The Death Knight's Tale

Sir Boldnbrave reached the castle gate, a massive wooden double-door, covered with wrought iron twisted to look like skeletal figures writhing across the surface. A skull knocker rested on the inset access door and Sir Boldnbrave took a firm grip on it and banged several times, sounding his challenge to the grim inhabitant. He stepped back and drew his sword, raising it high and intoned, “O’ foul creature of death and night and darkness, I have cometh for you bringing… er… death for thou. Come, come and face me in honorable combat o’ dishonorable beast. Thy doom awaits!” He was quite proud of that last line. He had spent the last mile or so thinking it up. It had probably been used before, but he was sure he gave it a certain gravitas that was all his own.

A crashing came from within the fortress, followed be a low muttered swearing, and then in a louder voice, “HOLD ON, HOLD ON, JUST NEED TO THROW SOMETHING ON, BE RIGHT THERE.” More crashing sounds and more swearing; then the sound of bony feet clicking on stone started from somewhere high in one of the towers. Sir Boldnbrave followed the sound down, where more crashing resounded. And finally he heard the sound of locks and bolts being drawn back. He gripped the hilt of his sword tighter and prepared himself for the final battle. The door opened and a skull popped around the corner wearing a shower cap adorned with a skull and crossbones. It was a merry looking skull and crossbones, with a cute kitten’s skull that was winking. From under the cap, two blue orbs glowed brightly in deep eye sockets, looking left and right before settling on Sir Boldnbrave. There was a pause, then the death knight spoke in a booming voice that carried no echo, a voice like a thousand whispers dragging across sandpaper, a voice that seemed light and airy, yet had all the weight of the world in it, and the voice said, “I DON’T SUPPOSE YOU ARE THE MAILMAN ARE YOU? I WAS EXPECTING A PACKAGE TODAY…” The voice trailed off hopefully.

Sir Boldnbrave was momentarily taken aback, “Errr… no.” Feeling this was inadequate he added, ”Unless the package you ordered was your doom!” He brandished his sword menacingly.

“WHAT?”

“Erm, your doom? I mean thou doom. THY doom, ahh I messed it up, been working on that line for… doesn’t matter, I am here to kill you.” He thought for a second then hastily added, “O’ foul creature of night and death and darkness.”

“KILL ME? WHY?”

Sir Boldnbrave lowered his sword and rubbed his forehead, this wasn’t going at all like he imagined it would. “Look, I am a knight, okay? A good knight, the human kind. And you, well you are a death knight. You know, the undead kind,” he looked at the blank expression on the skull’s face and added in a small voice, “scourge of mankind? Plague amongst the living?”

“ARE YOU SURE YOU HAVE THE RIGHT DEATH KNIGHT? I HAVEN’T SCOURGED ANYONE SO FAR AS I KNOW?” The twin blue orbs looked Sir Boldnbrave up and down taking in the bedraggled appearance. “WOULD YOU LIKE TO COME IN?” the death knight asked kindly.

Sir Boldnbrave sighed, “Sure, why not.”

He kicked himself mentally knowing that he had lost all control of the situation and went over various witty rejoinders in his head that he should have said in the opening encounter. He followed the death knight through winding corridors decorated with all sorts of bone related ornaments. Sir Boldnbrave sized up his foe; the death knight wore a bathrobe that had matching kitten skull and crossbones to his shower cap. He held that tightly closed around his skeletal frame. Other than that, he was an ordinary skeleton, albeit a little taller perhaps than most. They reached a small kitchen that was gaily decorated with lace curtains on the windowless walls. Kittens seemed to be the prevalent theme throughout the cosy room; they decorated the oven mitts, hand towels, and even the coasters that rested on the blue checkered tablecloth that covered the small wooden table. The smell of roasted coffee and fresh bread wafted in the air.

“CROISSANT?” asked the death knight, holding up a basket.

“I’ll take nothing from thy besmirched hand o’ foul beast, lest it be thy unholy life!” That was good, he thought, fast, witty with some good ‘thy’s’ thrown in for good measure.

The death knight sighed, but kept the basket of bread held up as a betraying gurgle rumbled up from Sir Boldnbrave’s stomach.

“THEY’RE FRESH.”

Sir Boldnbrave reached for one and told himself he’d drink some holy water later to make up for it, “Thanks.”

