Young Writers Society

The wind’s icy gale cut, sliced, and bit at the ambitious Baron’s face, but could not chill his fiery will. As he gazed upon the field of carnage and destruction, Sulryn felt at home. Faymont's snow and ice all but masked the scene unraveling in front of him, but still Sulryn stared into the white void with an inhuman tenacity only awarded to the demi-gods of the ancient tales. Soldiers barreled into one another like feral animals, murder latched onto their faces. Their screams signaled either the end of their lives or the joy of cruel victory. Sulryn could see the sporadic bursts of blue, green, and red light in the distance, a cruel show, which signaled a battle between Mages. He glanced above his head and noticed strange creatures with black wings colliding in the sky. They shrieked and screamed with inhuman voices, never losing energy until their Song was withdrawn. The Baron of Osfort was so amused and absorbed into the bloody war, that he barely noticed the gleaming armor of a Knight headed his way.

The Knight was of Faymont, which was clear; the crest on his chest made that apparent. As the running Knight grew closer and closer to the Baron, he saw that the warrior was young and handsome. He could not have been more than twenty years of age. He had determined eyes that did not move as they bored into Sulryn. The Baron applauded the man for being able to break his army’s defensive line. The young Knight no doubt possessed skill. When the young Knight was in swords reach of the Baron, he suddenly stopped moving. Sulryn watched as the Knight struggled to take another step. The Knight brought his gaze to Sulryn, his eyes filled with confusion. Sulryn turned and saw his Court Mage, Vesumtan, deep in arcane concentration. The Mage must have the man trapped with his powers. Sulryn smiled, his cracked lips bleeding.

The young man screamed and struggled with all of his might to escape from the clutches of the Mage’s magic, but to no avail. The Knight had been trapped in Sulryn’s web. The Baron walked slowly towards the man, the wind blowing harsh against his body and slightly stifling his movements. He regarded the Knight with the eyes of a general. He saw his strong body and young energy. The Knight was clearly valuable. Sulryn grabbed the young Knight’s face, his blue eyes a stark contrast to the snow around him, and forced the man to look at him. The Knight, the fear of death absent from his eyes, looked at the Baron as one might look at a sad, wounded snake.

“Who are you?” Sulryn asked, raising his voice over the screaming of the wind.

Sulryn knew the boy would answer. No Knight was ashamed of his name and his charge.

“I am Homen Risim: faithful servant and Knight of Etmon Almos, Baron of Faymont Fief,” the Knight said, pride obvious in his voice.

“A Risim? I respect your forefathers and I respect you, young Knight,” Sulryn hissed.

Sulryn’s kind words took the young man by surprise. The Knight had never expected the evil Sulryn, the Sulryn that his Baron had cursed and called the evil stench of Uthdore, to speak with him in such a way. Sulryn took notice of his effect on the Knight.

“You fight valiantly, young Knight. Tell me, why do you fight for the Almos? You know of their evils, don’t you?” Sulryn asked, his voice warm and inviting against the harsh winds.

“What evils? The Almos have served Faymont well since they came to power,” Homen said.

“I see that the Almos have not told you everything, Homen,” Sulryn said. “Release this Knight, Mage.”

The Mage who had been keeping the Knight under his spell opened his eyes. The young Knight faltered as if he was about to fall, but quickly regained his composure. He looked at Sulryn nervously, his hand hovering naturally over his sword, as though the Baron would attack him when he let his guard down. Sulryn laughed at the Knight’s caution.

“You have nothing to fear, Homen. I have no intention of harming you,” Sulryn affirmed.

“Why?” Homen asked. “This is war. You must strike me down.”

Sulryn shook his head at the Knight’s pride. The Baron’s eyes seemed overflowing with dismay. Sulryn had used those eyes for many a funeral.

“This is no war, young Knight. This is defense. This is defense against those that wish to harm this great kingdom,” Sulryn disclosed, stepping closer to Homen.

The young Knight did not step away.

“What do you mean?” Homen asked, relaxing his guard.

“Come to my tent, young Knight. I will tell you all you wish to know,” Sulryn said, pointing into the distance at his army’s camp.

The young Knight walked, with only a hint of reluctance, into the direction of Sulryn’s camp and disappeared into the snow.

“Why did you feel attached to that Knight?” the Mage asked, having watched the scene.

“I do not. I am simply adding to my collection,” Sulryn said, his voice returning to its vicious state. “If he displeases me, I shall kill him.”

“He reminds me of the Knight I arrived in Osfort with,” the Vesumtan said. “Where is that Knight? I had expected him to join our company in battle.”

“He is with the Order of Os. He was about to begin his trials when we left Osfort. What was his name?” Sulryn asked.

“Tailer. Tailer Endonash, I believe,” The Mage said.

“Ah, yes. He is a promising Knight. Now, I have two promising Knights under my control. I will send Homen back at once to join the Order,” Sulryn stated.

Vesumtan bowed to the Baron and trudged through the snow towards the camp. Sulryn stayed just a moment longer to watch the monster he had created just with his words. The screams and anguish of the soldiers were blocked by Sulryn’s egoism. He only heard the cheers of a crowd begging him to take the Throne of Kings.