7
I had been bidden to observe. And so, I did.
From my high perch among the crumbling chasms of Kingdom's Edge, I tracked the erratic progress of a wild bug in its last few moments of life.
The bug was the likes of which I had not yet seen. It was not a commoner or an attendant, not a warrior or a Knight. It did not even stand upon two legs as the bugs of the Kingdom did, but instead hopped about on six. Out of the overlapping plating of its back sprouted a pair of wings. They were shriveled and useless but flapped with every hop. Its belly was a fluid-filled sack exposed to the open air that stood out vividly orange against the lifelessness of the landscape.
By restless instinct, the bug patrolled one clifftop after another. Its pointed feet and lance-like proboscis pierced into the stone with every impact, leaving a permanent record of its passage. Something like ash tumbled out of the gray sky over its head, in slender flakes that collected on the ground and muted the echoes of the bug's hopping. Periodically, the bug stopped as it came to a vantage point over the plunging cliffs. It leaned and strained against the rigidity of its own body, searching. But whatever it sought with those shell-veiled eyes went unfound, for something descended from on high. A streaking, silver shadow punctured the bug's body, down through its back and out the gory, orange mess of its stomach. The bug's deathly shriek rent the air, and its legs beat a hideous rhythm against the stone. It lashed out and up with its proboscis, but the inflexible plating about its neck made the gesture futile. With a thrust and a twist, the silvered assailant brought the bug's noises to a crunching halt.
The assailant—the Fierce Knight Dryya—stepped back from the slain bug. She swung her longnail through the air and splattered orange blood like the clumsy stroke of a paintbrush. Her armor rasped faintly as she looked about, scanning the clifftop for other threats.
I stared down at her from my perch on the opposite cliff, still in accordance with the command that she had given me. I watched her every move, the discipline, the efficiency. I watched the care that she spent on each tilt of her shoulders and heft of her nail. It seemed as if she were constantly poised to begin a duel that would last eons.
"Superlative!" Ogrim's voice boomed out of the silence, rattling my senses, for he was sitting a mere armlength away from me. "What a felicitous day." he said, his gaze set as firmly upon Dryya as mine. "It is a rare treat to bear witness to the sword skills of the Fierce Knight. Even I, a fellow Great, have seen it only twice. I count myself a lucky bug. And you should as well, Little Knight."
I offered Ogrim only a glance before returning to my task. Dryya's will weighed heavily upon me, and the urge to observe was overwhelming.
"We two seem to be common companions of late," Ogrim said. "But to what end, I cannot fathom. By the King's will, I am to play the part of your instructor, but my skills are meager indeed when matched against the likes of the other Greats. Whatever lessons I might offer would be of little use. And yet still… here I sit beside you." He pondered for a while, his posture growing hunched.
Dryya completed her survey and craned her neck to lock eyes with me from across the trench. She pointed at the ground beside her with the tip of her longnail and shouted some word that was made incoherent by the wind.
No fresh command smoldered in my head, so I continued to observe, unmoving.
Ogrim discarded his thoughts with a shake and hopped to his feet. "It appears we are summoned." He leaned forward to peer over the cliff's edge and into the spiraling depths. Far, far below rested a lake of greenish acid that sizzled and popped as it contacted the flakes of ash. "No time for a leisurely descent, I'd wager. But worry not. The gap may appear harrowing, but it is no great obstacle for those lordly wings of yours. Have you already come to master them in the scant time that we've been apart? As I recall, your flight out of the pit was a trace… unsteady."
I remained focused on Dryya. She jabbed her nail a second time, more emphatically, and repeated her wind-shredded word.
"It is unwise to keep that one waiting," Ogrim cautioned. "For all her wisdom and strength, Dryya's grasp of patience is that of a novice. She is said to be an ancient, the eldest of the Great Knights. One would expect a bug with such a wealth of years to exercise more forbearance. Perhaps the recent Mantis War has wounded her humor, if not her body…"
Dryya paced like a caged predator, her piercing stare alternating between Ogrim and me.
