The young boy shivered in the rain, his deep blue eyes wide open with awe and shock. His dark hair fell wet on his forehead, yet he seemed not to care. He just stood there, with a stained sword in his hand and a loose chain mail covering his torso, watching the raindrops mixing with blood, watering the earth. Three bodies were lying motionless around him, cut and pierced in different places, with no sign of life in them. The boy slowly raised his gaze and looked upon his sword, whispering incomprehensibly.

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All of a sudden the boy seethed his sword, as realization hit him, and run to his horse which stood some paces away. Jumping hastily on the saddle, he screamed for the horse to gallop, while kicking on its sides. As the horse rode into the rain heading south, the boy's mind wondered through thousands of thoughts: he was attacked, attacked by disguised Mouintan guards for no apparent reason. If he was attacked, chances are he was not the only one.

 

His thoughts run to his father, in his tower back at the capital of County de Lerac. He has been accused of murder, the murder of a diplomat of a friendly country. All evidences pointed at him, yet the boy, would never believe such a thing. His father, Philip de Lerac, was a man of pure heart, incapable of taking another man's life. Besides, there was no motive, no reason why his father would commit the crime. The boy, now living his fifteenth winter, struggled to prove his father's innocence. He followed a peasant, who offered to provide him useful information, to the wild. And there he was attacked by three men. At first he thought they were bandits. But their skill and tactics showed obvious military training, one the boy was familiar with since his early years. It was either by luck, or divine favor that he had managed to disband the men even though he, even at this age, had already been accepted by the Order of the White Shield as a Squire, with obvious potential for Knighthood in the near future. That future now seemed dubious, as he rode hard to his home, pushing his horse to its limits.

​

Almost an hour later, the rain stopped and the boy was nearly at his destination. The lights of Lerac, his home town and capital of the County could be seen casting their light behind the hill that stood before him. Forcing the horse to gather all its remaining power, he galloped hard to the top of the hill. And there he stopped.

How foolish could he be? How could hope blind him so much? No town could cast so much light in the night sky. No number of torches or lanterns could give such illumination.

​

With tears quickly blurring his vision, the boy stood at the top of the hill, having spasms of cry and watching his home, the Tower of the Lilly burning in flames, like a huge fire tongue, trying to lick the endless sky.

​

It was only after the flames slowly started to wither and no tears were left for him to cry, that he was able to move. With a solemn face, almost devoid of all emotion, the boy slowly rode down the hill, looking blankly at the remains of his home. Nothing could be heard across the town as he entered, no light was lit apart from the burning tower, and not even the guards could be seen at their posts. Only far away, at the other side of the city, lights could be seen dancing in the Tower of the Rose, the home of Le Push family, making it look like a giant dark monster, with fiery eyes, laughing ironically at the boy.

​

As he reached the remains of his old home, the only one to greet him there, was the body of his father, hanging, half-burned, in front of the gate. The boy looked at him, unable even to cry, too exhausted in mind and body to do anything for a while. Then, he slowly got down from the horse and with careful moves, unhinged his father body with the fires still burning withering behind him.

​

He took the body and carried it deeply into the castle. Fires were still roaring around him, yet he cared little. Bringing his father remains to the main whole, he lied him down, to the center of the room and crossed his hands on his chest. Tears managed to climb once more to the boy's eyes but he didn’t cry. With watered eyes, he removed his father's ring, the County's ring, from his hand and put it in his hands as he kneeled in prayer.

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"Allagon, Father of Light, Judge of the Impure and Banisher of Shadows, give me strength to right this wrong, to bring the people who did this to justice, YOUR justice! And I swear, oh mighty God, that I will serve You and all that is Good and Righteous, for as long as I draw breath! So speaks Alfos de Lerac, son of Philippe and Tancred before him. And let my life be forfeit!"

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A sparkle shined at the boy's eyes making him open them. His father's sword, now lying on his father chest, shone red and bright as the dancing flames of the tower mirrored in its blade. Alfos looked at it with awe together with understanding. He took the sword in his hand and lifted it high above his head, letting it shine like a red star in the middle of the room.

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"I hear you, Father!" he said.

