Landsick

by redsquirrel456


The Knight of Fire

Fear.

Raw, animal fear. Trails never felt that back home. His fears then were sophisticated. Philosophical. A child’s fright seeing his parents argue about things he did not understand. The twist in his heart when he looked over the farm’s accounts and saw numbers that never added up. The grinding anxiety of land that drank and only got more thirsty, of seeing clouds of dust reaching to the sky on the horizon, of letters ignored on his desk.

Those were the fears of man. Chased away by drinking and staring into a crackling fireplace. Fire was a man’s comfort. No more unnatural than a blanket or a chair. Only animals were afraid of fire.

Today, Trails was an animal.

It was only here in this mad world he knew what fear of fire meant. That sheer, unstoppable terror welling up in his belly, pushing his heart into his throat. The total loss of control, over feelings, limbs, the world. Nothing mattered but movement. The need to get away before the horrible monster that ate and ate and never stopped was far behind.

But this fire gave chase over rocks and under rain, never dimming, never dying. This fire walked. It ran. It hunted.

“Trails?” Gertie asked, her mouth hanging agape. “What’s going on?”

“Bad stuff,” Trails, said, checking his crossbow. Tension was right, bolt was secure, safety was off. He would only get one shot. Not because of what would happen if he missed, but because Trails would not be able to stand the fear any longer.

“I gotta distract it,” he said. “‘Fore it kills more of ya. Gotta get outta town. Gotta run, gotta hide…”

But he said this as he walked towards the fire, leaving Gertie to yell after him in fear and confusion. He repeated the mantra over and over. Run, hide, run. The same as he always did, always would do. It gave him a measure of comfort, quelled the fear for a little bit longer. He could get out of here once he lost it again. Could go to Terminus, where nobody would ever find him again. Where he could die in peace.

He walked on two legs; he had to to use the crossbow effectively. Not that it wasn’t made for creatures who went on all fours. It just made him feel more comfortable. He didn’t care who saw him this time. They were too busy running past him, the same animal fear alive in their eyes. Doom had finally come to Dust. They all knew it would happen someday, but none of them thought it would be today.

What a human notion.

He stopped when he saw shadows circling above the fire. Griffons, swarming like flies. Silver--no, steel--glimmered in their hands. Swords and spears to fight, as if it would make a difference.

“Damn fools,” he whispered, breathing hard to keep the fear coiled deep in his gut. It would unravel soon, and then all the weapons in the world wouldn’t keep him from running. That was part of the curse. He was doomed to always be afraid.

He didn’t go further forward, squinting against the glare. He was close enough to feel the awesome heat. The rain gave no respite from it. He waited while his eyes adjusted, wiping rain from his brow. He had to get a clear shot. Had to make sure he wouldn’t miss. Only one shot, Trails. That’s all you’ll get before you turn tail again. Gotta make it count.

The griffons began descending.

“Don’t do it,” he whispered, though in his mind he shouted. Why wasn’t he telling them? Why wasn’t he warning them? He was here to keep them from doing something foolish on his behalf. And they wouldn’t even know it was for him.

But he was terrified. Terrified of drawing attention. If he shouted now it would come charging out, would see him, would find him… No. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to get the drop on it. Had to surprise it and then run, run like hell.

“Don’t do it,” he said, a little louder this time, as griffons dropped in a semi-circle in the street, around the center of the blaze, which had consumed five whole buildings and looked to hungrily spread to others.

The wind picked up, blowing down from the mountainside. The rain intensified, dueling with the fanning flames. The fire gulped in the air and grew higher, higher. A new storm front had settled over Dust.

“Run,” said Trails. “Run, or you’re gonna die.” But none of them did.

From the main inferno, a ball of fire pulled away with purpose, and moved slowly into the street towards the griffons. Mud boiled around it. Rain sizzled into steam. The fire roiled and churned, coalescing into a single being.

The Knight of Fire. That’s what the wizard called it.

It stood on four legs, ending in hooves that released sparks and gouts of flame with every step. Its skin was crimson with radiating heat, molten veins coursing up towards the horse-like body encased in obsidian armor, charred with otherworldly fire. A tail of burning embers lashed the air behind it, leaving smoke and ash in its wake. Where a horse’s neck should rest, a man’s torso jutted up, wearing a breastplate that may as well have been forged by Hell itself, black as pitch. Naked arms flexed, bulging with hate and heat and dribbling magma. And hands, charred, grasping hands with five fingers just like Trails used to have, hands that reached out with open palms as if to welcome the griffons who steadied themselves before it.

