The Ivory Knight

Chapter 1

PART I

The blade bit through the air with a metallic hum. It slashed the burlap open, and fine yellow straw spilled from the wound.

Adeleina lunged at the dummy, sending her sword straight through it's chest. She pushed downwards. The unresponsive figure allowed itself to be cleaved in two, pouring dry straw all over the floor at her feet. Her lungs were on fire and her sides were heaving, but Adeleina refused to stop.

The deadly weapon lashed through the air again and teasingly flicked a delicate and expertly sliced cut in the next dummy. It flew, lacerating the burlap until it lay in shreds, fluttering limply in the wind. Adeleina was a dancer, and her sword was her ribbon. It darted and hissed through the air like a snake, raking light seams or gouging deep gashes as she pleased.

As Adeleina swung and stabbed, she thought of the stories she had been told when she was merely a child: stories of merciless kings, stories of battles to the death, stories of princesses like herself torn between the love of her life and bowing to tradition, and stories of the knight in ivory armor. That knight had been her childhood hero, and when even the patient old nurse ran out of tales to tell of his wonderful, heroic deeds, Adeleina still begged her to make up more.

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"Tell me about the ivory knight again, nursie," She grasped her silk blanket with chubby hands.

An elderly woman, her age in stark contrast with the child's youth, stopped crooning bedtime songs.

"You've heard the story no less than a hundred times, Adeleina. Are you not tired of it?"

"I'll never tire of it!"

Her nurse smiled fondly in resignation, and after a moment's hesitation, began her tale.

"Once upon a time, there lived a king and his people. The king was greatly loved by his kingdom for his kind and gentle nature. His people never suffered, and lived peaceful lives. But their tranquility was not to last. Another king had set his eyes on the prosperous and beautiful kingdom, and wanted to take it for himself. Tales told in shadowed alleys and dark corners say that he had gone mad long ago, and for years he had sent his unstoppable men far and wide. Entire armies had fallen under his soldier's boots, spreading darkness, despair, and desolation.

They invaded the good king's land like a swarm of locusts, burning and pillaging as they marched. Innocent men, women and children burnt to the ground, their ashes black as obsidian and bones stark white like unforgiving snow."

The windows rattled as if shuddering with horror. Wind had begun whipping the castle again, perhaps in a display of abhorrence.

"When the merciless soldiers reached the castle, nearly all hope had been lost. The good king had few honorable men left, many of his people fleeing the land. They rammed against the castle's walls with a terrible, cruel resolve. That night, the anguished cries of men and the crash of sword against sword could be heard far and wide, and there was no one there to stop them. There was only the enemy, advancing closer and closer to the castle doors with every second."

Adeleina, despite the countless times she had heard this story, whimpered in wide-eyed terror. The wind moaned with her, as if agreeing.

"It seemed there was nothing left to do but surrender, or die fighting. But in the midst of the terror, one knight appeared, tall and valiant. It was a knight, whose armor glowed like the moon, who felled a thousand men with his fearful sword of Damascus steel."

"What's Dascmus?" Adeleina demanded, her mouth agape and fists still clenching the blanket.

"Da-mas-cus. It is an exotic steel from faraway lands that never shatters and never dulls. The blade is like water: rippling, yet smooth. This knight was the first of any to wield such a powerful blade. No one knew where he had come from, and no one knew who he was, but he fought harder than any of the king's men, and harder still than any of the enemy's men."