Snowfall on the Edge of the World

1 - THE KNIGHT

We asked questions of him about his weapon, his great deeds and of the many places he'd travelled. He was not secretive and shared a lot of these places. He boasted of the great cliffs of Altia, the burning heat of the black desert where the ancient dragonkin slept. He even boasted of having visited the Wildgrowth, the supposed land of Elves and Fae but though we were young and impressionable none of us believed that, none had seen an Elf in the baronies for centuries. As the night grew darker and the sky bruised, the talk became blacker as well. When the night was darkest, and the candle we shared in the taphouse was down to a barest glimmer, he spoke of Norscairn.

There lies the edge of the world, boys. He had spoken, his voice a tiny murmur, struggling to be heard over the sound of the hearth. I've been everywhere and I'll travel there again, but only once more will I return to Norscairn. There lies madness, not the trickery the elves and fairies inflict, nor the riddles and puzzles the dragons demand, but true madness, true violence, true cold. The land is not meant to be lived in, and it fights those foolish enough to step foot there.

The edge of the world... We all spoke in hushed, excited voices. I felt a spring of confidence come up from this and asked. What's beyond Norscairn, is it really the edge of the world?

Only madness. He responded. And death, men go there to die, child. Why do you think I said I'd only go once more?

"Men go there to die..." I murmured, deaf to my own words.

That hadn't been my intention, but I was aware that few ever had the intention of dying before it happened. No, my intentions had been good to begin with, I had learned from the Fire Knight and done my best to live up to that mantle. I roamed, saw great things, everything the Fire Knight had promised and more. I met the Elves and the Fae, the Dwarves and the Giants, the Barkmen and the Enflamed. I saw the mountains to the east erupt, I helped forge the last Hypatian sword, I fought for the smallfolk in a hundred different lands for as many reasons. I did things I'm not proud of, and things I'm sure men will sing of for years to come. I was The Knight, not a Knight of Fire or a Knight of Cold, just The Knight. The first of my kind, in a way. Mine was the way of valour, but mundanity. Tales of nameless knights will float down the annals of history forever, and most of them belong me.

But now, I was older than the Fire Knight had been, and it was my time to visit the cold. This could be my last quest, after a career of improving lives would I disappear among the frigid wasteland. Like the other Knights?

Like the Knight of Fire?

I hoped not, but life maintained a sense of humour that one had to deal with. Life was a wonderful thing indeed if one could take a joke. The humorless don't live, in my estimation. They merely, subsist. But a diet that doesn't include humor is like a stew that doesn't involve beef and potatoes, not worth eating. More words from the Knight of Fire, I was thinking of him more and more of late.

All I had were my thoughts, in this weather. It helped keep my mind off the cold. My limbs ached terribly, the gambeson and cloak providing poor protection against the weather, and without a magic sword to warm me the trip would be harder for myself than my predecessor. I smiled wryly, scraping snow off my visor with numb fingers, not all men could be so fortunate to have a fire sword. I had no magic to speak of, just steel and flesh. That's all I'd needed before, and that's all I'd need now. It was a shame about the horse, though. It hadn't shared my constitution, or perhaps my will.