"What is it, Little Knight?" Ogrim asked. "Are you fatigued? Or could it be hesitance stays your step?" He eyed the gap a second time, gauging the distance. "It took but a word to send your rushing into battle against Isma, yet, are you stopped now by a mere height?"
I said nothing.
Ogrim clacked his claws pensively. "I suppose that even one as valiant as you might conceal a private fear."
The scream of metal rebounded against the chasm walls as Dryya buried her longnail into the stone at her feet. She pointed a third—and seemingly final—time, but again, her word was defeated by the unrelenting gusts.
Ogrim waited a second, and then hummed. "Well, if you are unwilling to carry yourself, then perhaps I have found my purpose in being here." He crouched before me and locked his claws behind his back, presenting them as a foothold. "Climb aboard, Little Knight. I will make short work of this dreaded ravine. You needn't fret, I will not fail."
Though fragile, little more than a whisper, Ogrim's order took hold of me. I rose, planted my feet in the crook of his claws, and wrapped my arms around his neck.
Ogrim bloomed into a hearty laugh and leapt from the clifftop with only a single step of momentum. The wind made a plaything of my cloak as we plummeted toward Dryya.
At first, it appeared that we would not clear the gap, and the roiling lake of acid rushed at us. But Ogrim threw out a barbed claw and caught the edge of the cliff upon which Dryya stood. With a shearing crunch, we jerked to a halt, and bits of pulverized stone pattered our heads. Ogrim released a sound of pain, yet his claw remained firmly embedded into the cliff.
"Climb up," Ogrim grunted. "I will join you shortly."
Though I possessed enough force to jump up to Dryya's side, Ogrim's command guided me, and I made a scrambling ascent of the rock face. Dusty and scuffed, I rose to my feet.
"You did not acknowledge my summons," Dryya said, arms crossed. "Even the lowliest of the other Vessels accomplished that."
Ogrim puffed and labored against gravity, hauling himself to the cliff top with a great gasp. A cloud of ash billowed about him as he sprawled onto his back. "Now, I better understand your fear, Little Knight." He paused to breathe and stare into the sky. "That feat was more alarming than I anticipated. A running start might have better served me…"
"Fear?" Dryya asked.
"Yes, I believe our champion in training grapples with that particular adversary." Ogrim rested his claws on his chest. "Odd that a thing with wings would hesitate so, but I have no right to cast judgment. In my youth, I harbored my fair share of silly terrors."
"Do not be foolish, Ogrim. Vessels cannot fear. If that is a great strength or a terrible weakness, I known not, but they are incapable of such hesitation."
Ogrim struggled to a sitting position. "Just now, the Little Knight observed your summons quite plainly, but it did not budge. Considering how quickly it has answered all other calls, something must have held it in check."
Dryya shrugged. "It simply must not have heard me, for it seems to have heeded your command easily enough. If you had ordered it to soar the gap, then it would have done so in an instant."
"Are you so certain?"
"I was told that Isma had educated you about these Vessels. Was I misinformed?"
"Isma and I…" Ogrim cleared his throat. "Experienced a disagreement on that matter."
"You can disagree with the setting sun all you please, but that will not stop the coming night."
Ogrim tilted his head. "Pardon?"
Dryya wrenched her longnail from the stone and wiped it clean of dust. "This exchange is a waste of words. My Lady gave me a task, and enlightening you was not a part of it. Come along, Loyal Knight. You are my escort after all, Lady only knows why…"
With a heave, Ogrim rolled backward and landed deftly on his feet. "If I have offended, then I beg forgiveness. Disrespect was not my intent."
Dryya waved a dismissive claw and set off toward the gaping mouth of a nearby tunnel. "Come, Vessel," she barked. The serrated edge of her conviction dug into my body, dragging me along like a hooked beast.
The damp tunnel we traversed was fanged with stalactites and stalagmites. Small, mindless bugs skittered out of our way, seeking shelter beneath tumbled rocks. I watched them closely, the curvature of their shells, the haste with which they clung to life.
Ogrim was the first to break the stretch of silence. He trotted up to Dryya's side and donned an esteeming tone. "You dispatched that Hopper with a superb blow, Fierce Dryya. It was so swift that my woeful reaction could not track it. Do you hunt about Kingdom's Edge frequently? It seems a suitable place to sharpen one's skills."
