The Red Knight

by John Nyman

In an ancient land of green fields, pristine rivers, dark forests, and tall, ominous mountains, a small village sat on a junction of wide dirt roads. It was a quiet town, filled with small wooden huts and surrounded by bountiful fields of various crops. Very much like any other village in the country, it was filled with friendly people, who lived their lives peacefully and cheerfully. Some were farmers, and many did other jobs, but everyone knew and greeted each other daily in the centre of town where the roads and the merchants met to provide the lifeblood of the village. At the eastern end of the village a small hill rose up out of the ground and connected to the crossroads via a narrow stone path. The path led through a large gate, and, perched atop the hill, surrounded by tall wooden walls, was a quaint stone castle. It was small, but rose up high over the village with grey stone towers that cast long shadows over the wood houses every morning. The heart of the castle contained mounds of riches, with chests of precious gems, ancient crowns and sceptres sparkling with the named jewels of legend, and high stacks of gold and silver. Though they were rich beyond imagination, the lord and inhabitants of the castle were much like the other people of the village, friendly and cheerful day in and day out. All things considered, the town was truly an embodiment of the bright nobility of the green countryside.

North of the village there existed a range of magnificent mountains. While the castle’s towers were tall, the mountains were much larger, and each seemed to drive holes into the sky with sharp rocky peaks shrouded in wispy clouds. Few ventured to the mountains, for the air there was thin and the wind strong. On the northern side of the mountains, across the range from the village, was a much different land of barren rock and dust. Just apart from the mountains, protruding ever so slightly into the vast desert, sat a mountain different from the others. Its peak formed what appeared to be a perfect cone from the perceptions of those on the top of the village castle, looking through the range to that solitary point in the distance, although it was always obscured by the visage of a ring of smoky clouds. Legends told that long ago, when the field on the north side of the mountain was as pristine as that on the south side, the top of that mountain began to spew lava over the landscape, transforming it into an uninhabitable slab of dark stone. While that story was only myth, what was known by the people of the village was that the mountain’s core held a mound of riches tenfold that of the stone castle, and more importantly, it was the home of a feared black dragon.

The dragon was greedy. In fact, the dragon was so greedy that he was not satisfied with the mound of riches he obsessively guarded in his mountain lair. One morning, when he was feeling particularly greedy, he rose up out of the mountain’s ring of smoke, with his scorched black wings flapping broadly against the thin mountain atmosphere, and his spiny head swinging back and forth at the end of his long scaled neck as he bobbed up and down in the air. A man looking out from the castle’s highest tower had seen him, and rushed down to warn the lord of the dragon’s coming, but by then it was too late. The dragon had come thundering into the town, bringing about a great whirlwind. He cast his ominous shadow over the houses that sat trembling in his wake, and flew towards the castle. The members of the keep were in chaos, and as the lord began to run down the steps from his room to the gate a deafening roar prophesized the great ruler’s demise. In moments a blazing fireball struck the front of the castle beyond the great gate and the narrow stone road, and the entire castle went up into red and orange flames. The dragon attacked, swooping into the flaming towers and knocking them into the east to burn the farmers’ crops and the grassy countryside. As the castle was about to collapse, he swooped into the vault and trapped nearly all of the desired riches in his giant mouth, at the same time impaling some villagers on his shimmering white and jagged fangs. With the treasures he desired in his possession, the great black dragon flew back to his mountain lair to revel in his ill-begotten glory.

Once the dragon had left, the town was no longer bathed in the shadows of the castle’s tallest towers. On that day, the town was left only under the shadow of black smoke that rose out of the barren castle. The stones were still smouldering, and the villagers looked out at the remains of the castle in horror. It had appeared as though everyone who had been unfortunate enough to be inside the castle had died, until a young squire came bounding out from beneath the stones, completely aflame. He dashed, arms flailing, down the narrow stone path and through the large gate into the market, where he was promptly doused with buckets of water. When the fire was out, the squire collapsed onto the ground and was taken to rest in the house of one of the generous villagers. Many days passed, and eventually the young squire awoke, to his horror though, as his face had been horribly singed and deformed by the flames. His youthful beauty having been taken away, the town took pity on him, and as he was the only one left among them with any training in the ways of chivalry and combat, the villagers decided he should become a knight. They led the young squire into the wreckage of the castle, which had remained untouched and had cooled while he was asleep, and searched for armaments he could utilize. Their search was of little use, however, and all they found were a pair of red-striped plate boots, a crude set of chain mail, a thin long sword with a red hilt, and a rounded, egg-shaped shimmering full helm with a bright crimson tuft that was found strangely upright on a pedestal of smouldering stone, almost begging to be plucked by the young knight. After the search was complete, the young squire armed himself in the found objects, and having only seen the color red among the armour in the castle’s charred remains, proclaimed himself to be the red knight, swore an oath of vengeance against the dragon who had destroyed his village’s castle and killed his beloved lord, and promised to be a hero and guardian to the town.