 

 

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"Lost and souless he roamed in the Wild,
His innoccense stolen, his anger like Tide.
But in the darkest of hours, does one see the Light,
It is then when the Expatriate chose Right before Might
And by a blessing of dreams, was named a true Knight"

​

From The Knight of the Lily by Tosquil de Gaalin Dopin, Half-Elf bard of Dargonthar

​

​

He fled the country the next day. One of his father's most deticated servants, an old man by the name of Bernard, had found him sitting outside the castle sleeping exhausted, with the sword tightly grasped in his sleep, like he used to hug his stuffed animals, not too many years ago. The servant took him in his huble home and when the morning came, he dressed him in poor clothes and escorted him to the east, pretending to be a poor nomad with his son. Alfos refused to take off the County ring but he was persuaded to turn it, so that it would not reveal it's value or importance, and wrap his sword in a brown, torn sheet. He ensisted though on taking his own warhorse with him, so they had to uncomb it's mane and tail and load it with torn bags to hide it's fine breed.

 

It wasn't untill two days after, when Alfos spoke for the first time. They had left Lerac far behind them, heading towards the Mountains of the Axe, the eastern border of Mouintan, his country. They had avoided all popular places, trying to stay in the wilderness for most of the time.

​

"What happened?" he asked in a gloomy voice, his head looking down, covered in the torn hood of his cloak. The servant ached at the boy's words. He could feel the pain of loss as the boy spoke.

​

"They came only minutes after you left the Tower", replied Bernard after a while. "Soldiers came along with priests of Allagon and Serina*, brought by Lady Diorna Le Push herself and her private Guard. The Count, forseeing what was about to happen, ordered the guards not to engage or do anything and surrender their swords if asked. He tried to dismiss us but we would not leave his side. He ordered also for the gates to stay open".

​

"They shouted for Master Phillipe three times, but he didn't move from his desk. I urged him to leave through the secret tunnel of the north tower but he didn't move or reply, only asked of me to open the curtains for he could not see and that he should finish his notes for the County's monthly report. Soon the soldiers rushed into the Tower and arrested him. He did not fight back, only handed me the report and asked me to deliver it. I tell you Monsieur Alfos, he remained a chevalier until the end, lordly and calm like the paintings of your family in the hall!"

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The boy simply nodded, so the servant continued

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"They drove him in the courtyard with all us following them. The guards were there with their swords dropped and their hands held high. The master asked Madam Le Push what was the meaning of all that but she only laughed and nooded to the priests who immediatly started putting spells on him and interogate him about the murder. When they finished they all but one agreed. The Count was guilty they said. Lies!"

​

"Then it all happened quickly. The soldiers grasped your father and made a noose which the tied on your jousting-training pole". He paused and looked at the boy who refused to show any kind of sentiment.

​

"He died quickly" he said, thinking it was the right thing to say. There was no reason for the boy to picture his father struggling and chocking, hunging on the edge of the rope for endless minutes.

​

Hours later, when the darkness of night was deep and their camping fire was dying, the everwatchful servant heard the boy crying in his sleep.

​

They parted the next day. Bernard had a family in Lerac and Alfos would not let the the servant follow him any more. The old man agreed with a torn heart. He bid Alfos fairwell at Midday.

​

The servant remained still for a while as he watched Alfos riding slowly towards the mountains. He knew the boy since his birth and he had watched the hard strikes of Faith on him and his family the last five years. Alfos was strong in mind and body, yet the old man could not but feel an emptiness inside, for not being able to help the boy more. He has given him all of his provisions and some money but no power could give the expatriate young man what was forever lost: his childhood.

*****************************************************************

Alfos rode alone in the wilderness of the mountains for the next days. He took no heed of Bernard's warnings for orcs and gnolls that roamed the mountains and he rode in plain sight, during the day, partly because he was unnable to think straight and partly because he didn't care.

​

He thought nothing during the day. His mind staid empty, starring blankly at his father dead face. But when the sun hid and Night fell on him like a dark Mistress, his mind awoke. He felt lost and alone and this emptyness inside him kept growing, eating his soul and sentiments. But most of all, he felt angry, angrier each night. Angry at the priests who lied, angry at the soldiers who took his father life, angry at the Gods who permitted him to be alone. But most of all he was angry at himself, for not being able to help his father. He felt weak and pathetic, like a little rabbit chased by all for pleasure or sport, a weakling pawn in the Gods' twisted game. He remembered his two brothers, Renee and Tancred, the first one's life was taken five years ago, while the second, and older, has gone missing (and was presumed dead too) in an effort to bring Renee's killers to justice. Both where Paladins in the service of Light. The memory of his vow to Allagon seemed stupid now, a childish act of a boy which loved Knights in fairy tales and myths. What good could a god that didn't care for your life do to you? One night, when the three moons of Dargonthar were hidden, he raised his head and looked at the dark roof of the World, wide and terrible above him.

