“The Warrior Hunter”

I'm proud to present a piece of online fiction: A short story and fairytale written by myself called “The Warrior Hunter”. In this story, we will be returning to the days of old when King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table still lived along the white cliffs. We will be following a brief adventure the knight Galahad experienced while questing the deep forests of the land. And now, without further ado:

“The Warrior Hunter” by Felicity Grace

As time passed on and the sun started to kiss the distant mountain range in the west, Galahad made out a sparking glimmer of firelight farther up the road from where he and his charger progressed.

Bandits, he first guessed. Bandits camping at the wayside for unsuspecting travelers. With great caution he approached, his left hand clinging to the reigns of his charger’s bridle while his right clutched the gem encrusted hilt of his sword.

As he neared, he realized that this road was so little used that no bandit or thief would ever waste time staying in such a place. Surely it was just a weary wayfarer resting for the night.

The camp was settled in the midst of a village ruin. The familiar stone walls and wooden boughs were there, only they had no thatched roofs and the shutters on the windows were all but torn off and cast aside. He guessed that it had been this way for many cruel years of weather and mistreatment. But despite the obvious destruction and abandonment of the buildings, someone sheltered there now, or was at least using the buildings as protection while traveling through.

Beyond the crackling fire, Galahad could hear the gurgle of water being drawn from what could only be the remaining contents of a village well. Only hours earlier the sun was at its peak and had the angry wrath of a mallet beating down at full force. After nearly a day without finding water to replenish his meager supply, his mouth was dry and his lips chapped.

Too thirsty to be timid, he reached the outskirts of where the fire’s light touched and dismounted, giving his horse’s dark neck a stroke. The light allowed him to see a dapple-gray horse of excellent lineage tied to a post protruding from the ground. He looked further in search of its rider and the water source.

Suddenly a burst of flames jostled up from the ring of stones as someone tossed a piece of wood into the fire from the darkness. It made sparks fly and dance in the air. With that, a man entered the light, a smirk visible on his shadowed face.

“Greetings, sir knight. What grants me the privilege of meeting a Knight of the Round Table this eventide?”

Galahad squinted to get a clearer look at the stranger, as his hand once again gripped the hilt of his blade.

The stranger was dressed in animal skins and layered mail, a glint of interest in his dark eyes.

“I’m only passing by this way,” Galahad returned stiffly. “I was in search of rest and fresh supplies to continue on my quest.”

The stranger paused to consider the knight’s response. “Will thee not join me to a warm fire and a hot meal before passing on?”

Tempted by the offered victuals, Galahad cautiously agreed.

He drank his fill from the well and offered a dripping bucket to his horse. Then he joined the stranger at the fire’s edge.

The stranger gave him a bowl of steaming grain mixed with forest berries. Despite the familiar blandness of grain cooked with water, Galahad ate quickly, heedless of the stranger’s stare.

“That’s a fine sword,” the latter man said, gazing upon the gem crested hilt.

By this time Galahad had finished his meager meal, and now noted the envious look in the stranger’s eye. “Thank you,” he replied, shifting his stance with discomfort.

“Where did you come across such a blade?” inquired the man once more about Galahad’s prized possession.

“I retrieved it from the red marble before my knighthood,” he answered, and then he asked a question of his own. “What do people call you?”

The stranger’s mouth thinned into a level smile and his eyes squinted and glittered in the firelight. “They call me Eindride. I am a hunter of the Wild Places.[1]”

“Tell me,” Galahad again queried, “I seem to have lost my way in this forest. Do you know which way I must go to be free of it?”

The hunter Eindride’s eyes narrowed and seemed to search Galahad’s few possessions once again. “I know which way. But I do not guide wanderers of the forest without recompense in trade.”

Galahad frowned and looked at his belongings as well. “I’m afraid I have nothing of value to give you. He said this with all honesty, for what little food he had was stale, his cloak was torn, and his armor was in terrible need of a fine smith.

“You do have one thing I desire,” Eindride said mysteriously.

Galahad’s face paled a shade, avoiding the object he knew that Eindride spoke of. “My horse? I’m afraid I cannot part with him. Though it has been long since he was last groomed, he is the most gentle, noble animal I have ever ridden.”

Eindride scoffed. “You very well know it is not your horse of which I speak. I have no need of it. But I do admire your sword. Does it have a title?”

Galahad stepped back. “My sword, good sir[2]? Never. I shan’t give up my sword.”

The hunter Eindride was calm as he responded. “Then I fear that I shan’t show you the way. But if you were to offer it to me, I would be more than willing to lead you anywhere you wish.”

“Nay! I would rather fall in battle than part with it!”

Eindride again smiled. “Then I shall give you the chance to do so, sir knight. I challenge you to a duel. If you slay me, then you may take the maps from my saddlebags to leave the Wild Forest. But if I slay you, I win your sword.”

“I do not wish to fight you, Eindride. My journey has made me weary and I have no wish to spend this night spilling the blood of a jealous fool.”

