The knight swayed on his horse. The world swooned, and gripping the reins, the knight righted himself with a weak grunt, an effort that shouldn't have been as hard as he found it. He blinked, breathed deeply, and staved off a rush of lightheadedness. Beads of sweat knitted the brow under his helm; he was uncertain of the day, the time, the place, and occasionally, even of his own name. The few eyes that spied him on the road remained hidden, and the heads in which they trembled harbored suspicions that he was yet another ne'er-do-well deep in his cups, hiding his deep-rooted animosity for the world behind shiny armor and self righteousness-- the latter, the more worrisome defense. Clearly, he was just another bullish brute looking for an excuse to separate a naive peasant from its head.
Held breaths gasped only after the knight passed out of sight. There was a time when one could travel the royal road without fear, but that time had long passed. The kingdom was truly coming to ruin.
In truth, the knight did not have shiny armor, and he was not drunk. Rust-colored splotches splashed his armor, though they were not of rust, and the knight had a sober story to tell, one that would drain the blood from the faces of his audience. The one thing the peasants who saw him guessed right was his righteousness. Only a fortnight ago, the knight had traveled with four worthy and valiant companions. Now he found himself alone, and the sacrifices of his friends had been great. He hoped that their lives had not been in vain, but that required the knight to return to the king at once and report what he had discovered.
The thought of exactly what he had discovered sent a shudder through the knight. Something dark and ancient had sprung from the core of the old mountain, leaked into the cold streams that burbled into the towns below, and now ravaged the countryside like a plague, spreading more quickly than any contagion known to the most experienced alchemist. Indeed, the kingdom was truly coming to ruin, one more dreadful than even the poorest peasants could conceive.
The village of Draedon had been emptied of people when the knights came upon it. They found no sign of what had happened to the occupants until the sun went down. A velvet fog crept down the mountain, and the creatures, creatures that had once been men, scrabbled out the fresh graves behind the town's crumbling stone chapel. Sir Coragnos and the others had stood no chance. One by one, they fell to the bloodless demons, until he had managed to cut through the chaotic hell of screams and strewn limbs to make his way to his horse.
Yes, Sir Coragnos, that was his name. The knight remembered it now. For a moment, at least. That was a good sign.
Then he slipped off his horse as consciousness failed him.
***
When he awoke, someone was trying to steal his sword. Half unsheathed, the steel appeared dull in the moonless night. The thief went wide-eyed when the knight moved, and the thief realized that the knight was, in fact, not as dead as previously believed. A dagger appeared, flashed dangerously, and came down, but even in armor, Coragnos's reflexes proved a match for better than most, especially a gaunt thief who had probably never seen a werebeast let alone fought one in the dark of its bloody den. The knight caught the thief's wrist with one hand, made a fist with his other, and knocked away the foreign grip on his sword. Teeth gnashing, the thief tried to pull away, but Coragnos twisted the wrist in his grasp. The thief yelped and managed to pull away, stumbling back and landing hard on his rump, bringing his teeth together with a sound that pleased the knight.
"Please, Sir Knight! Spare me!" the thief cried as Sir Coragnos stood. The thief's voice grew shrill, and in desperation, he added, "I thought ye passed into th' valley of shadow! Have mercy!"
Upright, sword in hand, armor shining in the glow of an autumnal moon, the knight could manage only a single word: "Go."
The thief went. Sir Coragnos was glad for it. He figured that his current state of weakness more than mercy had saved the thief's life, but there were worse things to battle than a starving highwayman looking to peddle a dead knight's weapons and armor.
The knight made a slow circle but, unsurprisingly, saw no sign of his horse through the slits of his helmet. If the horse had any sense, it had sped off towards the safety of the royal stables. More likely, it had already been stolen by a savvier thief than the last. Coragnos stepped forward and staggered; his sword became a crutch. He knew that he would not make it far, and the next thing that he met on the royal road might not be as accommodating as a thief.
Gritting his teeth, in a cold sweat, Sir Coragnos sheathed his sword and began to walk.
