The Epistle Knight

  Knight Tessier stared silently at the small campfire in front of her. She had removed her boots, placing them neatly beside her bedroll and was allowing the flames to warm her toes.

  Vacantly, she brought an arm to her shoulder, massaging it gently. Her travelsack had been particularly heavy this rotation, and her broad shoulders now bore small grooves in them from the weight.

  She wouldn’t complain, of course. The life of an Epistle Knight was arduous, lonely, and sometimes fatal.

  But the pay was extraordinary, few services could offer that which Epistle Knights could. A promise that your letters or packages would be delivered with the highest order of secrecy, safety, and certainty. For this reason before becoming a full fledged Epistle Knight, apprentices spent years undergoing study of combat, strength training, mental fortitude, and social etiquette.

  Being selected to be trained was a great honour, one of the highest a noble family could receive. As such, Tessier had been supplied on her ninth breathday to study under the grand Epistle Knights of the Western Region.

  She was now approaching her thirty eighth breathday. Her hair, cut just below the neckline was a deep, dark brown with several grey strands threatening to claim dominance. Her thick, vascular legs showed signs of a lifetime hiking every type of terrain, whilst her muscular arms bore the scars of numerous foes that had attempted to steal her cargo over the years.

  Tessier had placed the travelsack slightly offset from her makeshift camp, disguising it with branches and placing it in a small hole she had dug.

  The sun was beginning its slow exchange with the moon, kissing the horizon in the distance. Mountains towered either side of her, stretching as far as the eye could see. A humble reminder of Tessier’s insignificance within the world, yet the looming slopes also provided a sense of safety and security, like a gargantuan refuge from whatever was going on beyond them.

  Beside the campfire lay a small collection of items, neatly placed in a line. Epistle Knights were paid to carry other people’s possessions, not their own, so their personal belongings were often very little. However, Tessier had laid out her food for the evening, a loaf of bread with assorted seeds baked into it, alongside a small wooden carving of The Merciful One, a water pouch containing a fine wine she had been gifted in the last village she passed through, a small knife for cutting food, and finally, her weapons. Screamer and Disdain.

  Epistle Knights crafted their own weapon upon successful completion of their training. They could choose from a selection of traditional weapons, or newer, more varied ones that would have undergone extreme scrutiny beforehand.

  Tessier had chosen an obscure weapon used by a far off, long forgotten sect of Epistle Knights found exclusively in the jungles of Tanaquocli.

  It had been late one night when Tessier, trawling the Epistle Knight’s endless library during her studies, had come across an old, worn and beaten book. The book was a journal of sorts, written by a man called Teldium. Any Knight - or Knight in training for that matter - worth their salt knew who Teldium was; the elusive first assistant to Wendrell himself. The stories say that Teldium and Wendrell would often butt heads on accurate mapping of valleys, classifications of newly discovered species, the age of freshly dug fossils, the list went on. The two would probably argue as to whether the sun itself would rise each day if they could.

  Eventually Teldium split off from Wendrell and a lifelong rivalry between the two was formed. Teldium never enjoyed the fame and heights that Wendrell did, even though his discoveries were, arguably, just as important. They were certainly documented with greater accuracy.

  As it was, the majority of his books had found their way to one of the darkest reaches of the library, stored alongside other readings from significantly less important figures throughout history.

  Blessedly, Teldium had conducted extensive research on the people of the Tanaquocli. Their culture fascinated Tessier and by the end of her training she had frequented the library in any free moment she had.

  Through her learnings, she came across a particular Tanaquocli weapon that was built like a club, but had the functionality of a sword. They called them Wooden Fangblades.

  Tessier had known in that instant that a Fangblade was to be her weapon of choice, and had taken it to the elders for approval. There had been much deliberation. Several elders claimed she was being fanciful, romanticising a useless weapon from a bygone era. Others mocked her for attempting to be different for the sake of being different.

  It was settled that Tessier was to craft this Fangblade of hers and if she could beat an elder of her choosing with it, she would complete her training.

  She recalled her bloody victory within the elder’s sparring grounds. She had made not one, but two Fangblades, and had wielded them with deadly efficiency.