Eindride’s response was simple. “I do not fear the loss of my blood this day. Not as much as you should fear your own. I’m a skilled warrior, sir knight. I admire your blade much more than I feel afraid of it. And I insist. I have battled many great warriors and forces much mightier than yourself. I knew long ago that if I should ever cross paths with a knight of the Round Table, I could either prove my might, or die as a fool who has wasted his life training with a sword.”

Galahad considered Eindride’s insistent proposal before stepping back to his horse. “You know my answer. I will not fight you. I now must take my leave. Good night to you, hunter.”

“I’m prepared to make the decision myself if you refuse.” With that Eindride the hunter drew his sword from his scabbard and swung it in a precise motion at Galahad’s side.

Galahad cried out and drew his own and blocked just in time.

The two blades scraped against each other, the sound causing the coal-black charger that Galahad so loved to chomp at the bit and pull against his tether, eager for action.

The knight took several steps backwards from the fire, pulling back from the woodsman’s rapid attack.

“Must one of us perish this day?” Galahad said, hoping for one last chance at a peaceful evening after his supper.

Eindride held a wild fire[3] in his eye as he shouted back at his adversary, “I shall fight until I am victorious or dead!”

And with that the duel commenced.

Galahad swung the edge of his weapon down from an upward angle, and Eindride responded with a clever horizontal hold. Eindride then made a low swipe at the knight’s legs, but Galahad nimbly leapt into the air, tucking his knees to his chest before harm could be done. Quickly he made another slash of his own but was again countered by a block.

Immediately Galahad knew that his foe was more skilled than he assumed. Eindride was strong and obviously trained well with a blade. He was tall and carried a heavy build that could cast an even heavier blow. Galahad, though, had his own advantages. While Eindride was powerful, Galahad was thin and nimble and light on his feet.

Eindride let out a fierce cry before using the side of a crumbling building to propel himself with extra momentum at the younger warrior. Galahad dropped to the ground and rolled over his shoulder before standing again, ready for another oncoming blow. Eindride, not expecting the knight’s roll, hit the ground hard and stumbled to his knees, his hands falling forward to hit the dirt next to the dying fire’s embers.

The sun in the west was by this time buried in the mountains, leaving the fire and distant will-o’-the-whisps as the main source of light, submerging the two combatants in nearly complete darkness.

Galahad lunged to take control of the hunter’s sword, but Eindride had a trick of his own. He slashed violently at Galahad’s boots. The knight was barely able to jump out of harms way, and he fell back and stumbled several feet. It allowed Eindride enough time to stand and recover a brief moment, and then they were back to the clanging and scraping of sword against sword, will against will, and skill against skill.[4]

All at once, Eindride rammed into Galahad, shoving him into a gnarled tree. Now pinned, it was a test of brute strength, the older warrior baring the advantage. Their swords were crossed, and in that moment of silent struggle, Galahad could only hope and pray that he could somehow hold out. Then, in a burst of new courage, he worked his foot up against the tree and used it to launch himself forward.

Eindride had not expected this, and he now stumbled back. It was only by fate that the heel of his boot caught on a half exposed root in the dirt, causing him to lose his footing and fall down to the ground. Galahad saw his opening and swiftly kicked Eindride’s weapon from his hand and out of reach. He then held out his own sword, the tip only inches above Eindride’s throat.

Eindride closed his eyes tight for the fatal blow, muttering words of his failure. “It seems that I have been proven to be the weaker man. Kill me quickly.”

But the blow never came. Instead, Galahad pulled back his sword and said, “Eindride the Hunter! I shall not kill you. I will spare your life in trade of a truce. Then we can part ways as though we had never met.”

Before Eindride could respond, Galahad had sheathed his sword and was mounted on his noble charger, honoring his promise of departure.

“Wait!” Eindride now called. “I must repay you for your mercy.”

Galahad did not need to consider. “I only ask that you point me in the right direction.”

Eindride wearily nodded his head in a gesture towards the west. “That way. Travel that way and you should find yourself in no time.”

   With that, Galahad rode off in the indicated direction, his sword secure at his side.  Unfortunately, the young Knight of the Round Table was unable to keep track of the direction given to him. In the darkness and brush of the Deep Forest, he was easily lost once again and found himself just as troubled as he had been before encountering the Warrior Hunter Eindride. 

The End.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading this tale as much as I enjoyed sharing it with you. I hope to see you here again soon.

---

[1] Historians argue about whether the ‘Wild Places’ is just another name for the forest, or if there are many Wild Places beyond… Still waiting for discovery.

[2] As was the custom in those days, manners were always kept as top priority, even in the face of danger.

[3] Historians argue whether Eindride held a ‘wild fire’ or a ‘gleaming fire’ in his eye to this very day. The original manuscript had been viciously attacked by termites and so not all of the wording here is completely clear.

[4] Historians argue about… Well… Historians argue about a lot of things. Never mind.

#Story #ShatterLantern #KingArthurandtheKnightsoftheRoundTable #FelicityGrace #Fiction