The Best Favor

Logan found no honor in his shining armor.

I caught the reflection of myself in the polished metal of my gauntlet–someone I didn't know, someone I didn't want to know.

I snapped the chain at my neck, symbol of the hate my order taught–everything that I had come to them to fight against.

All the silvered armor and grand parades could not brighten the charcoal in our heart. It didn't make us bright or good; it hid us from seeing. They spoke of the blinding brilliance, like we carried a better light; but like our favorite spell, it only served to blind friend and foe alike.

How had I become so blind? I tossed away the grand trident.

It lay there with its three points symbolizing the pure spirit, the enlightened mind, and the masterful body.

Unable to contain myself, I snapped the shaft and drove its points into the ground. "I denounce you, bringer of light. I repudiate you, lord of honor. I beg the gods of our cousins forge me as they will."

The silence of that alley echoed with the value of my words in the mind of the gods.

I stepped away, wringing my hands. "—if I am not already useless slag."

A splash of red light flit before me as a kitten chased it.

Across the way a little elfin girl waved a stick.

The little red star went where the tiny conjuror pointed, the kitten in furious chase.

For a moment I forgot my temple, enjoying a magical display worthy of a king.

"Lordship, excellent."

The familiar voice assaulted me from behind.

The black knight–my compatriot wrapped in rough and honest darkness–carried nothing that could be traced to Phosphor or the temple.

I reached for my trident, forgetting I had destroyed my weapon. I could not allow this to occur again. I fumbled instead for my arming sword, my hands unexpectedly–boyishly–clumsy, as if unknown to battle.

He saluted me. "My lord, I gather you have this well in hand? May I expect my full commission?"

I shook my head. "None shall harry this little girl."

"Lordship?" His voice carried more confusion than concern. "She carries the gift of the dark gods, a symbol of all that we despise…"

"I do not–" I held the sword between us. "I've no right to condemn you, but so long as I draw breath, I cannot permit your mission."

"Then you know, I must end that breath." The knight struck with perfect form and solid structure, slipping, harmless, off my wretched armor, then he swatted away my thrust.

I didn't even care that it was an honorable death I faced–so long as I would not have to see the girl's eyes as he took her to face trial. I struck again, a foolish thrust at his underarm that should have met steel instead of flesh.

A spasmic jerk sent the woodsman-like chop of his sword awry, missing me by the span of a fist.

I swiped at his knee, somehow met the groove, and popped off the cap.

Rage's howl tore his throat. He battered me in the helmet, causing my eyes to spark.

I was weak– more fragile than my first days as a squire–and teetering on death without the marked flesh I would ordinarily shrug off. I pressed on, grabbing his sword in the joints of my gauntlet and wrenching his hand.

It bent beyond its place and emitted an audible pop.

I counted yet another impossible success on my path to an unmarked grave.

He aimed right for my eyes, perfectly on point–I thought myself dead until I shuddered.

The strike sailed over my head.

I offered a feeble swipe at his neck, a blade-span from his shield–plunging my sword through the metal of his throat guard, ending his life.

He hovered for a heartbeat, descending. His knees buckled. Shapes rippled, black softened to gray, to violet, and still he kept falling.

The clouds parted to wrap me in a halo–not the harsh glare of my vicious patron, but a soft and warm glow. There were words–a reassurance, a welcome, I don't know. Then it passed.

I stood awkwardly over my fallen brother.

I fell to my knees, worn but fully restored.

And the little girl stood in front of me. "Are you all right? I don't think you were supposed to hurt him."

"It's fine now. You're–" One danger had fled, but she was far from safe. "No, you better run along."

"Mommy says the silver ones are dangerous, but I like you. You smell nice." She gave me a stuffed toy, like her kitten. "Her name is Fihvyx, like me. I think you need her more than me. I have the real one."

This sweet ragged toy in my hands smiled up at me like the elfin Fihvyx herself. I blinked away the tears.

"It's okay." The girl touched my cheek. "My father says crying washes away the wound. It heals better that way. He says humans don't know this."

For the first time in living memory I found myself free of the guilt that festered under the pride and hate. So the victory hadn't belonged to me. The desperate will to protect Fihvyx had been loaned to me by something greater than myself. Neither had my crimes–the many acts I had done under the spell of the blinding brilliance. Those choices belonged to an older Logan, and all I had were the memories and the responsibilites. The same responsibility I had to save Fihvyx.