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Sir Pittimus checked his sword once more, before climbing onto the back of his trusty horse, Apollo.
“I pray my liege, do it for valour,” said Henry, the knight’s young servant.
“I do it for love,” replied Sir Pittimus.
“Do it for bravery, do it for courage.”
“I do it for love.”
“Do it in the name of the King!” pleaded Henry, sinking to his knees.
“I do it in the name of love.”
Sir Pittimus kicked his spurs into Apollo’s sides, and rode off into the eternal night, leaving Henry sobbing on the courtyard.
The kingdom had been cast into darkness since Princess Stephanie had been taken. Without her morning song, the sun had not risen. Fear had spread throughout the townsfolk. The danger they knew was lurking in the woods seemed to be closing in. With no daylight to reveal them, every broken twig and every kicked stone was something to fear.
King Magus refused to see anyone, remaining in his room, cursing the night. Distraught, and without the guidance of the King’s council, Prince Neville rode out alone to rescue his sister. He had not returned.
Sir Pittimus fought countless foes on his path through the woods, fearsome pig-men, and one-eyed trolls, swarms of killer bees and sharp-toothed bear-monks, letting none of them slow him down even to a canter. Only when he reached the cave deep in the woods did he climb down from his horse. As he took the first steps inside he felt something hard underfoot. As his eyes grew accustomed to the greater darkness of the cave he made out the crest of Prince Neville on a blackened and battered shield.
A rage grew inside him. His senses sharpened. A heavy snore could be heard from a deep passage. He took off at speed. The narrow passages opened out into an enormous expanse. The snoring stopped with a grunt. Sir Pittimus raised his shield instinctively. A blast of flame hit the shield. Lit by its fiery blast, Sir Pittimus saw the beast was no more fearsome than a common dragon. He unsheathed his sword and faced the creature as light again faded away. Dragons were nothing if not predicable. It would attack again, but needed time to regain it’s breath. The tail swing was inevitable. Sir Pittimus leapt it with ease and slashed a cross into the creature’s scales. It turned again, breathing fire, but Sir Pittimus was ready for it. He ducked under the flame, losing a considerable amount of hair in the process, and grabbed a smooth rock from the floor. As the beast was taking a gasp of air, preparing to fire off more flame, he threw the rock. His aim was true, entering the dragon’s mouth and lodging in its through. Fire formed in its belly, a fire it couldn’t release. Sir Pittimus ran backwards, diving into the passage as the creature exploded.
The sun was high in the sky. A crowd had gathered by the castle, awaiting the return of the princess and the gallant hero. The King, his gloom lifted, had prepared a tremendous ceremony. Birdsong returned to the air as they grew closer to the castle. A blur in the distance shaped into a man leading a horse, on it two figures. Princess Stephanie sang as Sir Pittimus lead the horse through the crowd. Doubt and sorrow that had filled the hearts of so many dispersed in an instant. On the back of the horse, unconscious but alive was Prince Neville.
As the horse stopped at the drawbridge, Princess Stephanie climbed down. She crossed and took the hand of her father.
“Sir Pittimus,” said the King, bowing his head ever so slightly, “I thank you for what you have done. My people thank you for what you have done.”
Sir Pittimus looked on, distracted, as attendants plucked Prince Neville from Apollo’s back.
“As you took on this trial in the name of love, I grant you my daughters hand in marriage.”
Cheers rang out through the crowd. Sir Pittimus turned to them, holding up a hand, which was granted with the desired silence.
“My King, “he spoke, “I did this not for the love of your daughter, I did it for the love of your son.”
The king gestured towards his soldiers. The crowd’s jubilation turned to harsh cries. As a soldier grabbed Sir Pittimus’ arm, a rotten tomato struck the back of his head – the very spot that had been burnt so badly by dragon fire. Sir Pittimus was dragged away as the crowd dispersed.
Princess Stephanie’s song signalled another fine morning in the kingdom. Once more a crowd had gathered outside the castle. As Princess Stephanie’s song reached it crescendo, the King dropped his arm. At that very moment the executioner swung his axe, and Sir Pittimus was no more.
Henry led Apollo through the crowd and back to his stable. He continued practicing his swordfighting in the way Sir Pittimus had taught him, certain of only one thing, whatever he was to do in his life, he wanted to find something he would do in the name of love.
“I pray my liege, do it for valour,” said Henry, the knight’s young servant.
“I do it for love,” replied Sir Pittimus.
“Do it for bravery, do it for courage.”
“I do it for love.”
“Do it in the name of the King!” pleaded Henry, sinking to his knees.
