The Knight Tree
What follows is a rough new beginning for the novel that I still don’t have a working title for.
The Knight Tree stood large and ominous in the mists that engulfed it at times in the narrow gully at the foot of the pass. Once it had been a mighty tree standing the test of time as it dominated the landscape and the wooded land that existed beyond it stretching into the valley. It was the lone guardian against the mountain pass. The first and thus the last tree or thing a person would see coming into or leaving from the Valley of Long Shadows.
The tree had many branches now bare of foliage reaching up into the sky with branches like great claws ripping at the mists that surrounded it daily at dusk and morning. One who gazed upon the Knight Tree could see why it had earned this ominous namesake, for from the lower of it branches hung the bodies of its title. Three suits of plate armor hung like ornaments from the tree as if some unsympathetic giant had found it fit to decorate the tree as such. The sight gave pause to those who saw its visage looming out of the environment as if to say who dares to come into my domain.
I dare, Sir Dinadain had said as he had rode under it from the pass that morning. Part of him had wished to climb into the monstrous tree and cut his brethren down from it, but he had no means to get up to the branches which were a good 16 feet from the floor of the gully. Dinadain had seen many fearsome spectacles that were to beheld in the pass he had just crossed but this was perhaps the worst, for Dinadain knew these knights’ names.
Their names were written on the logs of the missing at the Benevolent Gaurdian, the Keep of the Order of the Silver Hand. Each of these men, these great men had earned their titles through deeds of great renown but now had been reduced to the scarecrow corpses hanging from this travesty, no this mockery of all that they had stood against. Dinadain had paused only long enough to pray over their remains and curse their murderer- not for the first time.
Sir Sagremore had come to the Valley first and his armor now hung in the branches as if thrown their by some careless giant in a fit of anger. Not some giant, Dinadain corrected himself, no this was the monster that Sagremore had come to kill. Sagremore’s faith had failed him as had his sword apparently.
Sir Duncan De Loce had followed Sagremore here a year later to learn of his fate. Sagremore had been declared missing not long before De Loce had joined him on the logs at the order. Apparently he too had shared a similar fate as his brother in arms. The last Knight to grace this accursed tree was that of Dinadain’s own family, his older brother Cinwyn Dinadain had come to meet with fate and lose his life upon this cruel tree. Dinadain had shed a tear for his brother before spurring his mount into the Valley beyond.
Now Dinadain limped in a half gait- half run through the long grasses that separated the forest from the Knight Tree as the monster had called it. The creature had towered over the shallow ravine where Dinadain had crashed after the monster had decapitated his horse sending him and the head of his beloved steed crashing through the underbrush to the bottom of that awful place. Dinadain stopped just in sight of the Wicked effigy of death looming before him in the evening mists. He cursed the fowl luck that had brought him here. He cursed his fool hardy courage and bravado for daring to tread where the bravest of the Order would not go. He cursed fate for delivering him into the hands of the Beast.
He knew at once that visage of nightmare had followed him there. He looked up at his brother hanging above him and hated everything he was or could have been. His brother leered down at him as if inviting him up to hang beside him. Dinadain felt the cold fear close around his heart, his legs began to shake uncontrollably as he felt his death approaching him across the long grassed behind him. Yet he would not turn to face it.
He reached up on hand, his left and was shocked to find the gauntlet gone, lost somewhere backm in those woods of twisted trees. Shaking with terror and exhaustion he struggle to rip the leather laces free from his helmet. If he could see the Beast this time perhaps he could slay the cursed creature and go home to his beloved order and the arms of Lily. The thought of Lily, brought tears and he choked on them. His hand forgot the laces to scrabble at the pouch at his throat. Somehow they found purchase and pulled free the lock of blond hair and tissued silk hidden therein. He breathed in her scent one last time wishing he could hide his head in her lap on last time before...
Sir Dinadain turned to face the darkness as if came rolling across the grasses that separated his death from the woods. No Salvation would come. Lily was lost to him forever, perhaps she had always been lost to him. Damn them all he thought as he let loose a scream and swung his sword high and forward into the coming night.