“DON’T MENTION IT. SO HOW ARE YOU PLANNING TO KILL ME?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I’m not really sure. You’re being an awfully good sport about this you know.”

“MY MOTHER ALWAYS TAUGHT ME THAT JUST BECAUSE A KNIGHT SHOWS UP ON YOUR DOORSTEP WAVING A SWORD AND THREATENING YOUR DOOM IS NO EXCUSE FOR BAD MANNERS. BESIDES, I CAN’T DIE. THAT’S SORT OF A PART OF BEING UNDEAD.”

Sir Boldnbrave chewed his croissant thoughtfully. How exactly did one kill a death knight? A little voice popped up in the back of his head telling him that maybe he should have thought this thing through just a tad more instead of getting drunk the night before. He glowered at the voice and it receded back into a low sullen muttering. He thought he heard it say ‘I told you so’ before it became inaudible. Cheeky bugger.

“To be honest, I thought I’d try whacking you with my sword until you died,” he arched his eyebrows a little as if inviting constructive feedback on his idea.

“WON’T WORK, BEEN TRIED BEFORE DOZENS OF TIMES BY… NO OFFENSE… BY BIGGER MEN THAN YOU.” The death knight set down his croissant and coffee and stood up, “GIVE IT A TRY IF YOU WANT.”

Sir Boldnbrave stared at him, “What, you mean hit you with my sword?”

“YES. TAKE A GOOD SWING. IN THE HEAD IF YOU LIKE.”

“Okay. Are you sure? I mean…” he trailed off. Dammit, wasn’t this why he had come all this way after all? He just hadn’t expected the death knight to be a likable sort of fellow. Did that matter? Sir Boldnbrave sighed and stood up, unsheathing his sword, “You’re sure?”

“YES.”

He took a mighty swing and his heavy blade caught the death knight across the cheekbone, knocking the grinning skull clean off the skeletal body. A low moan came from the skull on the floor that quickly developed into a shriek of agony, “OH MY GOD, WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR? ARE YOU CRAZY?”

Sir Boldnbrave dropped his sword, horror written across his face, “Oh my god,, are you okay? You told me to do it.”

The death knight laughed as the body walked over and picked up the skull, placing it firmly on the top vertebrae and twisting it, “JUST A LITTLE JOKE, I’M FINE, SEE?” And with that, he did a little jig across the kitchen floor.

Sir Boldnbrave sat back down heavily. He didn’t know which was worse, the ‘joke’ the death knight played on him or watching a tap dancing skeleton. He glared at the death knight, “What the hell was that?”

“I CALL IT MY DANCE OF DEATH.”

There was a long expectant pause. Sir Boldnbrave had the impression of raised eyebrows on the skull’s face. “Oh yes, ha ha, I get it” he said weakly. “So you really can’t be killed?”

“NOPE, IT’S ALL BEEN TRIED BEFORE. BURNING, BASHING, STABBING, SLASHING, DROWNING, POISONING, STRANGLING, YOU NAME IT. ONE TIME A GUY EVEN TRIED TO CATAPAULT ME OFF THE FACE OF THE WORLD.”

“Did it work?”

“NO, DEATH IS TOO HEAVY A SUBJECT.”

“I see. How am I supposed to kill you then? I can’t go back without proof that you’re dead or the king will kill me, and I can’t get proof that you’re dead without killing you, which I can’t do.”

“BIT OF A THINKER, EH? ANOTHER CROISSANT?”

“I mean, I trek all the way out here, climb a bloody mountain…”

The death knight interrupted, “WHY DIDN’T YOU USE THE STAIRS ON THE WEST SIDE? MUCH EASIER YOU KNOW.”

“Ahh. Stairs you say? I didn’t actually know about that. But I also fought my way through your dreaded thorn brambles!”

The death knight snapped his fingers with a bony click, “BEEN MEANING TO PRUNE THOSE BACK.”

“Mmhmm. I see. Well, I also faced your fearsome dragon…”

“MR. BUTTONS GOT OUT AGAIN? I SWEAR, HE IS A BUNDLE OF JOY, BUT HE CAN GET OUT OF ANYTHING, THE LITTLE ESCAPE ARTIST. DID YOU BRING HIM BACK IN? THANKS SO MUCH, I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH HIM. CAN’T EXACTLY CHAIN A DRAGON TO A TREE YOU KNOW,” he paused. “WELL, AT LEAST IF YOU WANT TO KEEP THE TREE THAT IS.”