“I do it in the name of love.”
Sir Pittimus kicked his spurs into Apollo’s sides, and rode off into the eternal night, leaving Henry sobbing on the courtyard.
The kingdom had been cast into darkness since Princess Stephanie had been taken. Without her morning song, the sun had not risen. Fear had spread throughout the townsfolk. The danger they knew was lurking in the woods seemed to be closing in. With no daylight to reveal them, every broken twig and every kicked stone was something to fear.
King Magus refused to see anyone, remaining in his room, cursing the night. Distraught, and without the guidance of the King’s council, Prince Neville rode out alone to rescue his sister. He had not returned.
Sir Pittimus fought countless foes on his path through the woods, fearsome pig-men, and one-eyed trolls, swarms of killer bees and sharp-toothed bear-monks, letting none of them slow him down even to a canter. Only when he reached the cave deep in the woods did he climb down from his horse. As he took the first steps inside he felt something hard underfoot. As his eyes grew accustomed to the greater darkness of the cave he made out the crest of Prince Neville on a blackened and battered shield.
A rage grew inside him. His senses sharpened. A heavy snore could be heard from a deep passage. He took off at speed. The narrow passages opened out into an enormous expanse. The snoring stopped with a grunt. Sir Pittimus raised his shield instinctively. A blast of flame hit the shield. Lit by its fiery blast, Sir Pittimus saw the beast was no more fearsome than a common dragon. He unsheathed his sword and faced the creature as light again faded away. Dragons were nothing if not predicable. It would attack again, but needed time to regain it’s breath. The tail swing was inevitable. Sir Pittimus leapt it with ease and slashed a cross into the creature’s scales. It turned again, breathing fire, but Sir Pittimus was ready for it. He ducked under the flame, losing a considerable amount of hair in the process, and grabbed a smooth rock from the floor. As the beast was taking a gasp of air, preparing to fire off more flame, he threw the rock. His aim was true, entering the dragon’s mouth and lodging in its through. Fire formed in its belly, a fire it couldn’t release. Sir Pittimus ran backwards, diving into the passage as the creature exploded.
The sun was high in the sky. A crowd had gathered by the castle, awaiting the return of the princess and the gallant hero. The King, his gloom lifted, had prepared a tremendous ceremony. Birdsong returned to the air as they grew closer to the castle. A blur in the distance shaped into a man leading a horse, on it two figures. Princess Stephanie sang as Sir Pittimus lead the horse through the crowd. Doubt and sorrow that had filled the hearts of so many dispersed in an instant. On the back of the horse, unconscious but alive was Prince Neville.
As the horse stopped at the drawbridge, Princess Stephanie climbed down. She crossed and took the hand of her father.
“Sir Pittimus,” said the King, bowing his head ever so slightly, “I thank you for what you have done. My people thank you for what you have done.”
Sir Pittimus looked on, distracted, as attendants plucked Prince Neville from Apollo’s back.
“As you took on this trial in the name of love, I grant you my daughters hand in marriage.”
Cheers rang out through the crowd. Sir Pittimus turned to them, holding up a hand, which was granted with the desired silence.
“My King, “he spoke, “I did this not for the love of your daughter, I did it for the love of your son.”
The king gestured towards his soldiers. The crowd’s jubilation turned to harsh cries. As a soldier grabbed Sir Pittimus’ arm, a rotten tomato struck the back of his head – the very spot that had been burnt so badly by dragon fire. Sir Pittimus was dragged away as the crowd dispersed.
Princess Stephanie’s song signalled another fine morning in the kingdom. Once more a crowd had gathered outside the castle. As Princess Stephanie’s song reached it crescendo, the King dropped his arm. At that very moment the executioner swung his axe, and Sir Pittimus was no more.
Henry led Apollo through the crowd and back to his stable. He continued practicing his swordfighting in the way Sir Pittimus had taught him, certain of only one thing, whatever he was to do in his life, he wanted to find something he would do in the name of love.
Ah now Everpain, I disagree on the sparse but agree with the short and sweet.
I really love this style of writing. Absolutely everything for a purpose. Beautifully written (& I'm a fussy reader)
Meka, have you read anything by Terri Windling? ... I think you might enjoy (my other fave is CJ Cherryh)Oh. Um and there's the hedge knight series by George R.R Martin you may enjoy too (if you don't already).
Let me know when you bring out your first (?) full length so I can go out and buy it.
