pencil shavings

fifteen: the trio

Agamemnon cursed under his breath when he saw the camp. He hated dealing with haughty knights. But there was the old man's warning to be worried with, so the mage walked further along the thin path that wound close to the cliff face, brushing the dust off his cloak with the impatience of any scholarly mind in the wilderness.

As he moved well beyond the military camp - no doubt the arrogant bastards of the North - he began to feel the forest's remaining shock, the slight tremor in the land when his foot hit the ground, as if every blade of grass was tense.

What is it? he thought toward the wind as it brushed over his satchel.

He let his magic like tree roots push hard into the earth and the air, the cliffs and trees. And like always, the wilderness that he so despised spoke to him. It was no coincidence they called him the Ears of the Mighty One.

The earth spluttered at Agamemnon.

Monster. Death. Death. Dark like the bottom of the lake at midnight. Monster - Man. And promises. Promises. Promises.

He softened his magic a little, kneeling to place a palm flat to the earth in reassurance.

I know - I know it's scary, he whispered to the shaking earth. But what did you see? Where did it come from?

The rocks gave a final tremor, like a child's sob, and then a deeper voice resonated from the lowest sediments of the cliffs.

The In-Between.

The mage stopped, his magic freezing. It couldn't be. He had heard of many monsters that made the earth cry out - but not like this. This was impossible. He felt what must have been a bush protesting at the tendril of his magic that had landed on it, and the mage withdrew from the wilderness with a quick thanks. He tried to sip from his canteen, but his hand was shaking too much. It was all too much.

All he knew was how he had to find that knight, the one from all the stories. He had to find her and warn her. Because a monster from the In-Between... he shuddered. He would have to remember to address that old man sternly about what defines a 'friendly and dutiful mission.'

The sun was just stepping from its peak in the sky as he slipped into the depths of the valley, and the mage cursed at the brightness of the day. And yet, the thought of being in dark gave him chills, with that thing still out there.

"... just saying that we should act! What did it say, exactly?"

"We will wait. By the Mighty One, is this all some glory game to you anyway? Because if it is, then you had best leave before you dirty your precious chain mail."

Agamemnon paused at the edge of the glassy lake, watching the two beautiful knights bicker as they stood on the beach with the wind ripping at them, like the figures from the great paintings of warriors in the Library. With a smear of magic, the mage concealed himself in the trees and waited.

"You are the one who deems me a worthless joke," the broad-shouldered Northern knight snarled. grinding his sword on a stone with growing intensity.

"You must excuse me for stating the truth, then" the woman replied, but the coldness in her voice was half-hearted, lost to the world. So she had seen the monster after all.

Before the yellow-haired knight could retort, the mage stepped from the leaves and approached the burly knights with cool calculation.

"I heard of the Monster - the earth tells me of it. I am here to help."

To no one's surprise, the knights only gritted their teeth with frustration.

"And how, Princeling, are you going to help us?" The Northern brute growled.

Agamemnon didn't flinch. "I'm a mage. My skills are invaluable, Bicep-Brain."

The Lady Knight watched them both with passive irritation, but she hated to admit that they were necessary. It wasn't as if they really had a chance, even if the whole world was on their side, but they were here for a reason, and if the Mighty One sent them... well she had already upset one supernatural being and she might as well comply.

"It is impossible," she whispered, her eyes filling with that stormy resolve that could kill with pure passion. "Impossible, but We will try."

The wind whipped her words deep into the valley, but Hercules and Agamemnon stood still as it plucked at them. And they heard from below her simple words, the howling of the wind, and all that she meant to say.

This would not be a bargain, nor a simple battle, nor a quick game of witts. This fight would be for all that matters most, for the very dust of their souls, and it was never meant to succeed. They would go anyway, so they may as well go nobly and together. Their time would be unnoticeable anyway, so they may as well spend every moment on the crusade for beauty.