Dryya did not respond at first. She paused at a fork in the tunnel to consider her path. "I chafe against all this courtly talk. Do not praise me by belittling yourself. I have no purpose for adoration."
"I see. I apolo—"
"Nor do I have purpose for apologies," she snapped.
A chuff of laughter escaped Ogrim. He rubbed at his chin with the flat of a claw and nodded. "Understood."
"But, yes," Dryya said, continuing down the left-most tunnel. "I do invest much of my time in this place. Kingdom's Edge is what remains of the old world, where instinct and strength of claw still reigns. So far, it is unchanged by the newest god, but we will see with time."
"What god do you speak of?"
"The King, of course. As He works toward that impenetrable goal of His, the land is warped by his presence. Rarely for the better."
Ogrim processed her words, and when she did not continue, he prodded. "Why do you say that?"
"Despite all His romantic intentions, the King weakens those that He touches. The warriors, the commoners, even the low creatures of the earth. Here, beyond where He has staked His claim, bugs still vie against each other in that lethal dance. Every instant is lived a mere step before death's hungry jaws."
"For one in no need of adoration, you speak with some of your own," Ogrim observed. "But is the King's civilization not a favorable thing? A place where the strong protect the weak instead of preying upon them?"
"Perhaps. It is a debate that will not be decided here. But note that if the weak are not required to protect themselves, then they are never granted the opportunity to become the strong. And if the strong are not regularly challenged by the weak, then they become the weak themselves. That is the reality that the King has wrought."
Ogrim's voice grew faint and thoughtful. "Strength is a useless thing in a peaceful world. It is the greatest hope of a Knight to watch his nail rust from lack of need."
"I understand why the King is so fond of you."
At that, Ogrim stumbled, catching his weight on a stalagmite. "The King speaks of me? What else has he said to you? Nothing reproving I hope."
"To me he has not spoken. It is in my Lady that he confides. And in turn, my Lady confides in me. I know not the King's secret opinions of you, but His passing words are at least approving."
"You share a most heartening truth," Ogrim said, righting himself. "Thank you."
Dryya's only reply was a shrug.
"Many would envy your position," Ogrim continued. "A direct conduit to the King… Has the Lady provided you any more insights into His more domestic attributes?"
"Yes, unfortunately. My Queen's my queen often inflicts her inveterate fondness for gossip upon me. She tells me of the King's woes, His triumphs, His laments at the futures which never came to be. The picture my Lady paints of the King is… warm. Love truly is a deluding thing."
"The Pale King is cast in many lights," Ogrim said. "The distant lands that I once called home whispered of Him as a savior, a realm-builder. Even in The City, He is still hailed as such, but amongst His Knights and advisers… it is different. Why?"
"No castle is without imperfection, no matter how it might gleam from afar. One need only step close enough to spy its cracks."
"You do not think very highly of our sovereign," Ogrim murmured.
Dryya slashed at a nest of brambles obstructing our path, felling it in a single swing. "Should you come to know something intimately enough, then you will either adore or abhor it. I have witnessed many excellent warriors die for the King's misconceived visions. You will understand if I do not fawn over him."
Ogrim swallowed a deep breath as if conjuring some confutation, but a moment passed, and it did not come. He let the air hiss away.
The tunnel peeled open, and the stalactites gave way to another clifftop much like the one we had left behind. Dryya ushered us forward, until our steps kicked rocks and dust over the precipice. Below was a deep canyon, so vast and curtained in mist that its far side was imperceptible. Weathered spires of stone thrust out of the canyon like spikes on a carapace, and grayish plants choked the floor.
Above, in scattered groups, hovered the swollen forms of yet another sort of bug. Indolent and inattentive, they drifted this way and that, bumping into one another without the slightest care. Upon their backs were affixed three pairs of wings that beat in frenzied tandem to keep them just barely aloft.
Ogrim peered down the length of the canyon. "Have we arrived, then?" he asked.
