Starry Knight: Part 1

A man stalked through the darkness, hidden in the night like the new moon above. The only light came from the sea of stars overhead and a campfire burning in the distance.

As the traveler approached the fire, he pondered whether a dagger in the back would suffice. Would it be an act of mercy or efficiency? However, he opted to stick with his original plan. While cruel, it still remained efficient and much safer.

Safer for the man in the dark, not the knight in the fire’s light.

- - - -

Baylor sat on a fallen tree. He made his camp long before the dusk had ended. While setting up camp before dark was obvious to others, Baylor had another reason: he dreaded the dark. As a youth, he took a nap while out riding. He awoke beneath the night sky and was left in the dark woods until morning.

From that day on, Baylor never napped before setting camp.

He looked up to the countless stars above. He listened to the rustling of the trees, feeling the chilling breeze nip at his back, while his face and hands were warmed by the campfire’s heat.

Gazing upward, Baylor felt as though the night sky could swallow him whole, pulling him into its boundless embrace. Though he felt like the center of the world, he was also reminded of how vast the universe was, and how his life was just a flash in the abyss that is existence.

Baylor smiled to himself. Look at you, trying to wax poetic in your old age. Still, a starry night like this could make even the most jaded hearts gaze in wonder.

Throughout his seventy years, he remained endlessly captivated by the splendor of Cauldera, its beauty shimmering with an eternal brilliance that never dulled in his eyes.

He was nodding off to sleep when he heard his horse, Trotts, stamp his hooves.

Baylor reached for his sword. He had been on the road for the past month and had already dealt with two ambushes. Bandits and goblins tried to sneak up on him. The years wore down his strength and senses, but that didn’t mean he would be caught unaware. Thanks to his trusty steed, he didn’t need a lookout.

“Greetings, fellow traveler!” a young man shouted. “May a stranger share your fire?!”

Baylor stood up and held his sword by the sheath. “You may, so long as you harbor no ill intentions!” He strained to hear how many people might be with the stranger.

“Worry not, I’m just a traveler on his way to Amberill! It is a small town a day’s ride from here!”

“That happens to be where I am going as well! Step into the fire, for I fear my eyes aren’t as good as they used to be!”

“In this darkness, I’d be surprised if any man could see me!” Soon, Baylor heard the sounds of approaching footsteps joined by the clattering of hooves. Stepping into the circle of light was a handsome youth.

His hair was a lustrous golden blond. His styled hair looked recently unsettled. His jacket was forest green with golden trim. The sleeves of the jacket were tailored to be rolled up to his forearms, and beneath it was a white dress shirt worn with the top buttons undone.

Everything about him seemed a study in casual expense.

Baylor finally lowered his guard and took a breath of relief. Someone this well-groomed, announcing their arrival from so far away, wouldn't be a desperate cutthroat or thief.

At his age, he had grown more confident in his ability to gauge potential threats.

Still, he had learned that people weren’t always who they appeared to be. He lived in a world of deception and magic. So, he needed to learn more about this young man before he could fully let his guard down.

In one of his hands was a leatherbound book. An arcanist's tome perhaps? 

“I hope I’m not intruding on your peace. I’m ashamed to admit that I stopped for a nap and, well, I slept the daylight away.” He laughed dejectedly.

The familiar tale caused Baylor to chuckle wholeheartedly. “Don’t be too ashamed, lad! That happened to me once, long ago. I nearly died of fright!”

“A reasonable response, I say!” The boy let out a chuckle.

“But ever since that day, I made sure that it never happened again.” Baylor gave the youth a telling look.

“Well then, you shall be witness to my vow. This will be my last nap before setting up camp!”

Baylor gave a satisfied nod, then gestured for him to sit. “You are welcome to share my fire. I am Sir Baylor, a knight of Evernia.”

The youth's eyes lit up. “A knight of the kingdom!” Still holding his horse's reins in one hand, he swept the other across his chest and bowed curtly. “Victor Troika, scholar and arcanist.”

“Troika.” Baylor tested the foreign-sounding name. “That has a Galdarian ring to it. Is that where your family is from?” He eyed the youth’s golden hair, a common trait of the old imperial lines.

“Galdarian blood, but Evernia born and raised.” Victor beamed. “My parents came here for trade and business.”

Victor led his horse over to Trotts and tethered it to a nearby tree. He placed his pack down by the log and took out a mirror and comb. In the firelight, he fussed over his appearance.

