Part 1 – A Knight's Duty
"If we wait until we're ready, we'll be waiting for the rest of our lives."
-Lemony Snicket (The Ersatz Elevator)
The tiny kingdom of Freedonia, under the benevolent rule of one Lord Spaulding the Great, was best known for its tavern, wherein drinks were served at all times of day or night, rousing music was played at three AM, and the dawn was continually rung in by a reciting of an epic poem written by the bard that owned the place. Without exception, anyone in the tavern could find themselves unexpectedly employed at any time as a stage actor, performing a script they'd never read before. In fact, until the market was built, the tavern had been the main form of employment for most of the peasants of Freedonia, and it continued to be the main form of recreation for the royal guards.
As the kingdom grew, so did its problems, not the least of which was that lawlessness swept the country like a plague, and the plague swept the country like lawlessness. Brawling was rampant, especially whenever visitors from Tredony and Aarbyville happened to see each other.
In his infinite wisdom, Lord Spaulding decreed that the kingdom needed a knight to manage all of this, and also to get the guards to stop spending all their time in the tavern listening to Minstrel Rhianwen sing, and -if only occasionally- do their actual job of guarding and border patrol.
And so enters our hero, a generically handsome dark-eyed peasant man with reddish brown hair. Steven Westmoreland, a life-long resident of Freedonia, had watched in some dismay as his beloved country went to pot and was understandably excited to receive a letter delivered via pigeon to the effect that he was being promoted from "gutter trash" (a phrase adopted from a country which had gutters), to "knight." He was somewhat perplexed by the promotion, however. Though Steven was young, able-bodied and decent with a sword, it seemed like a guard ought to have been promoted into the position, rather than some nobody the monarch couldn't possibly know anything about.
Dutifully, however, he picked up his sword (such as it was), shouldered his armor (such as it was), and moved into the newly built castle tower that was the knight's home (such as it was). The barracks was a lot smaller than it looked on the outside. Additionally, despite the fact that it was connected to the rest of the castle, there was no door or hallway leading from Sir Steven's new abode to the rest of the castle.
Seeing no reason to stop at the barracks, the builders had simply gone on wall building until they ran out of material, shortly before they should have been designing the quarters of the spy. Without quarters, the spy refused to do any work or even show herself at all. Possibly the materials would have been better spent on a spy tower, but you couldn't tell builders anything, they built how they liked.
Though he hadn't been explicitly told to in the letter, it seemed prudent to the newly appointed Sir Steven that he actually meet the monarch he served.
Up to now, Steven had never actually seen much of Lord Spaulding. He'd heard something about a war and Freedonia's possible future involvement, and certainly he had seen the brawling between the Aarbyville pirates and Tredony nobles whenever they chanced to visit, but he didn't spend a great deal of time near the castle, the docks, the Judgment Zone or even the forest, which tended to be the scenes of most of the conflicts. There was a rumor that the monarch's gyrfalcon was routinely sicced on Aarbyville emissaries, but it was concluded by all that this was simply a matter of duty, and not preference. Even the pirates themselves did not seem as offended as they might have.
Lord Spaulding was known for his fondness of cabbage, such that he would provide ample funding each year to the farmers of this type of produce to ensure that there was plenty of cabbage for everyone. Minstrel Rhianwen had written many comedic plays on this particular subject, as well as a number of quite lengthy poems which referred, directly or indirectly, to cabbage. Jokes about the King's Cabbage were often quietly whispered in darkened corners. As previously mentioned, the options for entertainment in Freedonia were somewhat limited.
The only other thing that was widely known about Lord Spaulding the Great was that he was in search of a suitable partner who would provide him with an heir, which had been made public knowledge when Lord Spaulding wrote and published a Declaration of Intent.
When he arrived at the throne room, Steven was rather surprised to find it rather cheaply furnished, and actually quite bare looking in many spots. Plain gray stone showed on the walls which would more typically be adorned with flags and tapestries, and the floor where normally fancy rugs would lie was likewise bare and gray. The throne itself looked a little bit like it had been made out of twigs. The most ornate things in the room were a couple of bird perches on either side of the throne, one for the Lord's colorful sunset macaw and the other for his majestic white gyrfalcon.
