Extra Credit

Greetings. The following is a story I wrote last night for extra credit in one of my classes. I can’t say it’s very good, but it’s not the worst thing I’ve written. There was no planning involved… just simply stream-of-consciousness writing. I’m not sure why, but I decided to share it here. Enjoy.

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It was on the fifth day of the fourth month of the year of our Lord 1876 in the beautiful country of Wontauk, on the continent of Dupree. Sir Arthur Felix DeCounsel Montenegro III rode swiftly on his noble steed—the speediest in the land!—to alert the court of the High Order of the impending doom headed toward their kingdom.

“Raise the gates! Raise the gates!” he shouted as he neared the outer wall. “I must get to the High Order!”

The guards reluctantly opened the gate as Sir Arthur neared. They did not want him to find out that he was banished from the kingdom. But, orders were orders. They lowered the gate for the knight’s final entry to his homeland.

Sir Arthur rode down the main street for a long while before taking the road up the hill. As he traversed the winding path, he got the impending sense that this ride was different. He was uneasy. But the kingdom must be warned. He plowed ahead.

Inside the court at the top of the hill, the prophets looked down with a sneer. It was by their decree that Sir Arthur was banished. They smacked their lips with glee as he neared their castle, ready to give the official declaration.

“The kingdom is under attack! Rouse the guards! Assemble the army!”

Phylander smiled evilly as Sir Arthur slid off his horse. “You have not heard the news, then?”

“I have! The kingdom of Thraknor wages war against us. We must rally our infantry.”

Several other prophets gathered around Phylander, wanting to see the knight’s face when he was told of the news. Phylander growled from the depths of his throat. “You are banished forthwith from the kingdom of Dra’ak, along with all the knights that bear your blue star, under penalty of death.” As if on cue, two strong men picked up Sir Arthur under his shoulders and began carrying him down the mountain. A third led his horse after him. The prophets shuddered with glee as Sir Arthur’s face expressed shock and confusion without uttering a word.

Once the disgraced knight was out of sight, the great dragon Firestalt, the Fear of the West, slid from his hiding place from beneath the stones of the castle. His voice sounded of rockslides and lightning and his footsteps frightened the very prophets whose minds he had taken control of.

“Excellent, my puppets. You are free to flee to the city of Tor, where your reward will be waiting for you. This kingdom will burn!” The dragon’s scales glistened with delight at the thought of the infernal city.

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Outside the city walls, Sir Arthur met with the knights of the Blue Star, the bravest of all the men of Dupree. They numbered twenty-two, all banished from the kingdom with the fear of its destruction impending.

“What are we to do?” one knight asked.

“What can we do?” came one reply.

“How have the prophets gone mad? Why will they not reason with us?”

Sir Arthur looked at them from atop his steed. “I do not understand what is going on. But I do know what is right. Our homeland, our families are going to die, unless we do something.”

“You are not suggesting we take on a vast army, horribly outnumbered as we are!”

Sir Arthur looked at his offended companion. “I know you have it in you. You would not be a Blue Star if you did not.”

No other knight voiced concern. They all knew what they needed to do. It was very likely that they would all die, but their integrity could save Dra’ak.

“There is not much time. I can feel the stampede of horse hooves heading swiftly towards us.” They looked at each other, completely confused as to their situation, but faithful to the end. Putting themselves in battle formation, they rode their horses into the East, toward the coming onslaught, ready to make their ultimate sacrifice for the good of the people of Dra’ak. With swords raised high, glistening in the sun, they galloped toward death, never feeling more alive.