The knight proved his worth quickly. A few days after the dragon’s attack, as the town was deciding how to rebuild and appoint a new ruler, a band of three ruffians swept into town, having heard the news of its vulnerability. They came with black robes and gruff, bearded faces via the road coming in from the south. They had arrived to pillage the town and make off with whatever goods they could, and began to wreck the market place; rapidly, a devoted villager called upon the young knight to vanquish the intruders. When he arrived, the ruffians laughed at his foolish armour while they unearthed their short swords and daggers from their cloaks. They found it uproarious that such a young, handsome knight as they assumed the young knight was would be found in the incomplete armour he wore, and even worse, with the full helm covering his face completely. However, none of them could see the badge of courage that sat upon the deformed face of the young knight, and when he raised his sword above his head and cried “You shall all fall before the red knight!”, all they could see was the ferocious glimmer of determination that shone with force out of his eyes and through the narrow slots in the red-tufted helmet. The battle soon began at the crossroads; merchants and villagers fled in fear that their hero would be killed, but in a heated and meaningful rage the red night brought his sword down upon the ruffians and valiantly smote all three. Although the crowd that soon reappeared cheered and chanted his name, the red knight would not remove the egg-shaped helmet, ashamed of the markings that lay within.

After his victory over the ruffians, word of the heroic guardian of the village spread across the country, and the townspeople deemed themselves safe. Therefore, with the promise that they would be alright and continue to rebuild without him, they bid the red knight farewell and sent him off down the south road. The knight traveled for many days alongside the tall flowing grasses of the green fields, walking on his stout plate boots. Eventually, after traveling a long way south along the road, the young knight came upon a town that he had heard many merchants speak of. It was larger than the town the knight had come from; its houses were larger and more closely packed together, and all its roads were stone as they led into the marketplace. Many more people lined the streets, and all of them were busy, seeming to always have something to do. The town was surrounded with many more fields than were found in the red knight’s village, and it had a magnificent castle, which the young knight imagined held much more gold than was ever in his village’s castle, although still less than what the dragon owned. The townspeople were cruel, however, and although some of them recognized the red knight, when he stepped into the market and shouted out his name for all to hear, they laughed at his shabby armour. In response, he sat down beside one of the market’s carts, crestfallen.

However, the red knight was soon given an opportunity to prove himself to the town. As he sat, a band of thieves strolled into the marketplace and began harassing the merchants, stealing money and goods and destroying their stalls. These ruffians were tougher than the ones the young knight had fought earlier. They wore crude metal body armour with jet black splashed over most of the surfaces, but no helmets, and carried sharp, curved sabres and thick wooden round shields in their broad leathery hands. The red knight watched a young, handsome blonde knight from the castle arrive in full plate armour trimmed blue, but also with no helmet. He raised a heavy mace into the air and proclaimed “I am the blue knight, here to defend the honour of my lord and town!” before charging at the brigands. The thieves were tough though, and as they were much quicker than the blue knight, they easily dodged his charge, and before he was aware of his misfortune, the blue knight was crushed by one of the thieves’ unavoidable blows and fell dead in the middle of the market. Noting the destruction, and feeling the need for battle brewing in his heart, the red knight arose and shouted “I am the red night, here to defend my lord and village!” before charging at the three ruffians. They were quick, but the young knight was a talented fighter, and after several clangs of the rapidly moving swords the brigands were hit with three successive blows, and their three heads, having been loped off by the red knight’s sword, fell into the middle of the street in three bloody thuds, with the dearly departed thieves’ expressions of bewilderment still adorning their surfaces.

