The Knight's Eyes

1: THE PROPOSITION

Only a fool would climb the Mountains of Nightingale.

So when King Edrich Von issued a royal proposition for all men to take arms to climb it, chills ran through every living soul's veins. Two days have gone by without any further instructions or information, let alone reasons for this idiotic decree. No one- armsman, man, or woman sought for answers. The streets were left to fend for themselves when dusty winds passed through. Markets weren't occupied and trades were executed under shady places- swift and uneasy. Patrollers canvasing the Kingdom of Terra would glance cautiously over their shoulders as if their very own would approach and give them a king's summons.

The fear and isolation of the outside world reminded him of all the summers in his twenty-three years when death whispered from the hot air. Summer Terror is what the folks called it for 100 years since the witch Nightingale casted her curse. A month from now the bloody summer would come. Many people would run to the hills and plains of Greenshine or face the oppression front on. Some brave and foolish group of men would enter the Forest of Doom to slay the witch and never would be seen again.

Shutters from the row house across the street slapped against the stone foundation. The woman who lived there stuck her head out, looked side-to-side, eyes inches from popping out their sockets, and slammed the shutter close. A brave couple shuffled pass yanking their donkey to quicken its pace. Clouds hovered low on the kingdom as if Nightingale had found out about the decree and was warning them against trespassing.

Those mountains that scaled the eastern side of Terra with its front hairline of dense black forest belonged to the witch. Occasionally, when the days held back its mighty breath and people refrained from talk, one could hear the screams, screeches, and cries of the dwelling creatures. Some talk bravely acknowledged those sounds to Nightingale herself- petrified in her wrath at the frailty of man. No one knows the truth, except those brave souls who disappeared.

He sighed and strained his ears to the clucking sound of a patroller's horse around the corner. "I wonder why," he shook his head.

"You keep askin' that and find a royal messy at your door," Walta said placing a hot bowl of beef stew in front of him.

He smiled and sucked in its savory smell and felt around for his spoon. "I need a spoon, Walta."

The old woman muttered a curse, pulled open a drawer, and shuffled through wooden spoons until she found one of her liking. The drawer slammed closed. The floor creaked upon her every step as she walked back to him and let the spoon fall from her stringy fingers.

He grunted and took up the spoon and dug into the juicy stew. After a few slurps and chews he edged his head back and forced a laugh, "This king is ridiculous. Take arms men- as if every dink in the kingdom are pledged knights and armsmen. Wish I could give 'im a good talkin'."

"Oh, Alsin, you're not gonna do anything," Walta said sitting her bowl down and plopping into the opposite chair. "I wonder what the bail price'll be this time."

"Whatever it is, the fool who signs up deserves it," he muttered. A warm breeze entered the open window. Alsin shot back his head to let the cool breeze massage through his golden hair.

"Just still, Walta. The old fools got everyone on their toes and it's not even Terror Summer yet," he pointed out.

Walta stiffened by the mentioning of the cursed season, but continued eating. He gazed at the woman who had helped raised him. Years of hard work and wisdom formed a labyrinth of wrinkles on her face, but he could still make out her fading beauty. Her pearl skin had not turned gray yet and energy glistened in her grayish blue eyes and danced in her veins.