[originally published February 5, 2014]
“Filth!” the Red Knight shouted, drawing her blade.
“Enough!” the
baron cried out. “This will not come to blows in my own hall! I am lord here, and no one else!”
“But, father” Dame Varisia replied with a mix of
confusion and disgust, gesturing at their prisoner “she is an orc!”
Varisia spat on the ground at Callista’s feet. “A filthy mountain orc of Vaasa, no less!”
The prisoner stood proudly before the assemblage of
courtiers and merchants.
“I am Dame Callista Armageddon of Falconcrag. I am a freehold knight of Vaasa, and my
people are not filth. We name the winter
wolf as brother, and the snow leopard as mother. We herd the reindeer of our native tundra,
and we slay the white yeti where we find it.
We are warriors, aye, but the world of men holds no draw for us. We do not raid your lands, and we do not seek
your gold. It is we that keep the orcs
and ogres of the mountains from your passes.
We ask for nothing in return but to be left in peace.”
“Liar!” Varisia sneered. “She would name herself a knight
of Vaasa. There are no knights of
Vaasa. There are no orc knights
anywhere!”
“Is what Varisia says true, young Rikkard?”
“I would not lightly disagree with Dame Varisia, my lord,
as she is a brave and true knight . . . ,” he began.
“But . . . ?”
But,
my lord,” he continued. “In this case
she is misinformed, at least in regard to Dame Callista’s status.”
“And what of this status?”
“Dame Callista was indeed knighted, my lord Baron,” he
began. “And it actually came to pass on
a battlefield in Vaasa, hence her claim.
It was a brief affair, as all such dubbings tend to be,” he
supplied. “I witnessed it in person,
however, and it was well earned. I was
serving at the time as a squire to my uncle Olwen, the Duke of Soravia. You see, it was I who handed the Duke the
very blade that he tapped on each of Dame Callista’s shoulders.”
The Baron of Ironspur nodded and sat back on his throne.
“I am satisfied,” he said. “I accept the eyewitness account of Sir
Rikkard of Kinnery without reservation.
Long before Olwen of Kinbrace was either Duke of Soravia or my liege, he
was my trusted friend and brother in arms. I will not
question his judgment, nor the merit of those he has knighted by his own hand.”
As her father announced his decision, Varisia’s face
reddened until it nearly matched the crimson of her cloak. In a rage, she stormed from the great hall of
Ironspur. Her squire stood frozen in
place next to where her mistress had just stood. After a moment, Baron Virdanis waved the
young woman off in the direction her mistress, amid light laughter.
Once the youngster had skittered out of the hall in
pursuit, the Baron turned his attention to the tall half-orc warrior, and
nodded.
“Go in peace, Dame Callista Armageddon of
Falconcrag. You are a knight of Damara
as much as you are of Vaasa. Never
forget that. May the One Who Endures
watch over you.”
Callista bowed low before the Baron and took her leave of Ironspur, for the one and only time she would ever set foot in the place.