I really love this style of writing. Absolutely everything for a purpose. Beautifully written (& I'm a fussy reader)
Meka, have you read anything by Terri Windling? ... I think you might enjoy (my other fave is CJ Cherryh)Oh. Um and there's the hedge knight series by George R.R Martin you may enjoy too (if you don't already).
Let me know when you bring out your first (?) full length so I can go out and buy it.
Ho ho, that was excellent! A little sparse on descriptive detail, but short and sweet. The end was a surprise, which it shouldn't have been. We are too well ingrained that love implies feelings between both sexes. An ignorant and medieval view (hence, presumably, the setting of the story?).
Yes, very well played, sir.
Yes, very well played, sir.
Sir Pittimus checked his sword once more, before climbing onto the back of his trusty horse, Apollo.
“I pray my liege, do it for valour,” said Henry, the knight’s young servant.
“I do it for love,” replied Sir Pittimus.
“Do it for bravery, do it for courage.”
“I do it for love.”
“Do it in the name of the King!” pleaded Henry, sinking to his knees.
“I do it in the name of love.”
Sir Pittimus kicked his spurs into Apollo’s sides, and rode off into the eternal night, leaving Henry sobbing on the courtyard.
The kingdom had been cast into darkness since Princess Stephanie had been taken. Without her morning song, the sun had not risen. Fear had spread throughout the townsfolk. The danger they knew was lurking in the woods seemed to be closing in. With no daylight to reveal them, every broken twig and every kicked stone was something to fear.
King Magus refused to see anyone, remaining in his room, cursing the night. Distraught, and without the guidance of the King’s council, Prince Neville rode out alone to rescue his sister. He had not returned.
Sir Pittimus fought countless foes on his path through the woods, fearsome pig-men, and one-eyed trolls, swarms of killer bees and sharp-toothed bear-monks, letting none of them slow him down even to a canter. Only when he reached the cave deep in the woods did he climb down from his horse. As he took the first steps inside he felt something hard underfoot. As his eyes grew accustomed to the greater darkness of the cave he made out the crest of Prince Neville on a blackened and battered shield.
A rage grew inside him. His senses sharpened. A heavy snore could be heard from a deep passage. He took off at speed. The narrow passages opened out into an enormous expanse. The snoring stopped with a grunt. Sir Pittimus raised his shield instinctively. A blast of flame hit the shield. Lit by its fiery blast, Sir Pittimus saw the beast was no more fearsome than a common dragon. He unsheathed his sword and faced the creature as light again faded away. Dragons were nothing if not predicable. It would attack again, but needed time to regain it’s breath. The tail swing was inevitable. Sir Pittimus leapt it with ease and slashed a cross into the creature’s scales. It turned again, breathing fire, but Sir Pittimus was ready for it. He ducked under the flame, losing a considerable amount of hair in the process, and grabbed a smooth rock from the floor. As the beast was taking a gasp of air, preparing to fire off more flame, he threw the rock. His aim was true, entering the dragon’s mouth and lodging in its through. Fire formed in its belly, a fire it couldn’t release. Sir Pittimus ran backwards, diving into the passage as the creature exploded.
The sun was high in the sky. A crowd had gathered by the castle, awaiting the return of the princess and the gallant hero. The King, his gloom lifted, had prepared a tremendous ceremony. Birdsong returned to the air as they grew closer to the castle. A blur in the distance shaped into a man leading a horse, on it two figures. Princess Stephanie sang as Sir Pittimus lead the horse through the crowd. Doubt and sorrow that had filled the hearts of so many dispersed in an instant. On the back of the horse, unconscious but alive was Prince Neville.
As the horse stopped at the drawbridge, Princess Stephanie climbed down. She crossed and took the hand of her father.
“Sir Pittimus,” said the King, bowing his head ever so slightly, “I thank you for what you have done. My people thank you for what you have done.”
Sir Pittimus looked on, distracted, as attendants plucked Prince Neville from Apollo’s back.
“As you took on this trial in the name of love, I grant you my daughters hand in marriage.”
Cheers rang out through the crowd. Sir Pittimus turned to them, holding up a hand, which was granted with the desired silence.
“My King, “he spoke, “I did this not for the love of your daughter, I did it for the love of your son.”
The king gestured towards his soldiers. The crowd’s jubilation turned to harsh cries. As a soldier grabbed Sir Pittimus’ arm, a rotten tomato struck the back of his head – the very spot that had been burnt so badly by dragon fire. Sir Pittimus was dragged away as the crowd dispersed.
Princess Stephanie’s song signalled another fine morning in the kingdom. Once more a crowd had gathered outside the castle. As Princess Stephanie’s song reached it crescendo, the King dropped his arm. At that very moment the executioner swung his axe, and Sir Pittimus was no more.
