Black Knight and the Wizard
The wind howled, scraping dark clouds across the moon. Shadows shimmered and dry leaves rustled around the base of the rocks where I tucked myself up, resting next to my dog, Amos. He placed his muzzle on his paws, rolled his eyes up to watch me for any sign calling for action on his part. I squatted and leaned my back against the still warm rock face, tired from this day’s trek, caught by the early dusk. Amos signed audibly and closed his eyes. I looked up through the bare branches of the tree above me, hugged my knees and shivered slightly, though it was not cold out here. On the contrary, the air was humid and the sky flashed with occasional lightning in the distance. Then the thunder rolled over me, ever closer.
I heard a horse clattering over the stony ground, causing me to rise to my knees and peer over the rocks from the safety of this cleft. The Black Knight entered the clearing, draped in his dark cloak, black plume bobbing over the helmet that covered his face. A heavily gloved hand grasped a lance with its butt in the holder at his right heel, its point stabbing at the flying clouds. His left hand held the reins lightly, deftly guiding the black horse. The noisily clopping hooves and the silver sword at his left side flashed moonlight, giving away his moving presence on the path to the hilltop.
From my right among the trees came another figure, riding a spotted grey horse in the dappled moonlight, clad in dark clothing, long hair freely hanging over its rider’s shoulders. This horse moved in a dejected manner, tail drooping, and had to be urged on. The rider’s hands were bare too, but nearly covered by the sleeves of a long tunic. A sword moved with a soft thumping sound along the rider’s hip in its holster, leather squeaking on leather, boots in jangling stirrups. Both rider and horse seemed to keep their eyes on the ground, as if uneasily searching out the path in this stormy darkness, weaving this way and that, kicking up dry leaves as they clattered over loose rock.
I watched as these two figures caught sight of each other across the clearing, halted, charging the air with venom and hatreds. The black steed pranced about, eager to move forward, difficult to control. He reared back and forth, whinnied, shook his head and tried to take the bit in his teeth, forestalled by his master as the Black Knight pulled the reins more tightly to his chest. The grey stood still, more taut now, rigidly erect and watchful, his master’s right hand on the hilt, ready to draw the sword. The horse snorted, bared his teeth and looked around with wild eyes.
Lightning flashed and thunder pounded at that moment, perhaps goading them on. The Black Knight growled out his challenge, aimed his lance and unleashed the great energy of the black stallion. Simultaneously the figure on the grey horse straightened to great height, drew its sword flashing a warning, gathering strength. Manes, plumes and black hair flying, lance piercing the air, with a tearing screech and curdling yell, they charged each other at full gallop! Sparks flew from the rocks they dislodged! CRACK! BOOM!
I dropped to my hiding place, covering my head with my arms pressed over my ears. Even so, I heard the great crashing of these two beasts and their riders, the singing of the sword against the lance, whinny of horses, scrabble and pounding of hooves, startled birds flying up from their roosts, and then quiet. Stillness spread, even to the leaves.
Amos huddled closer to my side, peered up at me questioningly, but made no sound. I turned and stretched myself up again on tiptoe to look over the rocks, the smell of sulphur lingering in the air. Both riders were gone. A downed bare tree lay raggedly across the clearing like a broken lance. No other sign of them remained. I squatted down again with Amos, my hand stroking the coarse hair of his back, and closed my eyes, to recover here a bit yet before continuing on my path homeward. I felt Amos’ wet muzzle nosing my side. Resigned to weariness, I took a deep breath and opened my eyes to survey the hillside path below, then stood to resume my journey. Scenes of battle receded from my thoughts.
“I think the Wizard won, Amos.” Our eyes met, Amos’ ears perked up, and he cocked his head.
The wind had abated, sky cleared and the moon lighted the path more steadily as I stepped out, with Amos leading the way home.
Level 1: Medieval Fantasy
Level 2: Storm provoked dream of weary traveller
Level 3: Symbolic interaction of Chaos and Enlightenment abetted by Familiar
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Comments & Questions? Email: womenbefriends@yahoo.com
I heard a horse clattering over the stony ground, causing me to rise to my knees and peer over the rocks from the safety of this cleft. The Black Knight entered the clearing, draped in his dark cloak, black plume bobbing over the helmet that covered his face. A heavily gloved hand grasped a lance with its butt in the holder at his right heel, its point stabbing at the flying clouds. His left hand held the reins lightly, deftly guiding the black horse. The noisily clopping hooves and the silver sword at his left side flashed moonlight, giving away his moving presence on the path to the hilltop.
From my right among the trees came another figure, riding a spotted grey horse in the dappled moonlight, clad in dark clothing, long hair freely hanging over its rider’s shoulders. This horse moved in a dejected manner, tail drooping, and had to be urged on. The rider’s hands were bare too, but nearly covered by the sleeves of a long tunic. A sword moved with a soft thumping sound along the rider’s hip in its holster, leather squeaking on leather, boots in jangling stirrups. Both rider and horse seemed to keep their eyes on the ground, as if uneasily searching out the path in this stormy darkness, weaving this way and that, kicking up dry leaves as they clattered over loose rock.
I watched as these two figures caught sight of each other across the clearing, halted, charging the air with venom and hatreds. The black steed pranced about, eager to move forward, difficult to control. He reared back and forth, whinnied, shook his head and tried to take the bit in his teeth, forestalled by his master as the Black Knight pulled the reins more tightly to his chest. The grey stood still, more taut now, rigidly erect and watchful, his master’s right hand on the hilt, ready to draw the sword. The horse snorted, bared his teeth and looked around with wild eyes.
Lightning flashed and thunder pounded at that moment, perhaps goading them on. The Black Knight growled out his challenge, aimed his lance and unleashed the great energy of the black stallion. Simultaneously the figure on the grey horse straightened to great height, drew its sword flashing a warning, gathering strength. Manes, plumes and black hair flying, lance piercing the air, with a tearing screech and curdling yell, they charged each other at full gallop! Sparks flew from the rocks they dislodged! CRACK! BOOM!
I dropped to my hiding place, covering my head with my arms pressed over my ears. Even so, I heard the great crashing of these two beasts and their riders, the singing of the sword against the lance, whinny of horses, scrabble and pounding of hooves, startled birds flying up from their roosts, and then quiet. Stillness spread, even to the leaves.
Amos huddled closer to my side, peered up at me questioningly, but made no sound. I turned and stretched myself up again on tiptoe to look over the rocks, the smell of sulphur lingering in the air. Both riders were gone. A downed bare tree lay raggedly across the clearing like a broken lance. No other sign of them remained. I squatted down again with Amos, my hand stroking the coarse hair of his back, and closed my eyes, to recover here a bit yet before continuing on my path homeward. I felt Amos’ wet muzzle nosing my side. Resigned to weariness, I took a deep breath and opened my eyes to survey the hillside path below, then stood to resume my journey. Scenes of battle receded from my thoughts.
“I think the Wizard won, Amos.” Our eyes met, Amos’ ears perked up, and he cocked his head.
The wind had abated, sky cleared and the moon lighted the path more steadily as I stepped out, with Amos leading the way home.
Level 1: Medieval Fantasy
Level 2: Storm provoked dream of weary traveller
Level 3: Symbolic interaction of Chaos and Enlightenment abetted by Familiar
---------------------------------------------------
Comments & Questions? Email: womenbefriends@yahoo.com
posted by MJS at 2:50 AM
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