As a former peasant, Steven knew that money was in short supply to commoners, but it had been his impression that Lord Spaulding must have a lot of money, since he kept giving it to various parties in exchange for promises to build statues of him. Statues which, Steven had noticed, never seemed to be built.
Lord Spaulding himself was a surpassingly ragged looking individual. Thin and pale, with ferociously wild black hair and eyebrows, and an impressively prominent mustache, he did not especially look as though he were a force to be reckoned with, despite all that fancy clothing expensively tailored could do to improve his looks. He had facial features not unlike those of his falcon, and brown eyes of a rather muddy shade. For all that, he sat on his throne of twigs in a manner that inexplicably conveyed the fact that he was thoroughly impressed with himself, which Steven supposed befit a man of royalty.
"You're not here asking for money, are you?" Lord Spaulding asked suspiciously.
"No, My Lord," Steven replied politely, "I am Steven Westmoreland," when the name didn't seem to ring a bell, he clarified, "You just hired me on as knight."
"Ah, yes," Lord Spaulding said with a nod, doing a creditable job of pretending to be suddenly remembering this, "And I suppose you're wondering why this castle needs a knight."
"Because the kingdom is growing and is in need of more protection, leading to increased duties that are too much for any one man?" Steven guessed.
Lord Spaulding scoffed at this, saying, "No, it's because I hate manual labor."
"I would be more than happy to take on any duties you see fit to assign me, My Lord," Steven said, doing his best to hide his surprise.
"Great," Lord Spaulding said, "Now go out and catch me a bear."
"My Lord?" Steven queried.
"You heard me," Lord Spaulding assured him, "There's a Great Bear out there that needs killing, and I'm sending you to do it, because quite frankly I can't be bothered."
"A Great Bear?" Steven asked.
Great Bear was a term applied to any overly large or aggressive bear that took to regularly attacking villagers when they were out strolling in the forest. Not as impressive to look at as a Grimbear (Grim being a prefix applied to any beast worthy of mounting), but much more dangerous. Or so Steven had heard anyway.
As a first assignment, it seemed like a tall order, much taller than the other task of the day, which was paying his taxes. In fact, heretofore, Great Bears had always been hunted by the Lord himself. Having now met Lord Spaulding, Steven had to wonder just how the spindly, sickly looking little man could possibly have managed it.
Considering this, Steven gained a bit of confidence that he would be able to do it, as well as new admiration for his Lord, for surely it was a much greater feat to kill a bear when you were small and weak than it was when you were as strong and sturdily built as Steven was.
Still, the idea of catching a bear of any sort, much less a Great Bear, made Steven rather nervous. He'd never really gone out hunting before, and certainly not by himself. But with his Lord he would not essay to argue.
Thus there was nothing for it but to don his armor, sharpen his sword, and head out into the forest in search of a bear.
The sun was high in the sky, and the day cheerily bright. Parrots and falcons flew through the sky on missions from their masters, hunting for trinkets or rabbits. The river that ran through Freedonia burbled merrily to itself, silvery fish flicking beneath its shimmering surface. The grass was green, the wildflowers perpetually in bloom. In all, Freedonia had never looked more beautiful or peaceful to Steven.
But the moment he entered the forest, it became unnervingly dark. The trees seemed to close in at once, and their interlacing branches shut out the sunlight. No birds flew here. The chuckling of the part of the river that flowed through the forest seemed suddenly ominous and mocking. Shadows seemed to leap out of the bushes and stalk him, and he found he could not fathom who would come here for recreation or why. Mystical sounding whispers came through the trees, and Steven was reminded that there were said to be unicorns and pixies out here... though really it was the thought of meeting a dire chinchilla (the most hideously vicious animal imaginable, according to the legends) that truly worried him. Though he didn't especially want to be trampled by elves or attacked by a grimbeast either.
The deeper into the forest Steven went, the more still it became, until he could no longer hear any of the familiar sounds he associated with his home. Even the river was quiet this deep in, reduced to a shushing little stream. A sudden rustling overhead proved to be a squirrel, which bolted at sight of him. The stillness and silence resumed, feeling like a warning to Steven to turn back.