Henry led Apollo through the crowd and back to his stable. He continued practicing his swordfighting in the way Sir Pittimus had taught him, certain of only one thing, whatever he was to do in his life, he wanted to find something he would do in the name of love.
“I pray my liege, do it for valour,” said Henry, the knight’s young servant.
“I do it for love,” replied Sir Pittimus.
“Do it for bravery, do it for courage.”
“I do it for love.”
“Do it in the name of the King!” pleaded Henry, sinking to his knees.
“I do it in the name of love.”
Sir Pittimus kicked his spurs into Apollo’s sides, and rode off into the eternal night, leaving Henry sobbing on the courtyard.
The kingdom had been cast into darkness since Princess Stephanie had been taken. Without her morning song, the sun had not risen. Fear had spread throughout the townsfolk. The danger they knew was lurking in the woods seemed to be closing in. With no daylight to reveal them, every broken twig and every kicked stone was something to fear.
King Magus refused to see anyone, remaining in his room, cursing the night. Distraught, and without the guidance of the King’s council, Prince Neville rode out alone to rescue his sister. He had not returned.
Sir Pittimus fought countless foes on his path through the woods, fearsome pig-men, and one-eyed trolls, swarms of killer bees and sharp-toothed bear-monks, letting none of them slow him down even to a canter. Only when he reached the cave deep in the woods did he climb down from his horse. As he took the first steps inside he felt something hard underfoot. As his eyes grew accustomed to the greater darkness of the cave he made out the crest of Prince Neville on a blackened and battered shield.
A rage grew inside him. His senses sharpened. A heavy snore could be heard from a deep passage. He took off at speed. The narrow passages opened out into an enormous expanse. The snoring stopped with a grunt. Sir Pittimus raised his shield instinctively. A blast of flame hit the shield. Lit by its fiery blast, Sir Pittimus saw the beast was no more fearsome than a common dragon. He unsheathed his sword and faced the creature as light again faded away. Dragons were nothing if not predicable. It would attack again, but needed time to regain it’s breath. The tail swing was inevitable. Sir Pittimus leapt it with ease and slashed a cross into the creature’s scales. It turned again, breathing fire, but Sir Pittimus was ready for it. He ducked under the flame, losing a considerable amount of hair in the process, and grabbed a smooth rock from the floor. As the beast was taking a gasp of air, preparing to fire off more flame, he threw the rock. His aim was true, entering the dragon’s mouth and lodging in its through. Fire formed in its belly, a fire it couldn’t release. Sir Pittimus ran backwards, diving into the passage as the creature exploded.
The sun was high in the sky. A crowd had gathered by the castle, awaiting the return of the princess and the gallant hero. The King, his gloom lifted, had prepared a tremendous ceremony. Birdsong returned to the air as they grew closer to the castle. A blur in the distance shaped into a man leading a horse, on it two figures. Princess Stephanie sang as Sir Pittimus lead the horse through the crowd. Doubt and sorrow that had filled the hearts of so many dispersed in an instant. On the back of the horse, unconscious but alive was Prince Neville.
As the horse stopped at the drawbridge, Princess Stephanie climbed down. She crossed and took the hand of her father.
“Sir Pittimus,” said the King, bowing his head ever so slightly, “I thank you for what you have done. My people thank you for what you have done.”
Sir Pittimus looked on, distracted, as attendants plucked Prince Neville from Apollo’s back.
“As you took on this trial in the name of love, I grant you my daughters hand in marriage.”
Cheers rang out through the crowd. Sir Pittimus turned to them, holding up a hand, which was granted with the desired silence.
“My King, “he spoke, “I did this not for the love of your daughter, I did it for the love of your son.”
The king gestured towards his soldiers. The crowd’s jubilation turned to harsh cries. As a soldier grabbed Sir Pittimus’ arm, a rotten tomato struck the back of his head – the very spot that had been burnt so badly by dragon fire. Sir Pittimus was dragged away as the crowd dispersed.
Princess Stephanie’s song signalled another fine morning in the kingdom. Once more a crowd had gathered outside the castle. As Princess Stephanie’s song reached it crescendo, the King dropped his arm. At that very moment the executioner swung his axe, and Sir Pittimus was no more.
Henry led Apollo through the crowd and back to his stable. He continued practicing his swordfighting in the way Sir Pittimus had taught him, certain of only one thing, whatever he was to do in his life, he wanted to find something he would do in the name of love.