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stanningjay · 10 hours

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image of a dragon curled up on a book. Source: Canva stock photos

The Fiercest Challenge Calls for the Finest Knight.

There had never been any doubt that Sir Bayard was the kingdom’s finest knight—at least, of those still living, and still hale enough to swing a sword. Bayard had been knighted ten years ago, and he’d spent those ten years traveling the kingdom, his sword and his service available to any whose cause was just and true, and here he was once again, ready to set out on a new quest. He stood politely on the hastily erected stage in the town center of Northberry Bay and listened to Baron Hartwicke praise the valor of his past deeds.

And there were many; it took the Baron quite a while. Over the last decade Sir Bayard performed many heroic feats. He had saved the dozen daughters of Duke Delvaney, performed the five tasks of Churulruh, and unmasked an assassin mage who was trying to kill the queen, to name a few. Sir Bayard’s grandest adventure had involved three harpies and the king’s own jester, and it had ended with the Moon Maiden losing her heart to him for love. It was this tale Baron Hartwicke shared now, to the crowd of townspeople gathered in the square. The Moon Maiden had been so enamored of Sir Bayard’s valor that she’d descended from her palace in the sky and begged his hand in marriage.

He’d refused, and she had wept, and for some reason people always loved that part of the story. Bayard had notloved it, thank you. When he refused her hand, as a consolation, the Moon Maiden had given him a magic sword. It was called Spellsong, and the Moon Maiden had sung it to life from the fire of a thousand thousand stars. “If I cannot have you,” she proclaimed, with a tear in her eye, “take this, to keep you safe. I could not bear it if you were to leave this world, oh purest knight. My heart would fail and the moon would fall from the sky. Spellsong will always keep you safe and defend the innocent, as you do, my sweet beloved Bayard.”

Or something like that.

She’d given him the sword and the speech in the center of the capitol city, praising his heroics, the strength in his heart, and arms, and the cut of his jaw, and the gleam of his eye…and on, and on, and on. Bayard’s face burned scarlet by the time she was done, staring misty-eyed at him while what felt like half the kingdom looked on. The whole thing had been mortifying, and when he’d finally bent and kissed her knuckles in farewell, he’d thought, Thank the gods that’s done with. But he could hardly slip off unnoticed with a sword made from the hearts of a thousand thousand stars, could he? The damn thing shone like a bloody beacon, and, true to its name, it sang.

As far as hero-knights go, there were a few cornerstones of success that differentiated the cream of the crop. A magic sword was one, and Bayard felt great pride at earning one, like he’d finally become a true knight. An epithet for the stories was another, and unfortunately, after this business with the Moon Maiden, the people of the kingdom had passed right on by “Bold,” “Brave,” and “Brilliant,” to dub him Bayard the Beloved.

Still though, the sword was a mighty gift, the likes of which Bayard had never dreamt to possess. Only the finest knights received magic swords from magic maidens, or so the stories would have him believe. A lot of those stories ended with a wedding, but Bayard always left town before that part, thank the gods.

The sword’s singing was odd, but it had helped him on many occasions, telling false faces from true, and its blade could cut through any material used by one of dark intent. He’d been relieved the singing only rang inside his own head, because one misplaced sound could mean his death, when he sought to destroy the forces of evil and defend the innocent.

As now.

The town of Northberry Bay was being terrorized by a dragon. Northberry Bay abutted a harbor on one side, and was surrounded by cruel mountains on three others. Only one path offered passage through the mountains, and the dragon now sat athwart it. Sir Bayard had answered the summons, and when such a far-famed knight arrived to pick up the gauntlet, the Baron got a bit…carried away.

Every time, thought Bayard the Beloved as he stood beside Baron Hartwicke on the stage in the market square. Baron Hartwicke was outrageously wealthy, as Northberry Bay was one of the kingdom’s busiest ports, so Bayard had anticipated the Baron would offer him some sort of reward for his service. People never let him leave empty handed, and he accepted their gifts as graciously as he could, but that wasn’t why he’d become a knight. He’d taken an oath, a simple oath. Defend the innocent. Bayard was a simple man, too, with simple tastes. He liked a good fight, good ale, and good food. That was all he ever really needed.

Bayard the Beloved stood there on the stage, watching the Baron gesticulating beside him, whipping up the townsfolk as he listed Bayard’s past deeds, telling them that surely Bayard and his sword Spellsong would be their deliverance. Don’t do it, Sir Bayard prayed, his gracious smile firmly in place, a mask to hide his thoughts and the squirmy feeling in his gut. Please, don’t say it.

“…and furthermore,” The Baron continued.

No, don’t say it. Please don’t say it—

“If he can destroy this fell beast, I plan to offer the gallant Sir Bayard the hand of my daughter, Penelope, in marriage!”

Fuck, thought Sir Bayard. Every bloody time. Keep reading (free) over on Patreon!

(if you like, you can also download the story in ebook form here.)

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