“I…I…Well, I didn’t exactly bring him back, per say.” Sir Boldnbrave shifted uncomfortably in his armor, “In fact, I may have… well, I may have killed him just a little bit.” His voice trailed off and he looked at the floor. He felt his face burning.

Cold silence radiated from the death knight. “YOU KILLED MR. BUTTONS?”

“Yes. Sorry.”

The Death Knight sank into his chair and slumped over, “OH, IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT I SUPPOSE. THIS ALWAYS HAPPENS, IT’S ALWAYS THE SAME. YOU MOVE INTO A NEIGHBORHOOD, SPRUCE UP THE PLACE A LITTLE, AND BEFORE YOU KNOW IT YOU HAVE A STREAM OF KNIGHTS PARADING AROUND YOUR HOME KILLING YOUR PETS AND TRAMPLING THE FLOWERBEDS. EVERY TIME YOU HOPE IT’LL BE DIFFERENT THAN THE LAST. MAYBE THIS TIME WILL BE BETTER, YOU THINK. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY PETS I’VE BURIED IN MY TIME? AND DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TAKES TO BURY A DRAGON? NO, I DON’T SUPPOSE YOU DO. AND NOBODY EVER STOPS BY JUST FOR A BIT OF A CHAT AND A CUP OF TEA. DO THEY EVER STOP AND THINK IT MIGHT GET A BIT LONELY LIVING OUT ETERNITY BY YOURSELF? I DUNNO, I REALLY DON’T, IT’S NOT LIKE I’M A BAD GUY…” The Death Knight stared moodily into his coffee.

Sir Boldnbrave scratched at his beard as the pause quickly gave way to an uncomfortable silence. The need to say something itched at him remorselessly, but he could think of nothing to say. So he stared into his coffee. After a time, he said, “Really sorry about the drag… about Mr. Buttons.”

A non-committal grunt was the only response.

“Look, if it makes you feel better, it’s not much better being a knight you know. I mean, at least you don’t have to worry about the King chopping off your head at any given moment. Sir Perciball, head chopped for not laughing at a joke. Sir Gallaham, head chopped for failing to find and kill the big bad wolf after the King read some fairy tales. Sir Lanceaweebit, head chopped for looking at the King on Do Not Look at the King Day, which coincidentally can be any given day depending on what mood the King is in when he wakes up. And look at me, sent out to kill a Death Knight that can’t be killed! I would say my chances of surviving this adventure are about the same as a choir boy walking normally after going to see the Abbott.”

They both fell into another heavy silence, broken only by the occasional slurping of coffee and munching of croissant.

After a time, Sir Boldnbrave looked up, “I have an idea.”

------

The guard to the King’s throne room stared straight ahead. He’d practiced his solemn, straight-ahead stare in a mirror for months now and had settled on a look that he thought was implacable and intimidating. However, he was finding it very hard not to glance out the corner of his eye at the knight waiting to gain audience with the king. The knight was half turned and hunched over; he seemed to be talking to a head-sized cloth bag he carried. The gaurd strained to hear the hushed whispers.

“ARE WE THERE YET?”

“Shh!”

“IT’S HARD TO BREATH IN HERE.”

“You’re undead you idiot, you don’t breath.”

“METAPHORICALLY I MEAN. I’M CLAUSTROPHOBIC.”

“Just keep quiet, you’ll ruin everything.”

“DID I MENTION I’M SCARED OF THE DARK? COULDN’T YOU JUST OPEN THE BAG A LITTLE TO LET SOME LIGHT IN?”

“What?!? How are you afraid of the dark? You’re a death knight for crying out loud!”
“I DUNNO, JUST AM. AREN’T YOU AFRAID OF ANYTHING?”

“Oh yes. Yes indeed, I’m scared of getting my head chopped off by the king because you won’t shut up and act dead, now SHUT UP!”

There was a pause and the young guard leaned forward slightly, straining to hear more.

“I HAVE FEELINGS YOU KNOW.”

“Oh for… look, I’m sorry okay? Shhh, here comes the escort, they’re letting us in, now act dead.”

The doors to the throne room opened and Sir Boldnbrave was escorted before the king. He kneeled.