  She stared for a long contemplative moment at Screamer and Disdain, they still worked flawlessly, they had been made lovingly in preparation for a lifetime of use.

  The weapons were crafted from Glintpine; harvested deep within the Evergrove, the forest surrounding the Epistle Knight compounds. The wood was fashioned into a long club with flat sides, about the same length as a smallsword, then placed meticulously along either side of the club were several jagged chunks of obsidian. That was the part that caught the eye the most. Obsidian was dark as the midnight sky and Tessier always kept hers polished to a gleaming finish. Over the years, the weapons had become intricately carved with runes and symbols, telling tales of Tessier’s victories. The handles were wrapped in supple leather now worn by use, the once bright red fading to a moody brown.

  Fangblades didn’t cut like a sword or axe would, administering clean, sharp slices or stabs. Fangblades ripped and tore. They clung onto skin like a beggar to a coin, then they either hack a jagged, uneven line of death, or pull their way back violently, tearing any mass they can grasp in the process.

  She had been admonished by the elders for choosing such a violent weapon, seen by them as too barbaric for the likes of an Epistle Knight, but she didn’t dwell on it. Even now, decades later, she was still met with hostility by them.

  Luckily, Tessier only returned to the compound every few months to collect a new load of deliveries before heading out again. She could suffer the glares and mutterings that her presence brought.

  No, she was perfectly content with how her life had turned out, moments like this reassured her of that. The air was silent, save for the quiet crackling of her campfire, and during her daydreaming the sun had continued to submit to the growing moon.

  Tessier picked herself up, walking toward a small clearing she had set out earlier, not too far from the fire. She would let the flames die out before falling asleep beneath the stars. Just like every night.

  “Knight Tessier?” A voice came from behind her.

  Tessier spun around toward the source of the voice in confusion, her body tensing, suddenly on alert.

  A thin, bald man stood before her. His head was laced with intricate tattoo patterns that extended down his face, encircling his eyes. He wore a robe in a style Tessier was unfamiliar with. It was blood red and appeared to be formed of three pieces, draping loosely over his left arm, covering it from view entirely. A crest had been woven into the breast of the robe in a glaring yellow, it appeared to be several vertical lines, evenly spaced.

  Flanking the man were two hulking figures, one brandishing a broadsword, the other holding a spear.

  Tessier frowned deeply in confusion, the big ones had appeared as if from thin air. She was certain the small man had been alone just a moment ago.

  “Knight Tessier.” The man repeated. “I need to know that you are Epistle Knight Tessier.” There was a sense of urgency in his voice that unsettled her.

  “It's her.” One of the hulking figures said, his voice deep and rumbling. “Look at the swords.”

  She glanced toward Screamer and Disdain. She could make it to them in two…. Three steps?

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “I wouldn’t.” The man said following her gaze.

  Tessier dug her heels into the ground. The man tensed.

  Kicking off from the mud, Tessier lurched toward her swords, the robed man however, did not move. Instead it was his companions that ran forward, their footsteps thudding heavily on the ground. Sixth Hell, they were faster than they looked. Tessier stooped low, grabbing Screamer and sweeping her leg in a wide arc, catching the first attacker around the knees, knocking him to the ground. In the same motion she snatched Disdain and spun to her feet, adopting a defensive stance, standing sideways to her attackers.

  Tessier barely had time to exhale as the second hulking man bore down upon her with his broadsword. She pivoted to one side and thrust Screamer forward, connecting with the man’s thigh. She felt slight nocks of resistance as each of Screamer’s teeth caught and tore through flesh.

  The man didn’t scream out. He didn’t even flinch.

  Tessier pulled Screamer back and swung Disdain out to the side, connecting with his shoulder. Completing the movement, Disdain began to shake, grinding across bone.

  The man simply grunted, swinging his broadsword round to Tessier’s exposed side. She stared, completely perplexed. She had just executed a flawless counter, one that should at the very least have left the man recoiling, but he pressed his attack as if uninterrupted.

  She twisted her body just as his broadsword heaved across her side, catching Tessier in a glancing slice just beneath her ribs. A scream escaped her lips before her mind could register what had happened. Pain burst from the wound threatening to incapacitate her.

  Focus Tessier.