After the display of heroism, the red knight was rewarded by the town’s lord with a shimmering new breastplate with red trim, and with the reputation that came from having defeated some of the fiercest fiends in the country. After that monumental day, the red knight traveled all across the countryside. He visited many towns, some large, and others small, and was found in the company of the richest lords in the land. All the while, as he traveled, the red knight defeated brigands and thieves, ruffians and fiends, in all of the towns he came across. Before long, he was known as one of the bravest and most valiant knights of the land, recognized, adored, and honoured wherever he went. Every time he committed a heroic deed in a town he was visiting, he would be presented with the gift of another piece of red-trimmed plate mail, and eventually he wore a full set of red-trimmed plate mail, carried a magnificent red-hilted sword, and donned a flowing red cape. However, he still wore the egg-shaped helmet that he had taken from the wreckage of the castle in his hometown, and never took it off to reveal his charred features. Every time he fought, the red-tufted helmet would almost seem to rattle and quake from the utter rage that would be present on the face of the man inside; and his bright vengeful eyes would somehow glimmer boldly out of the narrow view holes.

It was after this that the red knight decided it was time for him to slay the dragon that had brought his village so much misery, and had caused the death of his lord. He traveled back to his old village and received a hero’s welcome, which he easily accepted. He inspected the town and realized all rebuilding was going well, all the while making his presence known, saying “I am the red knight!” or “All hail the red knight!” The villagers were secretly a little annoyed, and the scars that lay under their hero’s helmet meant little to them now. Soon the town bid him farewell again and he began to climb the great mountain range. The atmosphere on the mountains was thin and windy, and many portions were difficult to climb in his heavy armour, but as the knight climbed he felt as high in his mind as he was above the ground. Climbing over the northern reaches of the land, the red knight felt atop the world, and believed himself to be the most valiant and beloved person in the land. Because of this, he moved with great ease and confidence over the rocky peaks. As he neared the northern edge of the cliffs, the red knight came across an old thief who had made a home for himself atop one of the mountains. The old brigand pleaded with the red knight, who even he had heard of, for his life, as he was too feeble to fight, but the glorious hero would have none of it. Knowing of the old man’s past sins, he stabbed a hole through the thief’s heart, and one could almost see smoke rising out of the dead man’s chest as the red night walked away.

After several days had passed, the red night arrived at the dragon’s lair and began climbing to the top. The climb was difficult but steady, as the mountain itself was almost a perfect cone in shape. When the red knight reached the top of the lone mountain in the deserted land, the dragon appeared at its peak. His black wings flapped ominously around his charred scaly body, spiny head and brilliant white fangs and he roared ferociously at the sight of the red knight, determined to protect his treasure and his pride. The sight of the black dragon would have struck fear into the hearts of anyone but the most extraordinarily brave knights, but by then, the red knight was no ordinary knight. He was not like the blue knight who had failed to kill the black brigands, alas, he was not even like the young squire who had set forth from his home town so long ago, for at that moment, his eyes glimmered and his egg-shaped helmet shook not for vengeance or for honour, as he had by then forgotten such things, but for gold and for bloodshed. The fight was fierce; the dragon breathed fire continuously at the red knight, but the knight’s soul was already aflame, and the gigantic fireballs had no effect on the magnificent warrior. The dragon lashed out with his sharp fangs, but although they looked deadly, they were heavily worn from time, and the red knight lashed back with extreme force. Such a battle continued until the great warrior drove a hole into the dragon so deep that it let out the dust that had gathered in his dark soul. With a rippling and dramatic final yelp the black dragon toppled down the smooth edge of the black mountain and hit the desert at its southern base, slain.

The red knight looked down into the dragon’s lair and saw the gold he so desired and felt himself successful. Triumphant at last and having fulfilled his oath, he began to travel back over the mountains to the village, dragging behind him with immortal strength the entire carcass of the deceased black dragon. As he traveled the red knight knew himself to be above the world and above the country; he was truly the greatest knight, and there was nowhere higher to go. When the red knight paraded back into the village he was greeted with the greatest adoration, and was much less than modest about it. When he had gathered the village’s ears, he announced that he would make the mountain his home, and would live among the treasure he had rightfully won alone. Some of the villagers disagreed with this, and wanted to reclaim the treasure that had been stolen from their keep, but none could stand up to the magnificence of the red knight, surely his cause was just. While the red knight had been battling the dragon, the most famed blacksmith in the land had arrived to see him. The red knight met with the smith in private and, with his mind composed of arrogance and grandeur, the knight commissioned the smith a hefty sum to imbue his armour with the strength of the dragon’s scales, and to imbue his sword with the power of the dragon’s fang. The red knight even turned over his red-tufted full helm to be bettered, and when he walked around the town then as he waited for the smith to finish, the villagers did not feel pity towards his deformity; they only saw sheer horror in his supreme ugliness.