Trails never saw the Knight’s face, if it even had one. Its skull was totally encased by a helmet of black iron, opened by two round holes to give the false impression of eyes, but only twin pools of swirling, blood-red anger rested there. Two other vents further back let out a constant stream of spiraling fire and smoke, curling like horns overhead.

Trails stepped back as gut-wrenching fear bubbled up, making his stomach turn and his heart quiver. Of course the monster of his nightmares looked like this. It only made sense.

Damn wizards and their love of irony.

The griffons were shocked into silence, but only for a moment. Though the centaur-creature stood higher than them by a head or more, they greeted the new threat like they did everything else: with violence.

A griffon stepped forward and hurled her spear with an ear-splitting screech.

“NO!” Trails yelled, far too late.

The Knight’s head swiveled towards him, and for the barest moment terror consumed Trails like fire, burning straight to the bone. Then the spear struck its shoulder, and those hateful eyes turned away. Trails felt his heart beat again.

The Knight looked down at the shaft embedded in molten, rock-like flesh. It shrugged, and the spear burst into flame, burning away until only fire that held the shape of a spear remained. The Knight plucked the burning rod from its shoulder and stared, as if to examine its worth.

Then it lunged forward with a roar of heat.

The griffons, to their credit, stood their ground. They did as any clever hunters should, spreading out to surround the beast and attacking from many angles. But the creature suddenly in their midst was not an animal. It was a lord of war.

It swept the spear at their heads, forcing some to duck beneath, and in one fluid motion flicked the burning tip down and plunged it into the shoulder of one too slow to dodge. The griffon screamed and fell back as his feathers burst into flame, rolling in the mud to save himself.

The rest attacked the monster as one, plunging swords and spears and axes into any exposed hide. All met the same fate, recoiling as their weapons were immolated, or became too hot to touch. Trails even saw a spark of magic sputter and die at the tip of a blade as it struck the Knight’s breastplate, and shook his head helplessly. No enchantment he knew of was strong enough to banish this horror.

The Knight’s counterattack was swift and brutal. Where the spear couldn’t reach, it settled for fist and hoof, scalding and igniting whatever it touched as it pummeled, kicked, and throttled any griffon that did not immediately retreat to a safe distance. Trails could only watch in horror, unable to follow the confused melee of feathers and flame. The moment the griffons left arm’s reach, the spear whirled and stabbed, cutting open deep wounds that sizzled and smoked. As the Knight moved with deadly grace and perfect fighting form, it glowed with sun-like intensity, as if some unearthly bellows fed its inner flame.

“Trails!” Gertie shouted behind him, shivering in the rain. “Trails, what is that?!”

“You’re a griffon!” Trails barked, grabbing her shoulder. “You gotta tell ‘em to stop, Gertie! It only wants me, but it’ll kill anyone who gets close to it!”

Gertie looked into his pleading face. She looked back up the street, where her fellow griffons fought and screamed and…

And died. The Knight’s spear pinned a warrior to the ground through the chest. It yanked the weapon free effortlessly, and continued its attack.

Gertie’s pupils shrank. She shuddered and stepped away.

“I-I can’t...”

Trails cursed under his breath and shoved her away, raising his crossbow. He wouldn’t get a better shot than this. But the others were too close...

A raptor's shriek sounded over the tumbling rain, and a large griffon with the head of an eagle swooped down, swinging a huge claymore. Behind him was an owl-headed female with a crossbow.

“Garth,” Gertie gasped. “Oh, Hedwig, no…”

“Get back!” Trails roared helplessly. “Get back! All of you! It’s me he wants! Just stop!”

The griffon warriors paid him no heed. Why would they? He was just a pony.

Garth twisted in mid-air as the Knight’s spear snaked out, meeting the blade of the claymore with a clang and a shower of sparks. Immediately after Hedwig’s crossbow twanged, sending a metal bolt into the Knight’s back. It sank into the armor and disappeared. The Knight did not even notice.

Garth curved around the street, stooping to the kill with another brave shriek. The Knight reared up, and Trails saw its other hand glow. A throwing dart of red-hot volcanic stone materialized in its fist.

As Garth smacked the spear with his sword and spun away again, the Knight flung the dart. Its aim was true, sinking the tip deep into Garth’s side beneath the wing joint. He screeched in agony, and sank like a stone from the air. Somehow he kept his wits about him, twisting as he fell to land on his feet.

The Knight was already upon him, thrusting with its spear. Garth parried once, twice, rolled to the side and swung, his sword clanging off the charnel black armor on the Knight’s flanks with a spray of sparks.