“Arise, brave Sir Boldnbrave,” intoned the king. “Arise and regale us with tales of valor and victory over the foul Death Knight that has besmirched our fair land. Unless of course, you have failed in your duty, in which case…” The king drew a finger across his throat and made a motion as if his head had come loose and plopped off. A hopeful gleam entered the king’s eyes.

Sir Boldnbrave drew himself up, “I have succeeded my lord.” He drew the skull from the cloth bag and held it high for all to see. “Behold, the head of the foul creature!”

The king sighed in disappointment, “Well done Sir Boldnbrave, I suppose you may keep your head for now.” He perked up suddenly and pointed at a nearby knight, “You! You didn’t applaud Sir Boldnbrave’s fabulous victory over the scourge that has infested our lands for so long now!”

The hapless knight looked around wild-eyed and began applauding with all his might, a wild grin plastered on his face.

“Off with his head!”

The gaurds dragged the luckless knight away.

Sir Boldnbrave nervously acknowledged the tumultuous applause that suddenly filled the throne room from all sides.

The king looked down and beckoned for the death knight’s skull. He held it up in one hand and poked at it idly. “And what reward would you ask for this valiant service, Sir Knight?”

Sir Boldnbrave took a deep breath, “Well Sire, I would ask that you grant me the Death Knight’s former castle as my own, that I may live in privacy. And that I be allowed to keep the head of the loathsome creature as a trophy.” And so his master plan was revealed. The Death Knight got to live, Sir Boldnbrave got to live, and they would both live in privacy, free from the threat of the head-chop-execute policy of the mad king! What could possibly go wrong?

The king narrowed his eyes and stared at Sir Boldnbrave for an uncomfortable amount of time. “Very well, I suppose there is no harm in that. Here, take your skull with you, Knight.” As the king grabbed the skull, his sleeve tickled its nose and the Death Knight sneezed loudly.

“OH BUGGER.”

The King dropped the skull and it rolled across the floor. Courtiers and knights alike screamed and ran from the tumbling monstrosity. The skull was kicked and knocked whirling amidst the confusion.

“EXCUSE ME, OOPS, SORRY, WHOOPS, WATCH OUT THERE! I’M JUST AS SCARED OF YOU ARE YOU ARE OF ME YOU KNOW, COMING THROUGH!”

Sir Boldnbrave leapt for the dancing skull, catching it up with both hands before banging it against the floor, “You bastard! All you had to do was stay quiet and act dead, now it’s head chop for both of us!”

“WELL…OUCH… IT’S NOT THAT BAD REALLY… OUCH… I’VE HAD MY HEAD KNOCKED OFF LOTS… OUCH OUCH… OF TIMES.”

The guards finally caught up with Sir Bolbnbrave and the death knight’s skull and pulled them in front of the king. The little guard smacked Sir Boldnbrave in the back of the head.

“Ouch! Hey, I’m coming quietly, there’s no need for that.”

The small guard grinned at him cheerfully, “Sorry sir, nothing personal, it’s all part of the job you know. Have to maintain standards, sir.” He bonked Sir Boldnbrave again.

The King stood, gleefully rubbing his hands, “Ahahaha! And just what should I do with you know, good sir knight?” He pointed with a chubby finger, “You tried to trick me! Let’s see now, aha! I know, we’ll let the wheel of fate decide your… er, fate. BRING ME THE WHEEL OF FATE!”

Underlings scurried out pushing a rickety contraption on squeaky wheels while one played a wavering fanfare on a worn out trumpet. It was a wooden wheel with labels all around it and a pointer at the top. The King cleared his throat, “Ahem, now, you all know how the game is played. The contestant,” he gestured at Sir Boldnbrave who received a polite round of applause from the crowd, “will spin the wheel once, and once only. Whatsoever lands at the pointy thingy shall be his…” he paused for effect, “…fate!” The crowd ‘oohed’ an cue and a trumpet played an ominous wavering tone. “Now, let’s get our contestant up here shall we? What’s your name, son?”

Sir Boldnbrave was thrust onto the dais with one final bonk to the head from his eager young guard. He looked around in disbelief,” Ummm, Sir… Sir Boldnbrave?”

“That’s right, that’s right, and where are you from?”

“Here. I was born here and I’ve lived here all my life. I've been in your court for years.”

“That’s great, fantastic. And tell the audience what you’re hoping to get from the Wheel of Fate, Sir knight.”