***
He did not know how far he had come when he saw the wan light of the inn. It appeared out of the dark with the suddenness of a firefly winking alight before his eyes and settling into surreal permanence. Coragnos blinked, and had he not been wearing his helmet, he would have tried to rub his eyes. It would have been to no avail. The light, which he saw was a low burning torch as he approached, was as real as the inn to which it was attached. It was set slightly off the road down a dirt path, surrounded by tall, long-limbed oaks which spread limbs over the thatched roof as though shielding it from danger. The knight saw no horses attached to the hitching post nor any sign that the inn might be occupied other than the lone torch in its holder by the door. However, the torch was something and not insignificant. Someone must have lit it, which meant that someone was inside, waiting for customers. Waiting for HIM. The torch beckoned Coragnos with its warmth and its invitation of shelter, two things the knight currently lacked. Not seeing that he had much of a choice, Coragnos moved towards the inn.
Above the door, a sign read merely, "Inn." If Coragnos found this slightly strange, he did not let it bother him. Most of the travelers along this road were illiterate these days. He would not begrudge the owner of this inn for a lack of imagination. Bestowing this place with a loquacious or clever moniker would have been an effort lost on most (if not all) passersby. If anything, Coragnos could admire the sign's unassuming practicality.
He raised a gauntleted hand to rap upon the door, but before the knight could bring it down, the door creaked open as though the resident on the other side had indeed been waiting for him. Coragnos tried not to flinch back in abhorrence, but his surprise at the sight of the old, wrinkled crone proved so great that he was not entirely successful. Hand still raised, he took a moment to collect himself and absorb the sight of her. Misshapen brown moles peppered the saggy, mottled flesh of her face, the only interruption to the waves of wrinkles that gave the old woman a look as though she were in a process of slowly melting. Wiry, thin white hairs sprung crooked and uneven across her skull, spilling down the sides of her oval face in a series of tangles like birds' nests. As crooked as her hairs, her spine twisted in a way in which one shoulder sat high above the other, and her neck seemed to curve between the two of them like that of a buzzard. Her thin, blistered lips peeled away to reveal a series of yellowed, jagged teeth erupting haphazardly from a bed of swollen black gums, and it took Sir Coragnos a moment before he realized that she was smiling at him.
In a word, she was hideous, but the knight could not let his repulsion dampen his obligation to courtesy, and luckily, his helmet masked his expression. He stammered and managed to say, "G... good... eve, my lady." With an effort, he lowered his hand but could not help but rest it on the butt of his sheathed sword. He bowed as well as he could, which, in his current state, was not much of one.
The crone raised a bushy eyebrow over a pale green eye. The knight saw that a thin gray film lay upon it like a dusty curtain. Then the crone said, "Saw you on the road, I did. Thought you might head this way. The road is not safe. Not at night. Not at day, even, during these foul times." Her crackly voice spattered the words low and hoarse through a phlegmy throat, and once finished, she squinted up at the knight past a long, crooked nose. Despite her assertion and abrupt appearance at the door, Sir Coragnos doubted that the old woman could see much of anything.
"Aye," she said as if in answer to an unspoken question. "You'll be wanting a room. Come in," the crone said and turned away, shuffling, expecting the knight to follow. With only the slightest hesitation, Sir Coragnos did so. His options were limited, and the promise of a dry room with a bed made of something more than dirt and rock tilted the scale in this abhorrent crone's favor. Plus, appearances were often deceiving. As a knight, pure and true, he could not let the crone's superficial ugliness cloud his chivalrous nature. Beautiful maidens were a rarity, Coragnos knew, away from the safety, security, and most importantly, baths of the king's castle.
Sir Coragnos' armor felt heavy and unnecessary clanging around him as he allowed himself to be led past a common area, a warm fire flickering in a brick hearth, and down a narrow hall to a small room. Inside, the knight saw a single bed with a wooden frame, a dresser, also wooden, and a mirror hanging above the drawer on the wall. To the knight's pleasant surprise, the linens of the bed appeared freshly made. He found the room cramped, considering how few objects it contained, but clean; it would more than do. He said as much, and the crone nodded.
Then the old crone motioned toward the dresser. The sleeve of the ragged, gray dress that she wore under a (food?)-stained apron hung loose and baggy from one thin arm as she pointed a spindly finger. She said, "You'll find clean clothes there. Lay your armor on the bed. It needs polish. I'll return it good as new in the morn."
Coragnos opened his mouth to reply, but the crone's croak beat him to it: "Soup will be on the table." She whisked out the door, shutting the door behind her and leaving Coragnos with his mouth hanging open under his helmet. He sighed, closed his mouth, and began taking off his armor, placing it upon the bed as instructed.
***
