Thy Secrets Should Be Sung

Chapter Sixteen: Thunderhorse

 He had taken the little red table from the summer house—the one with the folding legs—and had set it up by the shore. The lake was calm, so he placed the table in the shallows, working the legs into the sand for support. Here they sat, the water lapping at their feet, lilac petals drifting by their heels like tiny, fragile boats.

The Princess had brought her teapot, still warm, a tiny little hint of steam seeping from its spout. She reached out across the table and poured the Knight his tea, and not a drop was spilled.

He studied the tea leaves floating in his cup. They were foreign to him.

The Princess set the pot down and ran her tongue across her teeth. "So tell me," she said, "have you been practicing?"

"Yes," said the Knight. He fumbled with his teacup, his armored fingers could not quite grasp the handle.

He set the cup down with a sigh. "No," he corrected himself. "I try, and fail."

There was a plate of scones set between them. The heat from the pot warmed the biscuits, rousing from them a heady scent that hung in the air like a fog. The Princess danced her fingers over the scones, unable to choose between them.

"But you make an honest effort?"

The Knight cradled his cup in his hands. "Yes," he said. He took a sip of tea, his teacup clacking against his guard as he tried to drink through the slit in his helmet.

"Good," the Princess said, deciding on a scone. "The rest will follow."

The Knight swallowed. His throat burned. "It is difficult," he admitted. "Memories, half-forgotten, come ringing clear again. And each one conjures forth two more."

He fell silent. He stared into his tea. Thoughts swirled in his mind, like leaves caught in a current.

"Speak. Continue, please."

He nodded slowly. Memories pooled together into narrative, into story. He knew stories. "Very well," he said, "hark to the tale of the Thunderhorse."

The Princess leaned forwards, resting her elbows on the table. "Oh?"

The Knight said, "It was many years ago, when I was still a good and noble Knight, fighting for King and country, head full and proud, enamored with the romance of chivalry. Always looking to prove myself, to show my valor and my virtue. Always seeking the next adventure over the next mountain—"

A gentle buzz was in the air; a dragonfly on the hunt for pond-skippers.

"One day I was called home again, and was asked to join the Bannermen on the front, and show my glory there. I thought it a chance to do my Lord proud."

The wings of the dragonfly caught the sun and gleamed with light. The Knight watched it dart about, watched its reflection on the water cast a blinding glare.

He continued: "But upon arriving at the field of battle I found only disappointment, and a small, pointless conflict over a worthless scrap of land. Naught but a pitiful contest between my King and another Lord, each testing the other's willingness to fight while all the same, parading their own pathetic might."

He took another sip of tea, it was still too hot to drink. "Here, I thought, a Shining Knight's talents were to be wasted. I was meant for greater things, surely, and so, on the eve of battle, I had want to stray."

A sudden breeze blew the dragonfly off-course, it flew back towards the willows and the wild flowers. The Knight watched it go.

"I was restless, and bitter, and sleep could not find me. I snuck from my tent in the night. I walked, unrested, alone, surveying the waste upon which, come morning, we were to make our stand. A dark cloud had settled over the battlefield, hiding both the stars and moon, but in the distance I could see the flickering lights of the enemy camp—and they seemed just as far away to me as the heavens themselves."