she knew him to be, despite the fear she had just learned about him.

She pushed the thoughts away and climbed into bed. It was better for her to forget everything she’d seen. It would do her no good otherwise.

Of course, this was easier said than done and the memory of the crying prince lived in the back of her mind every time she saw him.