The shadow looked down at the man who now hung forward on the sword that impaled his chest. The Beast was not sure but the man may have died before the blade had ever impacted the plate armor covering his chest. This knight’s armor would have protected him from such a thrust of a weaker weapon and weaker opponent. This is no weak weapon, the Beast reflected nor am I a weak opponent.
The two of them stood there as the shadows of evening slid down the mountains to reach out across the valley in their long embraces. The beast felt the knights weight loosen as the last of his life left him. The Beast considered the knight for a long time. This one had been braver than the last. He had not begged for his life nor cursed and swore when it was ripped from him. What had the man screamed as he had swung his sword for the last time?
Lily.
The knight had screamed out a name, a flower’s name, no not a flower but a woman’s name. This man who had come to kill him had cried out in regret for the woman who had now lost him to the bitterness of death. Carefully the Beast lowered his sword and thus the Knight as well to the ground. Then placed his boot on the man’s chest, then with painstaking careful strength pulled the blade free.
The Beast considered his victim, this assassin as he lay in the long grasses surroundied by the stain of his blood as it seeped out of him into the ground. How many more would come before there would not be any who dared disturb the Valley of Long Shadows? The Beast looked up at the Tree where the three other had taken their places. Silently he chose a spot for this man to join his brethren and become a warning to those who would dare come here to try their fates against him. Fools that these mortals be.
The Beast returned his gaze down to the Knight that lay at his feet. he caught a glimpse of gold as the last of the light of day retreated from the valley. Carefully the Beast crouched down to pluck the golden piece up from where it had dropped from the man’s hand. The Beast considered the lock of golden hair and silk in his hand then looked down at the man who lay at his feet.
Lily.
The Beast knew of loss; loss like this man had given away that day. The insanity of it interested him. He shook his great head and considered the treasure in his hand. He would bury it with the man in the morning. The Knight or at least his armor would join the others in the Knight Tree.
What follows is a rough new beginning for the novel that I still don’t have a working title for.
The Knight Tree stood large and ominous in the mists that engulfed it at times in the narrow gully at the foot of the pass. Once it had been a mighty tree standing the test of time as it dominated the landscape and the wooded land that existed beyond it stretching into the valley. It was the lone guardian against the mountain pass. The first and thus the last tree or thing a person would see coming into or leaving from the Valley of Long Shadows.
The tree had many branches now bare of foliage reaching up into the sky with branches like great claws ripping at the mists that surrounded it daily at dusk and morning. One who gazed upon the Knight Tree could see why it had earned this ominous namesake, for from the lower of it branches hung the bodies of its title. Three suits of plate armor hung like ornaments from the tree as if some unsympathetic giant had found it fit to decorate the tree as such. The sight gave pause to those who saw its visage looming out of the environment as if to say who dares to come into my domain.
I dare, Sir Dinadain had said as he had rode under it from the pass that morning. Part of him had wished to climb into the monstrous tree and cut his brethren down from it, but he had no means to get up to the branches which were a good 16 feet from the floor of the gully. Dinadain had seen many fearsome spectacles that were to beheld in the pass he had just crossed but this was perhaps the worst, for Dinadain knew these knights’ names.
Their names were written on the logs of the missing at the Benevolent Gaurdian, the Keep of the Order of the Silver Hand. Each of these men, these great men had earned their titles through deeds of great renown but now had been reduced to the scarecrow corpses hanging from this travesty, no this mockery of all that they had stood against. Dinadain had paused only long enough to pray over their remains and curse their murderer- not for the first time.
Sir Sagremore had come to the Valley first and his armor now hung in the branches as if thrown their by some careless giant in a fit of anger. Not some giant, Dinadain corrected himself, no this was the monster that Sagremore had come to kill. Sagremore’s faith had failed him as had his sword apparently.