As Steven continued onward, following the ill-traveled path deeper into the forest, it occurred to him that this would be an excellent place for a bandit to plan an ambush. No sooner had he thought this than a woman in black dropped down on him from the trees. Startled, Steven fumbled for his sword, giving the bandit enough time to dart in and make a grab for his moneybag. Steven struck at her, but she ducked, slipping around behind him, laughing. His sword now drawn, Steven whirled to face the bandit, but she had already moved away from him. She paused and held up a couple of simoles between her fingers. Then, blowing him a kiss, she turned and ran off through the trees.
Angry at the loss of money as much as embarrassed at having let down his guard, Steven left the path and chased after the fleeing figure. She was much faster than he, and apparently knew the forest well, for Steven shortly found himself in a clearing, standing ankle deep in dead leaves, looking around but seeing no sign at all of his assailant.
For a moment, Steven stood still, berating himself for leaving the path to chase a bandit. He should have known better. He should also have kept a closer watch on his money. He supposed he could count the stolen simoles as an object lesson. Shaking his head, Steven started to go back the way he'd come. But he didn't get very far.
Without warning, there came a mighty roar, and something charged at him from out of the bushes. Steven didn't have time to be afraid, nor even to consider what it was that was leaping for him, he simply held up his sword and watched in some awe as a massive shadow flung itself at him, then neatly skewered itself on his sword. It proved to be a bear. Specifically, a great one.
The Great Bear was considerably less "great" than expected, for it fell dead almost at once. It was a lot thinner than Steven would have expected any bear to be, and it yielded only a few pieces of edible meat, the rest was waste. In fact, the bear looked as if it might actually have been starving, which might have explained its ferocity towards villagers. Yet it was not an aged or sickly looking creature either. Steven was deeply puzzled by this.
Briefly, it flashed through his mind that he should be grateful to the bandit. If not for her, he should not have had his sword drawn, and the bear's attack might have ended quite differently. On the other hand, if he hadn't chased her, he would not have wound up in the bear's path. Since he'd been sent to kill the bear, he couldn't tell if he should be grateful the bandit had led him almost straight to it, or enraged that she had almost fed him to it.
Before he could begin to formulate any real theories, he heard a melodic voice humming an eery tune through the trees. It was a woman's voice, but not like any Steven had heard before.
Curious, he left the clearing where he had slain the bear, and moved into a still deeper and darker section of the forest, following the sound of song. Something in the sound of the voice disconcerted him, and bade him creep stealthily forward.
It was well that he did, for he came upon a glen in which a woman seemed to be piling a great number of bodies, most of which appeared to have been mauled by a bear. The woman was deathly pale white, with fire red hair, blood-red eyes and similarly colored lips, but there was something else about her, something... evil.
This was a creature of fire and darkness, not human at all, but a witch.
Steven was immediately aware of the unnatural state of the bodies, aside from the fact that they were dead. By instinct more than knowledge (the latter of which being in rather short supply in Freedonia), he recognized the beginning foundation of a Witch's Hut, which were always laid atop a floor of bodies.
In a flash of insight, he understood that The Great Bear had fallen under a witch's spell, and that had been why it had been attacking people. Rather than eating them, it was bringing them to the witch. So busy with this magically imposed task had it been that it had neglected to eat.
Sick with revulsion and fear, Steven crept back the way he'd come, knowing that this must at once be reported. He knew he had found something far more terrible than any chinchilla.
A witch -quite different from a sorceress- was a destroyer. He had heard plenty of stories from travelers speaking of dead kingdoms that had been the victims of witches. Left unchecked, this witch would destroy the kingdom as a means of increasing her own power. She would begin by building the hut, and then later would start kidnapping children. By the time she was finished, she would be draining the life power of everyone in the kingdom!
Freedonia was in dire peril! Lord Spaulding must be informed!
Author's Note: This story is completely written. I will be uploading one chapter per day. This was written for my entertainment, and is being published for yours. If you find yourself not enjoying it, then you should feel perfectly free to stop reading.
Special thanks (or blame) for this goes to the friend and sister-in-law who got me into Sims (first 2 and then 3 and finally Medieval) in the first place, and Jack Trader, my wholly unexpected and surprisingly enthusiastic Beta reader.
Nobody panic, everything is fine. I merely have no idea what I'm doing. I hope you enjoy whatever this has turned out to be.