Another bolt sank into the Knight’s neck, but the monster did not even flinch. It took the spear in both hands, and the whole weapon flared with white-hot intensity. When the glow cleared, a burning sword remained. The Knight lunged for Garth again, even as Hedwig threw her crossbow in frustration. It struck the Knight’s side and exploded into flame without even slowing it down.

Without even a backward glance, the Knight hurled another burning dart with one hand. It struck Hedwig square in the gut and knocked her to the ground, where she lay still.

Garth staggered back, trying to keep his footing in the mud, bobbing and weaving and parrying for his life. But his wound pained him, and Trails knew the Knight was too fast. Too strong.

“Shoot it!” Gertie begged Trails.

“It’d kill the griffons,” Trails said, shaking his head. “But…”

But the Knight had already won.

Somewhere in the flurry of blows, Garth raised his sword just a little too slowly. The Knight saw the opening, and plunged its blade into his chest. There was a hiss of steam and scalding flesh. Garth struggled, raking his claws against the Knight’s helm in futile defiance even as they melted down his fingers. The Knight viciously twisted the sword in his chest. Garth let out a blood-curdling gurgle, then fell limp.

The Knight pulled its sword free and turned back to Trails before Garth even hit the ground.

“Why didn’t you shoot?” Gertie asked, letting out a gutted whimper of fear. “Trails, wh… why didn’t you…?”

The Knight held its sword by both handle and blade, then pulled, stretching the sword like toffee. The weapon collapsed into a drooling tongue of fire, spooling out until it dragged in the mud, sizzling and boiling. The Knight whipped the red-hot strand.

Crack.

A noose made of fire unfurled.

The Knight charged.

Trails raised his crossbow, took aim down the sights, put his hoof on the trigger. Everything shook from his heaving breaths and nauseous stomach and his heart jackhammering out of his chest. The horrible noise of thundering hooves seemed to fill the whole world. The Knight grew in his mind until it was ten times as big, taking up the horizon. Every thought, every action, was within its sight. Consumed by its fire.

He froze.

His vision tunneled down the sights of the crossbow until he saw nothing but the demonic Knight and its hollow, hate-filled eyes, hooves pounding louder than his heart. It was always there, just behind him. He had thought he escaped. Thought he got far enough. Of course he hadn’t. Of course the curse wouldn’t leave him. Stupid to even try, really.

The hesitation was just long enough. The Knight came in range and hurled the burning noose.

Time slowed to a crawl. Trails knew it was too close now. His fear had won. The Knight would kill him or he would kill both the Knight and himself, and for a hair’s breadth of a moment the thought pleased him. He didn’t even notice Gertie charging at him from the corner of his eyes.

Gertie slammed into him, and he pulled the trigger on the way down. There was a brutal thwack of snapping string and springing wood. For the briefest moment, as he and Gertie tumbled to the ground, Trails saw the canister gleaming in the night sky, saw every raindrop it struck as it arced gently through the air. It struck the Knight in its shoulder. Trails saw it crack open, saw the faint spark that grew and grew, and then he saw nothing else.

The explosion was like a god slapping the mountain. A massive crack followed by a furious roar, accompanied by a lavender fireball that engulfed the Knight. Windows shattered up and down the street. Trails heard the initial blast, and then just a loud ringing in his ears. He felt mud cover his face before his senses gave out.

Time passed. He did not know how much. Gradually, sight and sound returned. The rain still hammered down and cold mud held him fast. He sat up with a squelch, flicking his ears to clear them.

Someone was crying. When his vision cleared, he saw it was Gertie, lying on the ground and clutching her side. A line of blackened feathers ran down her wing towards her shoulder, and continued over her back. The Knight’s lasso must have fallen on her, and she had rolled in the mud to douse the flames.

“Aww, no,” Trails muttered, staggering to his hooves. He looked over his shoulder to see what his weapon had done.

In the middle of a shallow crater, the Knight still stood. Its right arm had been blown off at the shoulder, and its head dangled by a thread of what looked like molten glass. Magma dribbled from the open wound, hissing and shrieking as it hit the muddy earth.

A hand twitched.

”No,” Trails moaned, his heart sinking like a stone. If he had hit it dead on, then maybe… but Gertie had shoved him down, and then…

He turned back to Gertie. She didn’t seem to notice him, and yelled out in pain and fear when he grabbed her and rolled her over, studying her injuries. Nothing bed rest wouldn’t fix, but good luck getting rest tonight...

