Fall of Knight Read Free Page A

said the girl, then pondered it a moment. “What does that mean?”
    “If you have to ask,” replied Lailoken, “you will never understand.”
    At that moment a roar went up as the carcass of the unicorn was hauled in by several servants. It had been dressed up a bit, the blood cleansed from its hide, but it was still hanging upside down. Staff holders had been erected at either end of the table, and the long rod from which the unicorn was dangling was set into them, first one end, then the other. There were “ooos” and “ahhhhs” from everyone present, for only a few of them had actually been out beating the bushes or a part of the hunt. A couple of females actually swooned into the arms of their men, although Lailoken cynically suspected that it was merely an act in order to gain attention and sympathy.
    The unicorn’s eyes remained open, although they were now opaque. It was like a thick fog had rolled in over an ocean, making it impossible to see the roiling blue waves. Its tongue was hanging out slightly from its mouth. Lailoken was seized by an urge to reach over and try to bring its eyelids down over its eyes out of respect. But he resisted the impulse, unable to bear the thought of what his father would say in response to such an action.
    Stepping down from his throne, the warlord walked with that unmistakable swagger that indicated to Lailoken that his father had already consumed more mead than was probably good for him…and as the evening was young, it was terrifying to think what he was going to be like by the end of it.
    “Bring me my chalice,” called the warlord, “and the weapon!”
    Lailoken’s eyebrows knit, unsure what weapon the warlord was demanding to see. Moments later, however, he understood, and his blood boiled in fury. He knew the warlord’s chalice only too well. It was wooden, but ornate and rimmed with jewels…a magnificent vessel that he’d acquired from some plundered hoard somewhere, ostensibly from some manner of secret society who’d fought to the last man to protect it. It was a drinking vessel that the warlord saved only for special occasions such as this. But Lailoken’s spear was also being brought forward, stains of the unicorn’s blood still visible upon it.
    Before he even knew what he was doing, Lailoken was on his feet and pointing angrily. “That’s mine!” he cried out against all better judgment. “You had that taken out of my chamber!”
    The warlord stared at him placidly as the cheering and shouting from all around instantly subsided. His voice was very quiet when he replied, which was always dangerous. When he roared with anger, much of it was for show. When he spoke softly, that was when the recipient of his words was in the greatest peril. “All that is in this place,” said the warlord, “is mine. Even that which is yours is mine, and merely something that I let you have at my sufferance. It is debatable whether you contributed anything to the successful conclusion of the hunt. However, I am doing you the courtesy—the honor—of making you a symbolic participant in this ceremony by utilizing your spear. Do you have a problem with my extending that honor to you?”
    There is no honor in this. What we’ve done—what I’ve done—dishonors us all. We all deserve to die. Those were the words that hammered through his mind, but he dared not speak them. Instead, his teeth gritted, he replied, “No, father.”
    “Are you quite certain?”
    “Yes, father.”
    The warlord still made no move, the air crackling with tension. Then, as if his son had not spoken, he swept his arms wide in a theatrical manner…the spear in his left hand, the cup in his right. Addressing the entirety of the hall, he cried out, “Behold! The creature known as the King of Unicorns! A king without followers; a lord without a land. See how I have laid him low! See how this moment will remain a message for all those who think that they are truly greater than they are!”
    He