The Life of Sir Archambeau Ch. 3 - Death Comes in Fours (pt. 1)
Archambeau left the manor in a rush. He refused to believe all that codswallop. The old woman was mad, suffering from delusions and loneliness. It was a sad tale, really, but he did not have the time to deal with it. The sun was well on its downward journey, and he had less than five hours to nightfall; he had to get to Villaruiss before then.
Vainqueurâs head snapped up as Archambeau hurried toward him, putting his gloves on, and the horse dipped his head to take one last bite of grass. Donning his helmet and snatching his spear from the stone wall, Archambeau mounted Vainqueur, and they took off down the dirt path at a steady trot until they reunited with the main road. For the next few hours, they galloped for a mile, then walked for a mile, then galloped another mile, switching between the two so as not to wear down Vainqueur.
The scenery changed little as they went over the land, giving Archambeau ample time to think.
The blind woman was certainly a faerie in human form. How had he not seen it? She had led him to the run-down manor disguised as the maiden; in truth, the manor itself might not have been real, simply an illusion cast over him. He probably had walked around that clearing and blabbered to himself like a madman.
Moreover, he had been mocked and his charity taken advantage of. He was led to believe ridiculous things like marrying a woman because he had eaten a certain pie, or that he would fall to his death. The whole day was a joke played at his expense. Why had he let himself be taken in by her? He shook an imaginary fist at his past self.
Today had been the beginning of a tale told to young knights as a warning against the dangers of rushing into the woods to save mysterious maidens. Fortunately, no one would ever get the chance to tell it. Fortunately, he had escaped alive! He shivered at the thought of what could have happened.
It was into the early evening when Archambeau realized he would not reach Villaruiss before nightfall in three hours. If he rode his horse hard, he could maybe reach the town by midnight, but there was no point in doing that. Dismounting, he walked the next mile, using the spear as a walking stick while looking for a spot to camp.
Grey clouds drifted overhead, hiding the weakening sun. Archambeauâs anger at the old woman and being forced to sleep in rough conditions on the side of the road instead of in a nice inn kept him warm as the temperature dropped. Wolves howling in the distance ripped him from his lamentations. He imagined wolves jumping out of the forest to kill him. But since wolves tended to ignore humans unless provoked, and since they sounded far off, he ignored them.
But their howls chased him for half a mile, each call drawing closer; Archambeau realized that they were coming for him and that they were hungry. No matter how late he arrived, he needed to make it to Villaruiss. The town likely had a curfew, but the houses and people would scare the wolves off. Archambeau paused on the left-hand side of the road at the edge of the forest. Retrieving his shield from the saddle, he lashed it to his left forearm so that when he needed it, he could easily grab the handle. Having the weight on his arm reassured him that if the wolves stalked any closer, they wouldnât have an easy meal. Hopefully, they would find other prey. As his foot slipped into a stirrup, the wolves howled again, a chorus of voices that surrounded them and spooked Vainqueur. He reared up, neighing, with Archambeauâs foot still caught in the stirrup. Dancing on one leg, he yelled to try to calm the stallion. Vainqueur was a trained warhorse; wolves shouldnât have been scaring him. Yet when Vainqueurâs front hooves touched the ground, he sprinted into the forest on the left, jerking Archambeauâs feet out beneath him. The stirrup released his foot as he fell down, helmet smacking the road and rattling his head.
He groaned. Pushing through the pain in both his head and sprained ankle, he scrambled up, leaning heavily on the spear. Head bent, he took several deep breaths before lopsidedly sprinting into the forest after Vainqueur, shouting for him to come back.
Following the trail of trampled bushes and broken earth, Archambeau learned too late what Vainqueur had sensed: Wolves flanked him, their massive bodies easily keeping pace with him. Some ran ahead and some lingered behind until suddenly Archambeau found himself surrounded by the pack.
The forest was cast in an even, pale blue twilight that extinguished any shadows. The ground was flat, with pine trees making mounds of it. Their dead needles littered the dirt. His horse was nowhere in sight, but he could hear the stallion crying out as wolves killed him. Archambeauâs heart thunderously beat in his ears as it sank to the pit of his stomach. There was nothing he could do but fight.
At least twelve wolves ringed him, their grey fur coats almost invisible in the evening forest. They approached as one, bellies lean, eyes ravenous. He brought up his shield and readied his spear, eyes wide.
More clouds hid the sun, further darkening the land. This was too close to the dream heâd had in the manor.
The first wolf he speared in the neck, and the second one he killed lost him the spear. It was buried too deep in the rib cage for him to pull free. Letting it go, he bashed the third wolf with the shield and slit its throat with his arming sword as he drew it. The Michaelmas ring flew off the cross guard and was lost.
Then he slew half a dozen more, sidestepping leaps and slashing at underbellies and stabbing anything his steel could touch. The shield protected him from their biting and the swipes of their claws. A wolf jumped over him, knocking the helmet off his head.
When he managed to take count again, the wolves had been whittled down to six.
One wolf leapt at him, fangs bared, and he shouldered it aside with the shield, sending the whimpering animal flying away. The next sank its teeth into the top of his shield and its weight dragged him down. Forced to let go of the shield, he scrambled away and stabbed another. Then he froze. Two wolves stared at him straight on, with another two stalking close on his left and one more behind him. He was exposed without the shield, and the wolves would kill him before he reached it.
The only opening was on his right, so he broke away from the beasts and ran to a large spruce tree. Snarling followed him as he darted around the tree; a wolf came up on its hindlegs and tried to bite his nose off. Archambeau slashed its soft belly and the animal went limp.
