The Arkanist

The Knights of Night

Chapter 7

The Knights of Night

Aeron lay on a pall of grey, his faze gaunt and haggard. The large wooden bed was adorned with heavy wool sheets of white, grey, and black, with shuddering candles perched on the four posts. The faint light danced across his sleeping face, eyes closed, chest rising evenly. The stone walls were dark and grey in the morning haze, draped with long banners and quilts, each hand-woven meticulously by the women herself. It was a small room, and the floor was clad in coats of fur pelts, with a great brazier hanging from the pitched, wooden ceiling. The crimson tongues of flame licked at the iron, with embers burning, then, fading like stars. Aera looked over Aeron, her body casting a long and dark shadow over his frail figure.

         The boy was engulfed with heavy woolen sheets, armored in heavier furs, his fiery red hair blazing like the brazier above against the pale white pillows. A long, thin window cut through the stone walls behind Aeron’s body, the grey spear of light slicing his body in two. Torches, clutched by iron fists, guarded the walls beside window, with long writhing bodies of yellow flame. Their hearts blazed lurid like the sun, caressing the walls with watery hands of yellow that dripped down the stone like quivering tears. The heat had seemed to help Aeron, for his skin was not so pale and sallow. Instead, it was dappled with pink at the cheeks and his eyes were the palest green Aera had ever seen, with a tint of hazel. But there was life in them.

         “The Ashwood did not treat the boy well,” said the old women, leaning over Aeron with a rag soaked in warm water. “It never does.”

         Aera leaned forward. “Will he be okay?”

         “I believe so, Lady Aera.” Her voice changed when she said her name. “The wood had a firm grasp, yes, but it let go, in the end.”

         “What did you do?” Aera asked. “How did you cure the wound?”

         “Simple methods,” replied the old women, walking over to Aera with a steaming horn of tea, the liquid a pale green. “I gave him a drink of herbal remedy, warmed and brewed over the hearth in the common until it began to steam, and the leaves began to dissolve. Your brother didn’t fancy it, but he drank it all, in the end, and he was put to rest, so that I could tend to his wound.”

         “Is he still at rest?” Aera took the tea in hand, the horn burning her flesh for an instant. The heat soon faded.

         “Indeed,” said the women. “And will be for a while longer. He should awake though ere the coming of night.”

         “It’s always night.” Aera’s face was stiff, and her freckles danced with darkness.

         “True you are.” The women, leaving the rag on Aeron’s thin forehead, walked over to a torch, and warmed her hands against them, her spidery fingers lacing together with the thin crimson talons of the fire. Her muddy eyes churned with the red. She stepped away. “A nasty wound, really. Hardly looked an arrow bite, but a sword bite instead, one lined with poison. The skin around it was black as night, and his veins had gone black as pitch as well, with his thigh so pale it looked as clear as a crystal. I great and powerful, but dangerous method I used, to cure such poison of the skin. Let us pray it works, for I wish not to see such a little one dead at such grave times, having lost your parents.”

         Father… “How did you know?”

         “My dear, Lady Aera.” Her voice was craggy like a crone. “A real wonder what time can inflict upon the mind. My ears, still work, even at this age. I have heard rumors conveyed in the commons about the Fall of Ahhid. Time hasn’t changed that I am your grandmother, the Late Lady Olahna, of the great House Darrhn. I am your father’s mother, King Dalhiv, needn’t you forget my face that looked upon yours.”