“Stay still,” he said. “Wound ain’t too deep. His weapons vanish when he can no longer use ‘em.”

Gertie’s gaze darted back and forth, taking several seconds to focus on the pony. “Is it dead?!” she gasped, reaching up to grope at the collar of his duster. “Did that… did it… what was that?!”

“Firestone,” Trails answered glumly. “Courtesy of our friend Tuff. I didn’t shoot cuz’ I didn’t wanna kill those griffons. Not that it helped.”

Gertie squeezed her eyes shut. Even in the rain, Trails saw tears glistening. “I can’t move my wing,” she said. “I can’t move my wing! Trails, I… I can’t… they’re dead, Garth and Hedwig are dead, oh sweet stars they're dead and I just stood there, just stood there…”

Trails gulped. He had already wasted too much time. “You just lay still, Gertie. Rest of ‘em will be along soon.” He spoke quickly, pushing her talons away, keeping her pressed to the ground.

“Wh-what about you?”

“Leavin’,” he said simply, and turned to do just that, picking up his crossbow as he went. Every second that passed was a second longer the Knight had to knit itself back together.

Gertie grabbed his tail to stop him.

“Don’t,” she said, through gritted teeth, through pain and anger that struck Trails to the quick. It was the kind of helpless voice he had, back when he first arrived. “You can’t… you need to explain…!”

“Get off,” Trails said, kicking her away. Fear bubbled just beneath his calm exterior, rose like bile in his throat. The Knight was still alive. The fire still burned. Run, run, before it catches you. “It’ll chase me. You ain’t safe if you follow.”

“My friends are dead!” Gertie wailed, grabbing his rear leg. “Garth, he… he used to give me advice. Hedwig listened to me. The others… I just stood there and did nothing! They’ll know I did nothing, and if I go back it’ll be worse than before! They’ll hate me for not fighting!”

Trails shook her off again. “No they won’t.”

She punched the ground, her eyes wild and unfocused. “It’s what griffons do! I’m a falcon and I watched them die! I have no honor left! They'll leave me for dead or kill me! They’ll make me Grounded!”

Trails closed his heart to her anguished cries. He almost felt for her; she clearly wasn’t thinking straight, what with the pain of losing friends and flight. But the fear overrode everything else. He closed the carriage’s rear door, hopped into the driving compartment, and unlocked the brakes.

“Trails!” Gertie shouted, almost hysterical. “Trails, please! No one will protect me on the ship!”

At least you won’t be dead, Trails thought to himself, slamming the pedal and lurching the carriage into motion. Luckier than everyone else I know.

The rumbling of the carriage prevented him from noticing Gertie hauling herself into the rear compartment, mud-splattered and sobbing.

The inhabitants of Dust hid themselves away in their homes, terrified of the noise and the horrible corpse standing statuesque in the middle of their town. Some of them watched Trails’ strange contraption rumble down the main road, quickly gain speed, and race out of town with the speed of a sprinting pony towards the long sloping road leading down to the valley below. Nobody stopped them, and nobody followed them.

In time, some crept back into the open, eyeing the fire that finally started to smoulder and die down.

But when the griffons found the courage to creep back to the battlefield and retrieve their honored dead, the Knight stirred.

All other movement ceased. Every eye that dared to look outside was fixed on the Knight. Minutes passed in ominous silence. Even the rain died down, as if shocked to find the horror still alive. Flicking of fingers became flexing of arms and legs. The tail of embers whipped the air, crackling and snapping. Bit by bit, the Knight returned to life. No one tried to stop it.

With its remaining arm, the Knight grasped its drooping head and pressed it back into place. The strand of glowing red glass melted down, becoming a strong, muscular neck once more. With its head properly set, jets of fire once again screamed from the vents in its helmet. The Knight rolled its shoulder and clenched its fingers. A fire spear reignited in its fist. The gaping wound in its side continued to spew bubbling magma in place of blood and viscera, supplied by some otherworldly plane, but the hole was already shrinking of its own accord. The people of Dust retreated from their windows, some hiding under tables, others behind buildings. The griffons hung back, terrified, though none would admit it.

The Knight stepped forward, and fire leapt happily beneath its hooves. It looked down into the mud, studying the tracks Trails' wagon had left behind.

Without a word or sound besides the thunder of hooves, the Knight of Fire charged down the street after Trails’ wagon, swinging its spear as it went. Sparks flew, and more fires started wherever they landed. Wood, rock, mud, it didn’t matter. All of it burned, even as the rain screamed down from the sky.

The fire was too hungry to be stopped now.