​

"Where were you, Alagon!?" he screamed to the sky, making his horse to try and escape the rope's bondage. "Where were You when my father needed You? I don't need you! I am alone! You made me be alone! Your priests took him his life! Curse thee, liar god! Curse thee and your faulse words!". No answer came from the dark sky. Even the stars seemed not to wither for a while, staring him motionless, like countless eyes of a blind god.

​

Sleep came to him easier that night. When morning came, he realised the danger the mountains held and decided to be cautious. From now on, he would ride only in the dark.

 

 

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The young man realised he was lost. For the last few nights he had encountered the same crossroad of rocky paths three times. It was true that he could not see well in night, despite the three moons' light, but he would not walk during the day for fear of goblins and gnolls. He looked desperatly around him and followed once more the path he presumed to be heading east.

​

He walked on the path for some time then he encountered a path heading downhill. The path was steep and dangerous, so he dismounted and started to pull the horse by the reigns. He knew little of walking in this kind of paths and did not forsee the danger of the horse falling and taking him with it.

​

Fortunately that didn't happen. After a long and hard way down, letting little stones roll downhill under his feet, he finally reached a place where the path widened and became easier to walk. He smiled at himself and continued mounted.

​

After a while, he saw a cave in the distance. He was tired and his feet ached from walking the steep path, so he decided to call it a night and rest in the cave. He turned his horse towards the cave and started walking towards it.

​

The goblins came out of nowhere. Screaming and hissing, five of the small sized creatures appeared in the dark barely visible among the rocks in the moonlight. Trying to gather all his discipline from his military training, Alfos drew his sword and looked around the terrain.

​

He did not see much as a sixth goblin jumped on him from a rock on his left and threw him down.

​

Feeling all air leaving his lungs as he landed, Alfos saw lights of pain dancing infront of his eyes, as he struggled to gather his senses. The goblin on top of him raising it's little sword gave him only a few more moments for that. But it was enough. Acting instictivelly, as his training took over his mind, he used his longer hands and bigger strength to his advantage, pushing the goblin back and cutting the armed hand off from the goblin. Flooding red Life fled the creature's body from the wound, staining the rocks and the young noble.

​

Still trying to shake the fall of him as he rose, Alfos saw his warhorse standing guard infront of him, as it was trained to do in case it's rider fell. The rest of the goblins, somewhat shakened by the death of their comrade and the giant steed's unusual act, slowed their charge, giving time to the young warrior to rise and come fully to his senses. He looked at the goblins and realised their fear, despite their advantage in numbers. Raising his sword in an attacking stance as a wicked smile of satisfaction covered his face bloodied face, he charged against the goblins screaming.

​

A sharp pain in his left foot made him grind his teeth but as his swing came to an end one of the creatures was wounded fatally. Covering his back in a rock, Alfos started fighting the creatures with all his strength. Soon he was covered in blood as three more fell and the last one was allready fleeing to the cave. Two new wounds covered his body, one of them deeper than it should but he didn't faulter. He followed the goblin to the cave where now torches could be seen as more of the goblins were awake. Laughing as a mad man at Death himself, the young noble charged into the cave to find a handfull of goblins preparing in panic. Without discrimination between armed and unarmed, he started slaughtering the creatures who were overwhelemed with panic and kept screaming in their shrieking voices. Suddenly the faces of the guards that attacked him in Mouintan came to his mind. The memory of slashing their bodies and spilling their blood made his vein burst like lava.

​

"They deserved to die!" he screamed to himself loudly, while killing a goblin that hadn't had time to rise from it's leather bed. "They were with Them! And all of Them should die!" The young man's face was transformed from anger and bloodlust, his eyes flashing in the light of the torches like two blue flames, looking like a demon in the panicked eyes of the goblins. "Aye" he screamed again, smiling wickedly "and They will die! I will kill them!" The goblins were desperatly trying to overcome their fear and attack him but his longer sword and arms provided a great advantage. Their bodies fell lifeless at great speed "All! I will show them I am no pray! I am strong! I am the hunter! And they will die by my hand!" he finished, breathing heavily, his breath being the only thing that echoed in the cave now. He looked around and saw the small bodies piled up in various shapes and stances. His sword had spared noone. His hands were still grasping the sword's handle, so strongly that blood had left his fingers.