Sir Boldnbrave looked at the wheel and began reading the labels.

Head Chopped Off By Sword
Head Chopped Off By Axe
Mystery Prize
Head Chopped Off By Halberd
A Nice Chicken Pot Pie With A Decapitation For Desert
Head Chopped Off By Butter Knife
An All-Expense-Payed Vacation To Heaven
Head Chopped Off By Chicken Wire

He sighed, “I suppose I’d like to get the mystery prize.”

The King clapped him on the back with a hearty laugh, “Don’t they all?” The crowd laughed. “Now, you know the rules, you know the man, it’s time to SPIN. THAT. WHEEL!”

Sir Boldnbrave glared at the death knight as the crowd burst into a thunderous applause. He gave the wheel a mighty spin.

The crowd grew silent and the clickety-clack of the wheel echoed through the throne room. Slower and slower, the labels could be read now as they whizzed past the determining pointer. Sir Boldnbrave held his breath as he followed ‘Mystery Prize’, desperately calculating how much momentum it needed to land on the pointer. The wheel slowed and ‘Mystery Prize’ crept agonizingly closer and closer. He closed his eyes and crossed his fingers. The wheel stopped. The crowd went wild. He peeked through his fingers and saw it was ‘Mystery Prize’! He jumped up and down and clasped his hands over his mouth. He hugged the King and gave huge thumbs up to the crowd.

The King held up one hand for silence and drew forth an envelope, “Okay Sir Boldnbrave, step closer and let’s reveal the mystery prize.” He fumbled open the envelope and read to himself, his lips moving soundlessly. Then the King looked up and repeated, “The Mystery Prize, Sir Boldnbrave – are you ready? – the Mystery Prize is that you get to select any two other prizes from the Wheel of Fate! How about that folks! Two prizes for the price of one! Fantastic!”

Sir Boldnbrave read the labels on the Wheel again. “So… so I can select TWO ways to have my head chopped off? For example, I could be beheaded by a sword, AND an axe you mean? That’s the mystery prize is it?”

The King beamed at him and nodded.

“Figures.”

His young guard bonked him enthusiastically on the head, “Well done, sir! That was great that was, you got really lucky there, sir! Now if you don’t mind, I have to drag you off, sir.”

Sir Boldnbrave sighed, “I’ll walk willingly with you…” he broke off as he saw the expression on the young guard’s face, “…ah, regulations to be dragged I suppose?”
“Yessir, and if you could scream a bit too, that always looks good, sir.”

The King spread his hands once more, “And take that filthy skull and bury it in the deepest pit that it shall never see the light of day again.”

Two guards stooped over, dragging the skull out alongside Sir Boldnbrave. The death knight turned his glowing eyes on the knight, “WELL, I GUESS I GET TO FIND OUT WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE A ROOT FOR THE NEXT THOUSAND YEARS OR SO.”

“Oh shut up. At least you’re not getting your head chopped…” Sir Boldnbrave broke free of his guards and ran back to the throne, “Your majesty, I offer you a great gift in lieu of my head.”

The King looked down, “And what could you possibly offer me that is greater than a beheading?”

“Well, your majesty, you can shear a sheep every year, but you can only have mutton once. What I mean to say, is that there are only so many people left in your great land that are still have their… ahh, that are qualified to perform a beheading for your pleasure. What if I could offer you a beheading every week? Every day if you like, hell, every hour!”

The King leaned forward, a gleam in his eye, “Go on.”

“This Death Knight could perform for you as many times as you desire. You can knock his skull off any way you desire, all day long!” He held his breath.
A thoughtful expression entered the King’s eyes and he gestured the guards to bring him the skull. “You would do this for me, foul creature?”

“WHAT, OH YES, YES. AND I CAN SCREAM MOST REALISTICALLY TOO.” The Death Knight let loose a series of bloodcurdling screams. “I CAN DANCE TOO IF YOU LIKE.”

And so the Death Knight performed for the King and had his head chopped off daily. He was happy since for the first time people weren’t trying to kill him anymore; he, in fact, became quite a popular fellow around the court. The King was happy because he got his beheadings as often as he wanted. Sir Boldnbrave was happy because he got to keep his head. And the people of the kingdom were all very happy since they no longer had to live in fear of the next head chopping. In fact, everyone lived happily ever after.

Except Mr. Buttons who remained quite dead.