  The man regained his balance. The size of the broadsword meant his movements were slow, which she could use to her advantage. However, the second hulking man had now recovered and was also advancing upon her, spear thrust forward in front of him.

  As he lunged forward, Tessier crossed her fangblades in front of her, blocking the spear. She pushed them downward forcing the spear to the ground, its wielder along with it.

  They were reckless, they attacked with impatience. She could use this.

  Tessier kicked forward with as much force as she could muster. The bottom of her still bare foot connected with the downed man’s face, making a satisfying crunch sound and causing blood to burst from his nose. He yelled out wildly. So this one feels pain.

  Before she could capitalise on this, she heard the whistling of the broadsword again. Tessier hopped backward, ready for it.

  The sword swung clumsily in front of her in a downward arc. She relaxed a little. They had caught her off guard but these two men were not as skilled as she, Tessier had fought her way out of worse situations.

  Flicking her hair from her face, she risked a glance at the small, bald man. He was scowling at her, teeth bared like an animal, however he didn’t join his companions which concerned her.

  Tessier switched to water stance and pressed forward. Water stance, said by some as too reckless and aggressive to be efficient, was often compared to a dance, with the combatant switching from each foot gracefully with wide arcing movements, before jabbing forward in unexpected attacks.

  She matched her breathing to her movements. The spearman was nearly to his feet, but the swordbearer swung a second sideways swipe at her chest. Tessier bowed forward, rolling her neck around the attack, spinning on her toe and thrusting both Screamer and Disdain into the man’s stomach, the motion of her movement propelling them forward. She felt the familiar vibration in her hands as her fangblades chewed viciously through bone and flesh, catching onto body parts before wrenching themselves free.

  Tessier kicked back off the man, leaping into the air. Screamer and Disdain came begrudgingly with her, grabbing onto anything they could upon their exit.

  Before she could twist back around to land, she felt agony coursing through her body, washing over every other sense. The spearman had pierced her midriff in midair, his dull spearhead extruding bloodily from her abdomen.

  Before Tessier even had time to react, the spear was thrust downward, sending her crashing to the floor with it.

  She lay on her stomach gasping, letting out a scream as the spear was pulled back through her.

  Eyes blurry with tears, Tessier caught sight of the swordbearer. Thank The Merciful One, he hadn’t moved. He was slumped to his knees, one hand holding his sword, the other supporting him on the ground. Blood flowed from his stomach like deep red ribbons. He breathed in short breaths, still silent.

  She glanced down at her own torso. A dark patch had formed menacingly below her left breast where she had been sliced. She could still feel in that area, so blessedly the cut might not be as deep as she had first considered.

  The spear wound to the right of her stomach however…

  The spearman stood over her, placing the spear butt on her back.

  “Talahet, she is ready.” He called to the bald man.

  “Take the pendant.” He replied, turning away. “He will require proof.”

  The spearman bent over, placing a hand on Tessier’s shoulder. As he turned her over she swung Disdain round, striking his face and latching onto his cheek. His eyes flared in terror at the realisation. She pulled downward, twisting her body with the pull to add momentum.

  Disdain began pulling flesh from the man’s face. He jerked his head back reflexively but this only caused more damage as teeth now started to be yanked out as well. Disdain caught on the remains of his lower jaw, pulling him to the floor with a pitiful crunch.

  As she pulled down, Tessier rolled into a crouch, her knee resting atop the spearman’s back. He lashed around beneath her, guttural howls coming from his open face.

  She drove Screamer onto the crown of his head and carved downward until he stopped moving, his body flopping to a still.

  Tessier sat there for a moment, panting. She was beginning to feel dizzy. She shook her head and looked toward the bald man. He had turned back around and now regarded her with venom in his eyes. Holding Screamer and Disdain out widely to each side in mountain stance, she rose to her feet.

  The man, who the spearman had referred to as Talahet said nothing.

  Instead, he slowly moved his concealed arm out in front of him, causing the sleeve to be cast aside. He shrugged off the outer wrappings of his robes revealing a thin vascular torso of pale white skin. His entire body was covered in the same intricate patterns that were tattooed on his head and attached to each hip was a crude hand axe.