When the humming of adrenaline grew silent in his mind, he seethed his sword with shaking hands. He sat in a stone and tried to control his breath. And then he saw it.

In the darkest corner of the cave, Alfos could see a steel kite shield, probably stolen or looted by the little greenskins, shaking as of it's own. His face became stone again, as did his heart and walked to the place, standing infront of the shield with his sword ready at hand. After a while the shield moved a bit more, only to reveal a little goblin looking shaking behind it. When he saw Alfos, his dark figure standing before him, his eyes widened and it pulled the shield back up.

​

"Remove the shield" said Alfos in a stirm voice. The goblin, wether by guessing or understanding, he slowly lowered the shield, still holding it like a kid holds it's blanket. And it was a kid. A little goblin kid, looking at the Man with pure fear nesting in it's eyes, struggling to breath but Panic forbiting it mercyless. It's little body shook uncontrollably.

​

Alfos looked at the kid stunned. He then looked around him again, this time the lifeless bodies of the goblins making him sick. He felt his stomack tying into a knot. Running to the entrance of the cave, he let his body releave itself from the bitter taste of killing. Tears came to his eyes and spasms took hold of his body as he cried for his own soul, which he has almost lost. Soon he could here the creature crying too behind him.

​

Hours passed with him and the goblin crying together. When there were no more tears left for the young man to cry, he moved heavily and went to the goblin which once more hid behind the shield.

​

"I will not hurt you" said Alfos and his expression turned as he realised the irony of his words. "Not any more than I have already done..." he ended in a whisper, as he kneeled tired near the goblin. He took the shield from the boy which crawled against the wall with widened eyes. Alfos tried to reach for the kid, but it screamed and shouted in fear. When he tried for a second time, the creature's body failed to manage the fear and fainted. The young man, picked the kid up like a father holds it's child and went out of the cave to find his horse waiting for him. After putting the child on the horse, he started walking pulling the horse with him. Until he found a pille of rocks making a sort of shelter. He lied the goblin kid there and covered it with his cloak. He sat next to the creature and looked at the sky.

​

"There are no words..." he said. "No words to express how I feel." he paused sighing deeply, his mind tormented by guilt. He looked at the goblin and thought how easily evil could be spread, then he turned to the sky once more. "I dare not ask for forgiveness.But please, Father of Light, if I am even but a shadow of my Family's great line, grand me this favour: if it is for this creature to walk the path I walked, let it be me that it comes to. Spare it's soul from the taint I have gained tonight. Let it end here or let it finish it upon me. Thy will be done". Soon after his head hanged as sleep took him in his everloving arms.

​

The next morning he woke up to find the goblin crawled on his lap, hugging his arm. As he stired the creature woke and looked at him. A smile covered it's face and fell asleep again. Alfos closed his eyes with the closest thing to relief he could feel. Feeling gratefull for the dreams the goblin has had in it's sleep, he prayed motionless to Allagon, as he had never prayed before. For now, he could sense the Father of Light listening and his heart was filled with Love.

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He stayed with the kid in the mountains, not really sure what he would do with it. He tried to put it close some other goblin communities but almost always he was forced to run and cover it with his shield from incoming arrows. The Goblin tribes did not accept but goblins of their own. Soon their provisions came to short but the goblin prooved to be an excellent hunter and their hunger was now and then soothed.

​

Slowly but steadily, a short of bonding grew between the two boys. After the first week, they would play and laugh, as if the events of that night never happened. Their attempts of communication never succeeded, Alfos though, did manage to find out the goblin's name was Gamshy.

​

It took them almost a month, until Alfos found a secluded a monastery of Amnor, God of Time and Fate. The monks silently accepted Gamshy and gave shelter to Alfos for two days. After giving to the goblin it's shield, some clothes of his and some gold, despite the protests of the monks, the boy got on his horse and started to gallop, only to stop from the goblins cry. He came rushing towards him, moving as fast as it could with the weight he was carrying. Panting and smilling, the little greenskin reached Alfos and offered him the shield he was taking cover with the night their fates crossed. Alfos smiled, took the shield and in return gave Gamshy his hunting knife. Without exchaning a word, the two boys smiled and their ways parted.