The blacksmith worked on the incredible task for days on end, pounding at the carcass of the dragon and at the knight’s quality armour with his heavy smith’s hammer. Eventually, the red night’s tough body armour cracked, and the blacksmith installed the tough, fire-immune scales that had lined the black dragon before its death and dismantling, as well as the tips of the dragon’s glorious wings. Later, the even tougher sword cracked, and the blacksmith robed it in the jagged and incredibly sharp fang of the dragon, making it an enormous and heavy weapon capable of piercing the strongest armours. Last, the egg-shaped full helm, which was mysteriously the toughest of all, cracked, and the blacksmith installed the finely sharp tips of the dragon head’s spines. Once the smith was done, the red knight arrived to inspect his new set of armour. He was delighted; the heat of the blacksmith’s fire had removed the burnt black substance from the scales, wings, and spines of the dragon to make them glow a bright red, and had strengthened the dragon’s fang so it was sharper than ever before. The red knight donned the armour, and then wore from neck to toe the dragon’s bright red scales and wings, carried the dragon’s gleaming white fang in his hand, and wore the cracked full helm over his face, which was missing the red tuft and instead carried atop it the deep crimson spines of the dragon’s head. Mysteriously, the red knight’s furious eyes were never again seen through the slots of the helmet.

While the blacksmith had been working, a message had arrived at the town, inviting the red knight to compete in a contest to determine who the finest knight in the land was. The red knight was overjoyed at his chance to prove his worth as the greatest of the great knights, and quickly set off with his suit of dragon armour and his dragon-fang sword. After a few days of travel he arrived at the largest town in the land, and made his way into the battle arena where the contest was to occur. In this contest, the red knight had two opponents. One was the white knight, who was toted as the noblest hero of the land. He had traveled about killing brigands for many a year, and had made his name in chivalry, nobility, and for being the most honourable of the great knights. The second opponent was the dreaded black knight. A murderous renegade, the black knight had betrayed the lord of his village and left to lead the largest gang of thieves in the country; he was wholly evil and merciless, and had come to the contest to prove that he was the master of battle. Although his opponents were strong, the red knight knew he would win the battle, as he still rode with the confidence that had carried him across the northern mountains.

When the battle began, all competitors stood confidently, staring each other down. The white knight was covered in bright ivory plate armour and a large, thick full helmet, so that his face could not be seen. He carried a shining steel sword with an ivory hilt, and no cape, so that the sun’s rays spread all about him in a fury of heaven. The black knight wore similar armour, however, his was completely black, and even his blade absorbed the light extending off of the white knight. He wrapped himself in a perfect black cape, and was surely the void of all light, nobility, and honour; all things that a chivalrous knight embodied would end at him and his treachery. While these two were clearly the opposite ends of the spectrum, the red night, in his strange garb of a dragon’s hide, was truly something in between, and decided then to make the first move. The red knight roared with ferocity and dashed first at the black knight, before the white knight even moved, and utterly devoured him with his superior strength. In a matter of moments the black knight, having been taken by surprise, lay battered on the dusty floor of the battle arena. With not a drop of blood or life flowing out of him, the black knight was dead, slain by the red knight, the champion of evil. After that, something strange happened. The white knight, seeming satisfied now that the black knight was defeated, turned his back and began to exit the arena. However, the red knight was too consumed with bloodlust, greed, and the need for respect and fame to hold back, and charged at the white knight like a mad fireball. While the white knight was still turned away, the red knight fanged him in the back, stabbing through the brilliant ivory and into the white knight’s heart from behind, leaving a mortal wound gushing with terrible flames of blood, and even the sputter of smoke from a spirit leaving its body.

To this, the crowd’s reaction was strange to the red knight. Although a victor had been decided, the crowd was stagnant, mourning the loss of their beloved hero, the white knight, slain by the hand of the dragon-clad intruder who had terrified them. The red knight, confused, but still the most powerful being in the country, decided then to leave the town and return to his home in the lonely mountain. With unnatural speed he flew out of the arena, the dragon wings on his back catching the heavy air. He left the town and roared as he traveled, the spines of his head hurtling through the sky, ready to stab at anything considered an enemy. The wind whistled through his bright fang, ready to attack any knight who might cross his path, and destruction was left in his wake as he furiously immersed more than one poor town in flames as he traveled past. Effortlessly, he reached the lonely mountain and went inside. In his lair, he buried his heart amongst the treasures he had won, and kept a close watch South over the mountain range and to the green countryside. There he remained, revelling in his greed and hate and arrogance among his gold, while his scales blackened with the collection of soot and his teeth weakened with decay, and while the village he had come from rebuilt its fair castle and wealth. He stayed like this for a long time, until one morning when he was feeling particularly greedy.