  Tessier exhaled slowly, raising her fangblades in front of her. Very well then.

  Tessier let Talahet charge her. She was running on adrenaline and would clutch at any reserves she could muster. In doing so, she took a moment to notice his stance, raising a concerned eyebrow at it.

  Talahet’s arms were loose, hanging down by his hips with the axes pointing inward. Tessier took a step back and fell into a cocoon stance variation, her fangblades tucked close to her torso. She would be cautious until she could weigh up the skills of her foe, then adapt stance accordingly.

  After what felt like an eternity of sizing each other up, Talahet charged. He swung upwards at her, forcing a parry that pushed her back a step, before he followed by swinging horizontally with his second axe. Tessier managed to knock it aside, and in doing so brought both fangblades round to his exposed midriff.

  She carved a small nick along his chest but nothing that would prevent his onslaught.

  Talahet spun away and performed a feint that she recognised. Reflexively, she blocked his next attack, then was able to perform a riposte to his follow up, knocking him across the head with the shaft of Screamer.

  It was a variant she was unfamiliar with but the groundwork was there. He had adopted fire stance, which she knew how to counter! Tessier curbed a wave of hope that began spreading through her.

  As Talahet struck out toward her, she butted the side of the axe with the end of Disdain, knocking the axe free from his hand. He smiled. Why did he smile?

  As his axe fell to the floor, Talahet cleaved across her in an arcing swipe with his second axe. He caught her on the wrist, severing her right hand.

  Tessier didn’t even register the pain as Disdain fell to the floor, still clutched in her fallen hand. He had baited her. She panicked as she came to the realisation she would die here.

  Her training took over. Epistle Knights were conditioned for receiving catastrophic injuries just as much as they were for causing them.

  Tessier swung Screamer toward Talahet as he spun away, racking the fangblade down his exposed spine. He screamed as he staggered forward. He had clearly not been expecting such a quick response from her.

  She took a step toward him, although it was partially a fall as she felt herself becoming dizzy. She risked a glance at where her hand had been just moments before. The cut was clean, like a butcher’s cut and she was bleeding… badly.

  Talahet was crawling toward his second axe which now lay a few feet from him. Tessier had clearly affected his mobility as he had made a couple of attempts at standing, to no avail. She charged forward, plunging Screamer into his back. Her arm was met with the familiar grind and tear feeling that indicated heavy internal damage in her target.

  Talahet however had flailed his arms behind him, axe in hand, hoping to hit something, anything. His axe caught her in the calf, peeling the skin back like a potato.

  Tessier screamed in agony, her vision going spotty, but thank The Merciful One, Talahet did not continue lashing out, his body falling still.

  Tessier dragged herself to her campfire, tears filling her eyes, her body screaming for sweet sleep, for the pain to end. “Just go to sleep.” It was telling her. “Just lie down”.

  She fumbled about her neatly lined belongings until her hand settled on the knife before casting it into the fire.

  Placing the waterskin in her mouth, she twisted off the lids and began pouring the wine on both her leg and hand. Holy eternal Ninth Hell that hurt, she felt her eyes rolling back, ready to release, to let this all be over. Groggily, she shook her head and ripped off some fabric from her now useless right sleeve, fashioning it - with great difficulty - into a makeshift bandage around her leg. Minutes passed. She was still alive.

  Finally, Tessier removed the knife from the fire and drove the flat side of it down onto her wrist, this time, she did pass out.

  ~

  Tessier awoke. Praise The Merciful One, she actually woke up! The first thing she noticed was the stars, dancing across the twilight sky like jewels.

  She groaned sitting up, her wrist was throbbing, protesting furiously at the movement. She looked at it tearfully. There would be time to dwell on it later.

  A quick assessment of her injuries led her to believe whilst she may not be dead… she certainly wasn’t far from it. Blood had soaked through most of her clothes, leaving them sodden and clinging to her. The makeshift bandage on her leg was also damp, but it would hold for now.

  Beggar’s Hollow was within trekking distance. She could walk there, hell, she would drag herself there.

  Tessier hobbled to her feet and made her way to her partially hidden travelsack. She clumsily hoisted it over her shoulders.

  Then, she did what Epistle Knights do best. She walked.