“Hello?”
The knight was warned to be wary of traps. She escaped death by poison arrow, falling rocks, and lumbering, undead skeletons that only remained immobile once their skulls were crushed. Her duty was to locate the thief who trespassed, either to capture him or confirm he fell to one of these deadly defenses. That he had avoided these obstacles proved to her this vagabond was skilled.
“Someone there?”
A distant, fearful voice resonated through the crumbling corridors and cobwebs. Another trick of the tomb to make her lose her way. Assertive, she called, “Show yourself!”
Echoes of a man’s meek voice responded. “Please help…”
She paused and called back. “My name is Kilena Maverick and I am a knight. Who are you?” The ringing of her voice faded without a response, until she stepped forward.
“I don’t know.”
If the yelling continued, the knight was certain more dead would awaken. Vicious bats might flood the corridors of the crypt, or worse, if experience from previous expeditions was any indication. “Stay where you are. I am coming for you,” she said fearlessly, and hastened her pace.
Kilena’s mind was burdened by questions, and this mysterious person crying out for help might hold the answers. The torch in her gloved hand illuminated the path ahead with dancing flames, casting long shadows that crafted potential enemies in the darkness. Her trusted short sword was gripped in her right hand, pointed to the ground but prepared to strike if any of these shadowy creatures sprang to life.
Steel armor clinked as she jogged deeper into the dank crypt, the stale air tainted by mold from centuries of rain water seeping into the ground. The strike of her boot covered heels echoed back to her from every stony surface. The knight’s sapphire eyes, hardened with determination, scanned the floor and walls as her torch revealed them. She searched for any conspicuous pieces of stone that might serve as a trigger to another trap, or a strand of rope stretched taught across the floor. At the end of the hall, she turned into the last and oldest room, protecting stone coffins for a long ago deceased king and queen.
By the description she had been given before undertaking this adventure, she identified the cloaked man who stood between two open tombs as the thief. Sniveling, he questioned, “Are you- Who are you?”
“I am Kilena,” she boldly declared. “Are you Ezekiel?”
Lifting a pair of round, honey brown eyes to the flames, he stammered, “K-Kilena? Ez-Ezekiel? W-who?”
Kilena searched his scruffy, slender countenance through the flickering shadows cast by her torch and found he exuded confusion. He trembled, a small stone clutched in his fingers. The pad of his thumb nervously caressed the smooth surface. A short bow was situated over his shoulder, his belts littered with knives, but he did not reach to draw them. “Yes. You are Ezekiel. Allow me to take you home, sir,” she requested, aggressive tone softened.
Kilena’s request received silence in response. Sheathing her sword, her gaze rounded with innate kindness. Her gloved hand extended openly toward the thief. “I will not harm you,” she kindly promised, “or allow you to be harmed.”
Ezekiel’s trembling voice asked, “Are you a knight?”
Firmly, and with pride, she answered, “Yes, sir. My name is Kilena, former knight of the Iron Rose. I only wish to help you.”
Disoriented, he stammered. “A-and I’m- Ezekiel?”
“Yes, that is your name. Please allow me to help you,” she implored.
More hesitant seconds passed, protracted in the deafening silence and interrupted only by the crackling of her torch. Thin wisps of smoke from the constant flame, illuminating a short radius around her, drifted toward the low ceiling of the mausoleum. Kilena’s patient hand remained steady. The corridor she had traversed to reach the room of the king and queen’s defiled stone caskets echoed eerily with the distinct snapping of bones. Ezekiel found his frightened voice. “What was that?”
“Guardians of this tomb,” she answered, tone adopting a cautious edge, and retracted her hand to wrap it around the hilt of her sword.
Raising a hand to hold the side of his head, he muttered, “Why?”
“That would be better explained once we have reached safety. I will protect you,” Kilena urged earnestly, drawing her weapon. The addled man breathed more rapidly. “Follow me,” she instructed, and turned around to face the doorway with her back to Ezekiel. “Do not be afraid.” Bravely, the knight strode forward, but a living skeleton stood in the corridor to block the only exit. A sinister glow shimmered from empty eye sockets in its skull. Bulkier than the others, this one wielded a claymore clutched in a gloved hand, and wore a tattered cloak over cracked armor plates with torn, brittle leather. Kilena raised her chin and tilted her torch forward to gaze upon the helm, discovering its design was identical to the knights of Crowedge. “I mean you no harm, nor the family you protect. Please allow me to escort this man to safety.”
Rotating at the waist with her eyes locked to the guardian she extended her left arm to Ezekiel, and with a trembling hand the thief accepted her torch. The rancid air around them reverberated with the basal tone that answered. “You have trespassed on sacred ground, dragonkin. You have stolen from the noble family. Now you will face punishment for your transgressions.”
The words permeated Kilena’s armored torso, and her heart palpated. “So be it. Then we will battle,” she sedately declared, tightening her grip on her sword. Hand free, she unclasped the circular buckler from her back and firmly held it in front of her torso by two leather straps. The guardian swiftly raised its weapon, joints unhindered by age or decay. The blade’s tip nearly struck the ceiling before it switched direction and swung down toward the trespasser.
Kilena braced into a partial squat. She shoved her buckler forward to slam into the oncoming claymore and brush aside the guardian skeleton’s attack. Thwarted by Kilena’s swift defense, an opening was made that allowed her to advance on her opponent. Stepping forward, her elevated sword rotated to an angle and swung down with all collected strength. The short blade cleaved between the chest plate and spaulder to separate the shoulder joint. A deafening clang of metal on stone resounded when the skeleton’s arm fell and the claymore clattered on the floor.
Kilena shouted, “Run!”
Kilena Shrelack 