Dryya planted her longnail and rested her wrists on the pommel. "Indeed. This place is a crucible of sorts, where the distinction between predator and prey is made. I will test this Vessel here, as all the others."
"Well, we have already wagered our lives and leapt a chasm, what else does your test entail?"
"Skipping that crack was not an aspect of the test," Dryya sighed. "There are thousands like it in this wasteland."
Ogrim hummed. "Really? Then the Little Knight best overcome its fear of heights quickly. For I doubt you'd allow me to remain its impromptu Stag."
Dryya shot Ogrim a sidelong glare. "You spend too much time with Hegemol. Any more and you threaten to become a clown."
"'When peril steals the strength from your legs, laugh. So that you might take a step forward,'" Ogrim said. "It was you that offered me that wisdom. At the Knotted Grove."
"And I would not have given it had I known it would make you so flippant."
"My good cheer is not mockery, merely a means to carry on."
Dryya gestured at me. "You do understand that this 'Little Knight' will be the one to 'carry on', and not yourself, yes?"
Ogrim let out a wavering laugh. "Oh, I am quite aware…"
"Enough." Dryya drew a shortnail from a thread-fine belt at her waist and tossed it to me. "Take this, Vessel. I am not so cruel that I would send you forth unarmed."
I caught the blade and held it at my side. It was stouter than the last one, less likely to fracture.
Dryya considered me before clearing her throat and squaring her shoulders. "Let us begin. We have wasted too much time already. Listen, Vessel, for I give you a command that you are to follow until the very end, even should that end be your death. Just as I struck down that Hopper moments ago, you are to explore this place in search of another of its sort. Wield that nail I have provided, and slay the creature with one, cunning blow. The King calls you perfect, but that verdict will fall to me this day. Should you fail, then this place will devour you as it did the others."
As the heavy mantle of Dryya's mandate settled upon me, Ogrim spoke up. "You set forth a heavy ultimatum, Fierce Knight. Isma's method of training was similarly harsh. Is this the only way that we might instruct the Little Knight? Must every trial be of life and death?"
"If the Vessel lacks the power to overcome this challenge, then it is of no use to us. A creature's spirit blazes brightest when its life hangs in the balance. Do you find this to be any different from the Champion's Call?"
Ogrim bristled. "Yes, actually. And in many ways. From the beginning the consequences of the Call were plain. And we each made our choice. But here, what choice is granted the Little Knight?"
Dryya scoffed. "Everything I say is but an echo of what you have already refused to acknowledge. Perhaps agreeing to your escort was a mistake. A Kingsmould might have better served this task. At the least, it would not have needled my patience with ignorant chatter."
The command took hold, and my grip upon the shortnail tightened. A murderous pressure—the same that I had experienced at the mustering grounds—soaked my being like a rain of hot tar. I looked about for the thing that I might kill. All other objects became muted and insignificant.
Dryya and Ogrim were only blurs before me. They were unsuitable prey, for they lacked the correct number of limbs, the proboscis, the wings. Overhead, the fat, floating bugs were likewise unfit. Though they possessed the armored shells and six pointed legs, their working wings invalidated them.
The pressure increased, as if a boiling sea were filling my chest. I hastened my search, and just as I tensed in preparation to leap from the cliff and into the canyon below, I spied a creature beside my foot. It was a tiny thing, round-bodied and simple. It did not share the precise size of the creature Dryya had slain, but still exhibited the same traits: six legs, useless wings, an armored body, and a sharp proboscis. It did not hop as it moved, but scuttled from one stone to another, prodding beneath in search of prey of its own.
I speared the tiny bug with the tip of the shortnail and lifted its still-twitching body to Dryya for inspection. Its orange blood trickled down the blade's length.
With my task complete, Dryya's directive left me, and the killing heat dissipated as quickly as it had come. My sight normalized, bringing the world back to focus.
The two Knights were staring at me.
"…Wh…What?" Dryya stammered. She cocked her head to the side, as if the new angle might reveal more information. "Are you—Is that what you—How is that suitable prey?!"
