TARNISHED ARMOUR
by
Jeff G.
October 26, 2003
In a dismal valley filled
with dancing shadows from swirling clouds overhead, there paused a horse and
it’s rider. The horse, Nightwind, was a mighty black steed with eyes of
fire and a thirst for battle. Nightwind’s rider was a poor match for such a
splendid animal. Once a knighted servant of the kingdom of Asperion, he was
now a haggard and weary soldier slumped over and holding the reins with one
hand, while clinging to the horn of the black leather saddle with the
other. There was no helmet upon his head, for an unseen Oak limb had torn
it from him as he fled through the forest of Darkwood. His face and scalp
were now scarred and bruised with trickles of crimson flowing from his
forehead and cheeks. His armour which was once his pride and glory, was now
tarnished, scratched and dented as a testament of the battle he had fought.
As he thought of the last three days he felt weary and confused, questioning
his own cause and purpose. His duty had always been to guide and protect
the defenseless from the oppression of evil and thoughtless tormentors. An
endeavor of hopelessness and futility had suddenly become his obsession and
nearly his demise.
A whistling wind could be heard calling
from the forest of Darkwood. In pain Sir Geoffrey winced as he turned his
injured neck to the sound of the calling. To his east the chilling wind
carried a vision of a lovely princess dressed in white. Her hair was the
color of the night, and her skin was as white as the snows that fall upon
the highlands of Grabenshire. He had seen her face before, and would never
forget the slender form of her body as her image floated upon the breeze and
seemed to call his name. Nightwind’s hooves shuffled upon the hard clay
soil as he turned his head to meet the eyes of his war torn rider. The eyes
that knew no fear showed terror as Nightwind snorted and jerked his muzzle
to the west where in the distance was the land that bordered on the Great
Sea of Peace. Sir Geoffrey felt the horse’s tremors of fear even through
the heavy leather saddle. Their home and kingdom was toward that land of
giant fir trees, near where the cold waters of two beautiful rivers merge
and flow to the sea. Nightwind, though nearly as tired as his rider,
desired to return to their kingdom land, where there was safety and freedom
from the misty image of royalty.
A damsel in distress? Perhaps. But
what if distress is the princess’ lover? How many Knight’s, or perhaps even
Barons or Earls had answered her call of distress, only to have their honour
stripped bare before their own eyes? Sir Geoffrey had answered her call.
He had carried his sword into battle for her cause as he rode bravely upon
the back of his dark horse. Many hours passed as armoured rider wielded his
sword, striking opponents, and in return receiving blow for blow. Progress
seemed futile as the battle continued and Sir Geoffrey and his opponents
became weary. Suddenly a moment of calm prevailed, when the sound of
clashing steel ceased and the dust from horse’s hooves settled and cleared.
But the silence was not total silence. Sir Geoffrey turned to find that his
princess was no longer in the place of safety from which she could observe
the battle. In a panic he scanned the mountainous terrain, but she was
gone. There was still a sound in the distance, a voice of mockery, calling
“fools, fools, FOOLS!” One by one the combatants removed their helmets, Sir
Geoffrey doing the same. In shock he trembled as he saw before him an image
of his own self. To the right and left of his image he saw fellow knights
from his own kingdom, glaring at him in disgust! Beside him he suddenly
realized that there had been others fighting for the cause of the same
princess, some still stood poised for battle, others bore the look of
incredulity, that must also have been upon his own face. In anger he
shouted “WHY?” His voice echoed from the canyon that was below them. Then
there was that soft feminine voice again, “fools, fools, FOOLS!” There was
no sense of certainty that the voice belonged to the princess or to
another. In fierce anger and frustration Sir Geoffrey forced his helmet
over his dust-covered head. He grabbed Nightwind’s reins, and turned his
mount toward the canyon charging toward the sound of the voice. The voice
was always beyond his reach, laughing at him in mockery. He turned to see
that his own image and his countrymen were pursuing him. In confusion and
hopelessness, horse and rider plunged into the forest of Darkwood…
…Sir Geoffrey awakened from his
memories as Nightwind gave a loud snort, looking at his rider with a look
that was now horror. Once again the image of the white princess was before
him approaching, beckoning, calling. “Never again!” he shouted at her as
his heels pressed against Nightwind’s sides, and with reins firmly in hands
horse and rider took off at a run leaving the image far behind.
Slowing to a gallop as they approached
the mountain country, rider called to horse, “We’re almost home!”
Crossing the great mountain range, the
two rivers and the fertile green valley could be seen below. The weary
rider wondered in his heart, “will my people forgive me? He tenderly rubbed
Nightwind’s neck, gently asking, “is Asperion still our home?”
© Jeff G. 2003
Some
are the melody, some are the rhythm, some are the harmony