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The Black Knight by Christian James

High on the barren hilltops to the east of the valley sat a lone knight on a massive black charger. The sun was just beginning to crest over the hills, illuminating the towers and ramparts of the dominant feature of the valley bellow; the fortress of Camelot.

The Black Knight

The sun on the warrior’s back warmed the metal alloy strapped to his body, increasing the temperature in the suit of black steel to an uncomfortable state—but that was not what had Sir Garmin’s blood roiling in a steady boil. Rather it was the sight of his adversary galloping up to meet him, with an entire army following in his wake.

The mighty King Arthur sat upon his massive steed with accustomed efficiency; as his would-be knights flanked him on either side. The pompous assembly dug under Garmin’s skin with brutal anguish, as he scrutinized the small army, arrayed to commence battle against the lone rogue knight.

Arthur cried with a booming voice, “Dark Knight, whose shadow desecrates our land; your crimes against this kingdom will not go unnoticed anymore.”

Sir Garmin shivered with loathing. “It’s Sir Garmin The Black you pompous bastard, or have you already forgotten the name of your most loyal sword?”

“What loyalty do you know black-hearted night?” replied Arthur with a smirk in his eyes. 

“Says the coward who claims to be king over this land, yet who hides behind his castle walls, his lackeys, and his magical sword!” spat Garmin. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen! Can you not see what you have become?  What happened to the man that I fought alongside with during the war? You have become what we fought so hard to be rid of! You are no better than the tyrannical conquerors of old!”

“Don't do this, friend!” Arthur shouted with a sincerity that was equally matched to his furious indignation. “Leave these lands and never return! Else feel the wrath of all of Camelot against you!”

“If you will not open your eyes, then I will make you see!” The Black Knight roared as his horse reared up.  Garmin ave a mighty battle cry as he drew his great sword. His terrible shadow charged down the hill before him, as the thundering of his horse’s hooves accompanied the ferocity of his last suicidal act of valor .

Though his imminent demise lay before him, Garmin had not a care in the world. The king drew the mythical sword, Excalibur, from its sheath, the sun glinting off its enchanted metalworking.

As Sir Garmin rode to his death, he only hoped that Arthur, his old friend, would open his eyes to what was happening around him before it was too late.

 

 

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