Ogrim circled around Dryya and crouched beside me. He leaned in close to inspect my kill, lifting the tip of his claw to count its legs. After a pause for reflection, he burst into a resonant chortle that sent every lesser bug within range scattering. "Behold, Dryya! With its discerning eyes, the Little Knight has already dispatched its quarry. Could any of your previous challengers claim to be so swift?"
"Preposterous!" Dryya shouted. "End this jest, or I will see your name amended to Clown Knight Ogrim! And that is no idle threat!"
"You doubt me? Come, look! I am no scholar, but I bet my title with confidence. This prey that our Little Knight has slain is indeed a Hopper. A nymph Hopper. Creatures of its kind do not metamorphose like most, but instead begin their lives as a much smaller form of what they will grow to become."
Dryya stomped closer and descended to one knee. She prodded the nymph Hopper with a digit before ripping one of its legs off and rolling it in her claw.
"If you hold no confidence in me," Ogrim continued, "then be aware that this knowledge comes from Isma herself. Few are as well-versed on flora and fauna as she."
With a snarl, Dryya tossed aside the bug's leg and wiped her claw against the stone. "That is a Hopper, yes, but that was not the task that I set forth!" She rose and paced back to the edge of the cliff. Her voice descended to a burning whisper. "What does this mean? Did it misconstrue my intent? Willfully? But it lacks the capacity. No mind to think…"
"Fierce Knight?" Ogrim asked, still chuckling. "Is this to be considered a victory for the Little Knight? In many ways, cunning is as vital a trait as strength, would you not agree?"
"Vessel! Come!" Dryya boomed.
I bolted across the expanse before Ogrim had time to turn his head. Again, Dryya's will was upon me, and I stood taut like the string of a harp.
"Stay here," she said, pointing to the very lip of the precipice.
And I complied.
"You seem impassioned," Ogrim said, suddenly mirthless. He rose and dusted his legs with the back of a claw. "Was the Little Knight's performance unsatisfactory?"
"Be silent, Ogrim," Dryya said. "And you might yet learn something." She looped her longnail through her belt and crossed her arms. "To be deemed worthy enough to undertake this trial, a Vessel must have proven itself to be powerful and hollow in equal measure. Of these two aspects, power is easy enough for a Knight to understand, but rarely does the King explain what it is to be hollow." She glanced over her shoulder, as if to confirm that Ogrim was still there. "Isma has told you that these things do not think as you or I. That emotion and reasoning are beyond them."
"So she claims."
Dryya made a low, feral noise. "Before today, I would have called that the truth, and not a mere claim. But this Vessel has casted doubt on that belief."
"Never have I been called wise or keen-eyed, but I feel that the Little Knight's mind was fairly obvious. It—"
In a blur of motion, Dryya whipped her nail from her belt and leveled it at Ogrim. "Not one more quip. Not one more word of frivolity. Or you will taste my blade."
"It was no jest," Ogrim said, with barely enough breath to utter.
"In my years, I have subjected many Vessels to this trial—always the same command, the same nail, the same prey. Not one amongst them behaved as this Vessel has. The King's dark tinkering has made these things into what they are: tools that obey absolutely and in perfect accordance to the wielder's desire. Yet not this one. It interpreted my words. It did not absorb them as the others did. How it managed to parse my message and perceive it in such a way is not clear, but that act is not something that a hollow being is capable of."
"You bleed menace, Fierce Knight," Ogrim whispered. "You seek to deliver death. But I see no adversaries, only we three. I do not understand." He raised his claws in a gesture that was equal parts pleading and combative.
Dryya turned her nail away from Ogrim and positioned herself behind me. "When circumstance and my Lady's mandate required that I appraise this march of puppets, I was told not to tolerate weakness. But even more so, I was warned of the jeopardy that might be brought about by a Vessel not truly hollow. It became clear to me that above the petty tasks of gatekeeper and proctor, I was to be an executioner."
Dryya hefted her nail, angling it for a lethal strike at my neck. "Look forward," she rasped at me. "Be still. Though pain means nothing to you, I will ensure there is none."
As I had been told, I did not move. The shackles that had become such a familiar thing held me firm. From the corner of my vision, I witnessed the descent of Dryya's longnail.
The canyon stretched out before me, like an open grave.
