The Headless Knight of Sleepy Trees
Draft_2
By: Chase L. Currie
(Tales of The Bat)
Seathan watched Artful leave looking around seeing there were not anyone else, so what did he know that the Bard did not? He let Timmy put all these supplies at his feet wondering how many outside squirrels came into this place, he assumes not a lot and then he guessed it was time to do his job.
He walked over to the old squirrel making sure she saw the pen holding his Royal blue cloak together. The pen had a peacock in the middle of an oak tree letting her know he was on a quest for the Empire.
“Did he not get everything?” She growled up at him.
“Oh, no, he got all I needed,” Seathan said. “Is he your son?”
“No, my grandson,” she told him.
“What happens to his p---”
“They died.”
“Speaking of death,” Seathan said, “what can you tell me about who has died?”
She set her book down looking dead into his eyes. Showing her teeth, she said, “They got what deserve.”
“Why?”
“Look,” she said, “You squirrels from the big cities think they know how to tell us backward country squirrels how to live, but you don’t know a thing. The best thing you can do is go home and let the Devil and the AllFather sort out the sin here.” But before he could say anything back she storms off into the back.
He sighed picking up his supplies stepping outside to see a few others stare at him hard. He knew most squirrels in these small towns didn’t like newcomers and hated anyone with authority telling him how to live their lives. It was going to be a long hard road from here out.
He opens the door to his small house to find blood on the wall writing the words, “Go home or die.” He set his supplies beside his table staring at the red words chuckling to himself. He has seen better messages written in blood, but at least they tried and then went back to unpacking his supplies. Once he was done he cleaned the blood off the wall and spent the rest of his day sitting outside smoking a pipe waiting for the night to come.
He watched the sunlight fade from the world painting the sky into a lovely red, purple and dull orange. He smiled at the sight always looking the sunset and remembering when he and his father would sit outside watching it. His father would tell Seathan stories of the Home Realm implanting a deep love for myths in his soul. A love that would never die pushing him to be a Bard now. A great Bard and he wished his father was here to see how far he had come in his life.
Night came with Seathan heading to the shop. The shop was close which Seathan knew was going to happen anyway, so he stood there waiting for the Saint to show up. It was an hour later when Artful seem to come out of nowhere from behind Seathan saying, “Sorry I’m late.”
Seathan jumped away reaching for daggers. “You scared me.”
“Again sorry,” Artful smiled. “Bad habits. Shall we?” He started walking down the road.
“Where are we going?” Seathan asked.
“To the house of Grundy Growtree,” he told him.
“The first squirrel killed?” Seathan asked.
“Yup,” Artful nodded.
“What do you know about all of this?” Seathan said, “I try to ask the rude shop owner, but it didn’t go too well.”
“Turns out,” Artful said, “our good Lord of the town ---hm?” He asked looking for the Lords name.
“Ichabod Longears.”
“Right, Ichabod Longears,” Artful said, “is or was a Witch Hunter. He liked to killed witches in this area from what I have heard.”
“You think this was a witch?” Seathan asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, “but we are going to find out.”
They made it to a small farmhouse a little be outside of the town. The house had seen better days, and the barn behind it was falling in on itself. No one had set foot in the house since the killing leaving the bloodstain still on the floor. Seathan and Artful stood side by side each other looking around but not moving. It was almost as if the ghost of the poor got guy was still walking around.
“Did he have a family?” Seathan asked.
“A wife and two sons,” Artful said, “but they left a while ago.”
Seathan thought about asking why they left but the blood silently answer him. Artful started to look around the house.
“What are we looking for?” Seathan asked.
“Anything that is not normal,” Artful told him walking into the other room as the Bard stared down at the blood like that was normal. He walked a little into the room wanting to see where the body had fallen and then stopped turning to face the door and closed it. The locks on the door were not broken, and the door itself was still whole. He opens it and then let it close again staring at the thick wood. The hinges cried out from their age wishing no longer to do any more work.
“What are you doing?” Artful asked stepping back into the room with his staff in paw. Sword Saints always carried their staffs with them.
“If I saw a Headless Knight standing at my door,” Seathan pointed out, “I wouldn’t have open the door.”
“Either would I,” Artful agree walking over to him. “So, the question is why did Grundy open the door?”
Seathan looked back at the blood. “It had to be someone he knew.”
“Maybe, Grundy Growtree wasn’t killed by the Headless Knight,” Artful said with a smirk on his face.
“And the plot thickens,” Seathan remarked as a touch came crashing through the window followed by another one lighting the wood a flame.
“Come out here,” Someone yelled with Artful hugging the wall and glancing outside.
“How many?”
“Five,” he said, “that I can see.”
“Squirrels from the town?”
“It doesn’t look like,” Artful said opening the door and stepping out.
Seathan quickly followed him seeing the old house being gobble up by the fire. The house lite the night around them with the five bandits growling at them. Each of the bandits had dark fur and wore a few weapons, but the leader of the group or so Seathan believed shootout in front of them all with a blunderbuss at the ready.
Artful pushed Seathan out of the way as he stood in the doorway. “You don’t seem to be from around here,” Artful remark and for the first time since they stepped outside Seathan notice, the Sword Saint wasn’t carrying his staff.
“Nope,” the leader said with a devilish grin followed by the thunder in the barrel being let go with enough force to kick Artful back into the burning house, killing him. Seathan eyes went wide with shock trying to see his new friend, but the fire had locked him away. He turns back to the bandits waiting for his turn to go for the ride of a lifetime.
“You have made a big mistake,” Seathan said.
The leader laughed and told him, “If only you knew.”
“Who sent you?” He asked them, letting his paw fall under his cloak to his daggers.
“Sorry, sir,” one of the younger squirrels said moving in close for an attack, “can’t say.”
“Doesn’t matter anyway,” the leader said. “You’re going to be dead.” He was reloading his firearm.
The young one dash at him but shot back losing a bit of his ear as blood dip from Seathan’s blade. “Not without a fight,” the Bard said looking at them all.
“That’s up to you,” the leader of the gang said pulling back the hammer of his weapon. Before he could point at Seathan, four throwing knives landed on his chest. He cried a muffed weep and fell backward trying to grab the handles of the knives.
“By the AllFather,” one of the squirrels cried out pointing up to the roof of the burning house.
Seathan turn in time to see the red and black armor fly through the air throwing more knives at his foes. He landed in front of the Bard, his face hidden under the helmet, but the horns told everyone who he was, he was the Bat. The burning red eyes of the Bat told them all he was real, and the stories of legends were true. There in front of Seathan eyes stood the hero who could not die, for he willed Death’s sword. A sword made of fire and was taken from the paw of Death himself. It was Death who give him the name Bat because Death flew overhead like a bat in the night and this hero was now his child.
Seathan couldn’t believe he was real and watch him cut down the gang like they were scarecrows, only leaving one alive, and tossing him in front of the Bard. The poor squirrel cried like a pup weeping for milk, but Seathan said nothing.
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