Sir Duncan De Loce had followed Sagremore here a year later to learn of his fate. Sagremore had been declared missing not long before De Loce had joined him on the logs at the order. Apparently he too had shared a similar fate as his brother in arms. The last Knight to grace this accursed tree was that of Dinadain’s own family, his older brother Cinwyn Dinadain had come to meet with fate and lose his life upon this cruel tree. Dinadain had shed a tear for his brother before spurring his mount into the Valley beyond.
Now Dinadain limped in a half gait- half run through the long grasses that separated the forest from the Knight Tree as the monster had called it. The creature had towered over the shallow ravine where Dinadain had crashed after the monster had decapitated his horse sending him and the head of his beloved steed crashing through the underbrush to the bottom of that awful place. Dinadain stopped just in sight of the Wicked effigy of death looming before him in the evening mists. He cursed the fowl luck that had brought him here. He cursed his fool hardy courage and bravado for daring to tread where the bravest of the Order would not go. He cursed fate for delivering him into the hands of the Beast.
He knew at once that visage of nightmare had followed him there. He looked up at his brother hanging above him and hated everything he was or could have been. His brother leered down at him as if inviting him up to hang beside him. Dinadain felt the cold fear close around his heart, his legs began to shake uncontrollably as he felt his death approaching him across the long grassed behind him. Yet he would not turn to face it.
He reached up on hand, his left and was shocked to find the gauntlet gone, lost somewhere backm in those woods of twisted trees. Shaking with terror and exhaustion he struggle to rip the leather laces free from his helmet. If he could see the Beast this time perhaps he could slay the cursed creature and go home to his beloved order and the arms of Lily. The thought of Lily, brought tears and he choked on them. His hand forgot the laces to scrabble at the pouch at his throat. Somehow they found purchase and pulled free the lock of blond hair and tissued silk hidden therein. He breathed in her scent one last time wishing he could hide his head in her lap on last time before...
Sir Dinadain turned to face the darkness as if came rolling across the grasses that separated his death from the woods. No Salvation would come. Lily was lost to him forever, perhaps she had always been lost to him. Damn them all he thought as he let loose a scream and swung his sword high and forward into the coming night.
The shadow looked down at the man who now hung forward on the sword that impaled his chest. The Beast was not sure but the man may have died before the blade had ever impacted the plate armor covering his chest. This knight’s armor would have protected him from such a thrust of a weaker weapon and weaker opponent. This is no weak weapon, the Beast reflected nor am I a weak opponent.
The two of them stood there as the shadows of evening slid down the mountains to reach out across the valley in their long embraces. The beast felt the knights weight loosen as the last of his life left him. The Beast considered the knight for a long time. This one had been braver than the last. He had not begged for his life nor cursed and swore when it was ripped from him. What had the man screamed as he had swung his sword for the last time?
Lily.
The knight had screamed out a name, a flower’s name, no not a flower but a woman’s name. This man who had come to kill him had cried out in regret for the woman who had now lost him to the bitterness of death. Carefully the Beast lowered his sword and thus the Knight as well to the ground. Then placed his boot on the man’s chest, then with painstaking careful strength pulled the blade free.
The Beast considered his victim, this assassin as he lay in the long grasses surroundied by the stain of his blood as it seeped out of him into the ground. How many more would come before there would not be any who dared disturb the Valley of Long Shadows? The Beast looked up at the Tree where the three other had taken their places. Silently he chose a spot for this man to join his brethren and become a warning to those who would dare come here to try their fates against him. Fools that these mortals be.
The Beast returned his gaze down to the Knight that lay at his feet. he caught a glimpse of gold as the last of the light of day retreated from the valley. Carefully the Beast crouched down to pluck the golden piece up from where it had dropped from the man’s hand. The Beast considered the lock of golden hair and silk in his hand then looked down at the man who lay at his feet.
Lily.
The Beast knew of loss; loss like this man had given away that day. The insanity of it interested him. He shook his great head and considered the treasure in his hand. He would bury it with the man in the morning. The Knight or at least his armor would join the others in the Knight Tree.