Rounding the tree, he saw corpses littering the forest floor. His spear stuck out of one, and his shield lay in the dirt. So far, he had only suffered a few injuries. He needed that shield.
He should have listened to the old woman.
Dashing to the shield, he reached out to it as another wolfâthe one heâd smacked with his shieldâlatched onto his leg and he yelled out. The chainmail thankfully protected his leg, so the teeth were unable to draw blood. Awkwardly, he stabbed down, and the wolf released his leg as it died.
Sword dripping blood, head throbbing, leg aching, and ankle sprained, Archambeau took too long to pick up the shield. Another wolf bit his arm when he reached again for the shield, and while the chainmail again protected him, the beast held fast to his arm. Before he could stab it, the remaining three wolves pounced, their combined weight toppling him onto his back. His sword arm came free from the wolfâs jaws, and he swung wildly, cutting the sides and backs of a few wolves before they tore into his face and exposed stomach where the mail shirt had rode up.
The wolves feasted on him. In the fury of teeth, claws, blood, and hot breath, a final thought entered his mind: My poor horse.
But he didnât die. The world tilted andâ
âa hand grabbed him under the arm and pulled him into the hallway, out of the first room on the right. Hadnât he entered the first room on the left? The thought was quickly drowned as the whole experience flooded his mind.
He had died and it had felt so real. Hunched over and standing on shaky legs, he gulped in air. He was safe. His skin tingled from where the teeth and claws had mauled him, and patches of his face felt wet where warm blood had spattered. What kind of magic had she done to him?
âGodâs nails ⌠you trickedââ He tried to speak but his throat felt like it had been torn out. Jerking upright, he fell back against the wall, clutching his neck. It felt like a claw had cut his stomach open again, and he thought he might vomit from the image. He hissed, âYou tricked me.â Glaring up at the blind woman standing next to him, he yelled, âWhat in Godâs name was that?â
Those clouded eyes stared back, making him shiver. She stood almost motionless, both hands gripping the staff. âYou saw one of the many paths your life can take. Experiencing such a thing for the first time is never easy.â
Anger flared up within him. âI would be safe in Villaruiss by now if I hadnât been led here!â
âYet you did come here, and you cannot change the past. A similar fate could have befallen you if I had not led you here and if you had chosen not to knock on my door. If you donât die on the road to Villaruiss, then you will die on the Grail hunt, or you will go down a path that you cannot turn back from it. All that potential extinguished because of a mistake.â
âI could die a dozen ways.â
âThe path from here is not as simple as you might expect. You will certainly die if you do not heed my warnings.â
Her words washed over him, thankfully taking away his memories for a moment. He felt like he needed to move, and so he began to pace the hallway from the first set of facing doors to the third. It helped to clear his head. When he was able to think straight, he took a deep breath and faced the old woman straight on, arms crossed. She blocked his way to the stairs. With what she had shown him, he couldnât expect to cut her down with his sword, even if his instincts told him to.
She pursed her lips. âYou could quite handily kill me, but I must advise that you do not.â
Startled, Archambeau stepped away from her, his upper body leaning back as he reflexively placed a hand on the hilt of his sword.
This was a tale straight out of a minstrelâs mouth. Everything he knew about the world told him this was impossible. The future wasnât something one could peek at; it was unpredictable and the only one who had a grasp on it was God. But he had to face the truth: The woman had shown him his own death in as real of detail as reality itself and he had believed it all.
âTell me what you want.â
âYour actions led you to this manor,â she said. Her expression was open and kind; it helped to squash some of his wariness of her. âUntil you chose to embark to Villaruiss on nothing except word of the hunt for the Grail, you never would have found this place. But once you did, I was as certain you would come here as flowers blooming in spring, with some guidance. You have the opportunity to see the many paths your life can take.â
Archambeau paced as she spoke. He glanced at the second set of doors, then at the third and fourth pairs. Three more times? Fear gripped his heart and tore it apart at what he might see. Or was that the wolves?
âI am giving you a glimpse at the paths ahead so that you may better choose when the time comes,â she said. âIt is an honor kings and lords would give anything to have.â
Of that, Archambeau had no doubt. Men would cut their own hand off to know where they sat on Lady Fortuneâs Wheel; they would give up their child to know what her plan for them was. But to him, it felt like a punishment for making the wrong choice, a choice his future self had made, not him. Thatâs what death was: the ultimate punishment for a wrong choice or a string of bad decisions. Few men in his profession died from old age, after all.
âYou must continue before I will answer more questions.â
He stopped at the second set of doors, his left hand squeezing the grip of his sword. With her foresight, she knew all the right things to say to convince him. She knew where he would push against her and knew how to coax him. Strangely, that made him less suspicious. They both knew she was manipulating him, yet it did not bother him. She had lied to him plenty today, but if her words now were true, then all her lies had been for a virtuous purpose. Archambeau almost snorted from amusement. He fully accepted the womanâs skill. She was blind and she could see the future. She had the ability to peek at Godâs Plan and see where he sat on Fortuneâs Wheel. That was her burden to bear, and it did not sound pleasant.
But what if he didnât want to know?
âDonât be a child,â she scolded, giving him a flat stare.
He shied away from those clouded eyes and felt his cheeks heat up. He hadnât said it out loud!
âI refuse to answer any more questions until you finish what has been started. Walk through the next door.â
With a deep breath, he stared at the second door on the left side of the hallway. He took a second deep breath to calm his thumping heart. Gripping the fleur-de-lis-tipped door handle, feeling the hammer strokes that had forced the iron into a rod, he pushed the door open and stepped...