"You don’t have to keep up appearances around me, lad,” Baylor sighed. “Out in the wilderness, you aren’t expected to maintain such decorum.”

“I’m neither high nobility nor royalty, but I at least want to make myself presentable to others. Besides, I’m not sure how badly the nap messed up my hair.”

Baylor didn’t approve, but he had to admit that once Victor finished styling his hair, the youth had a very agreeable air about him.

Victor opened up his book, pen in hand. “I hope you don’t mind if I write about this encounter in my journal. If you happen to be on important business, I’ll respect your privacy.”

“I appreciate your discretion. But be at ease, I’m merely delivering a letter to a friend in Amberill.”

“Then I shall write of my fortuitous encounter with Sir Baylor, the Boar Knight!”

Baylor was taken aback. “Wait, you know of me?”

“Sir Baylor, your deeds may be of yesteryear, but your reputation is the stuff of legend!”

Baylor scratched his beard in flattery. “Please, you honor me too much.”

“Your hunt for the Divine Boar and your duel with Winfred the Red Hammer make your name a memorable one.”

“Still, that might as well be ancient history!” He chuckled. “Tell me, Victor, as a son of traders, what made you become a scholar and pursue arcane knowledge?”

Suddenly, Victor’s eyes lost some of their luster. His smile faltered briefly, like someone hastily propping up a fallen tent.

Baylor felt regret. You never know when you could suddenly tread upon loose soil.

“I suppose it all stemmed from my love of stories and books—both fictional tales and accounts of history. The life of a scholar had always appealed to me, since it meant more reading.” Victor was now treading on the sore spot himself, as he stared into the fire. “But my research... it’s taken a more personal turn. I’m trying to help someone I care for.” He looked into the fire, as if debating whether to continue, then met Baylor’s gaze. “My little sister was cursed by a witch.”

“Oh, lad.” Baylor offered him a sympathetic look. “I assume you are researching curses?”

“You assume correctly. I’m well aware that curses are hard to break. And no one has ever broken a curse from a witch of the Circle.” He grasped his book. “But as an older brother, I would be betraying her and myself if I didn’t at least try to find a way to help.”

“I think you are doing a very noble thing in my eyes, lad.” Baylor smiled at him before turning to the fire. “If you don’t mind me asking, can you tell me about the curse?”

“I don’t mind at all.” Victor took a deep breath. “As much as I love her, my sister Victoria used to be quite the spoiled brat. She would spend our parents’ money as if she were entitled to all of it. She treated common folk like they were beneath her and unworthy of respect. She would go on spending sprees with her other affluent friends, going around town mocking store owners and their customers.” Victor shook his head. “She especially hated the poor. Victoria wasn’t above spitting on the downtrodden. And one day she offended the wrong beggar.”

The fire crackled as Victor sighed. “It is the oldest kind of story. That beggar turned out to be a witch. And unfortunately, a very powerful one. You may have heard of her. Sherry Shyne of the Golden Rule.”

“Aye, I know of the Topaz Witch and her Golden Fools.”

The witches of the Circle were designated gems to their titles. Sherry was the Topaz Witch.

However, people more often associated her with gold than with her gem. Sherry was infamous for cursing the very boastful and vain in a particular way which went on to inspire a popular children’s rhyme.

The Golden Rule is to be kind, not cruel. Don't be a tool and break this rule, otherwise prepare for ridicule. For the witch may be watching, for the next gilded fool.

“Victoria smacked Sherry’s pleading hands away, and on the back of that hand, she found a streak of gold. It’s spreading even now.” Victor furrowed his brows. “The worst part is, she knew about Sherry. She knew the rhyme and the stories about the people turned to gold, and yet she believed she wouldn’t ever encounter the witch.” Victor scoffed. “They are called Golden Fools for a reason.”

The crackling of the fire seemed loud during the pause in their conversation.

“I am sorry for the misfortune that has befallen your family. That is a heavy burden for you to carry. The Witches’ Circle has brought ruin to many good people.”

“Thank you, but Sherry typically curses people who deserve it.” He looked down at his open tome. “It’s just that she is so young. Surely she would have learned to be a better person eventually. At the rate the curse is spreading, I give my sister about two years before she is even unable to breathe.”

Victor then forced a smile onto his face. “I bet you a copper that you figured out why I’m heading to Amberill now.”