Trial of the Mountain

There once was a knight who didn’t know where he was from, where he was going, or where he had left his lunch. This last question was the most pressing for him, as he had no issue locating his stomach, and the gnawing, clawing hunger that dwelled there.

That he had had a lunch, he was somehow sure. If he closed his eyes, he could almost taste what by rights should be in his stomach right then. But then he also had the distinct sense that he would pitch over sideways, and he wanted to avoid that entirely.

Instead he continued walking along the path he found himself on, his sturdy and dirty boots crunching over loose stones, one gauntleted and gory hand aimlessly trailing along the boulders to his left, tentatively probing the rocks for any chance of support. If he fell over, he decided that he would try to slump against the rocks. The precipice to his right seemed far less appealing.

He was heading downwards, he realized, which was generally the easier direction to take on a mountain. Clearly, he had had some clarity of thought when he started on this path, even if he had lost his lunch along the way.

Some clarity continued to grace him as he continued down the side of the mountain. By the time he had rounded a side of the mountain and seen a tiny little village laid out before him his feet were practically dragging against the ground, the slow creaking shuffle threatening to grind to a halt at any moment. But then he saw the village, and he did fully stop for a moment, allowing himself to lean into the side of the mountain.

The village did not change as he stood there scrutinizing it. From this distance he should have been able to make out movement, but there was no sign of life.

Finally, the knight found the strength to push off from the boulder his arm had nestled so gratefully against and forced his feet to continue their dragging procession. Now he knew which direction he should move forward to, though it was daunting that the destination lay so far ahead. Still, he was a knight of no little strength and will power, and he pushed forward with gritted teeth.

It was with this resolute shuffle march that he first set foot in the village, walking down what must have been the main road, as it was the widest and the dustiest. It took him a while to look up as he marched along the street, he was so focused on his destination. But it finally occurred to him that he did not know his destination, now that he had reached this point, and his progress slowed as he looked about him.

Every building around him stood lifeless. Laundry hung off lines between houses, bees leisurely passed from plant to plant in the neat gardens, able to indulge as he could not in readily available meals. He paused at one house that had several chickens milling around and considering wringing a neck and making himself a fire and a good meal. But there was an eeriness to the empty place that made him hesitant to stop, no matter how much he yearned for food. His neck crawled at the quiet, and his feet shuffled on.

He passed through what must have been a market next, and to his relief saw stands of food, sitting unattended. This his stomach could not pass up, and he grabbed up apples, loading them into a crook of one arm as another hand held one to his mouth. He ate every bit of that apple, pit and all, as he continued his exploration.

It was more concerning to see the empty market with the abandoned stalls than the empty gardens and houses, and the knight began to think as he walked and chomped that he should leave this village. Clearly the people had felt the need to leave in a hurry, and he did not want to encounter whatever had driven them away. He looked about him again, wondering if he should turn around, or if there was a faster route out of the village now that he had walked so far into it. As he did so, his eyes fell upon a church, and he felt that he should at least stop to pray before moving on. Clearly, he had suffered some calamity, and he should thank God for sparing his life, if not his memories.

The doors to the church were barred. Or at least they would not open when he pushed initially pushed on them, and then when he tried shoving them open, risking bruising the collection of apples still held up by one arm. Angry at this, he grunted and kicked the door with one boot, before turning to leave. He was now absolutely determined that he should leave this accursed village immediately.

But as he limped down the steps, he heard a scraping noise behind him, and stopping to glance over his shoulder he saw a stack of heads peering at him through the now opened door. That they were angels, he knew for sure was not true. Mops of hair sat atop worried faces, which widened as mouths opened to gape. Then shout.

“The knight!”

“He has returned alive!”

“It is the knight!”

And other variations, all around this theme. The church door swung completely open now, and the entire populace of the village poured out to surround him, shouting and cheering.

It was clear that the villagers recognized him, and he felt many hands reach out for him, steady him, even as the press of bodies around him made him sway. It was impossible to hear any particular words around him, so he did not attempt to ask any questions at first. It was only once the people around him calmed that he felt able to speak.

“Good townspeople,” he managed finally, and everyone fell silent. “Whatever has come to pass recently, I find myself unable to remember.” Here he paused, uncomfortable with that confession, and not sure how to continue.

“He was injured killing the dragon!” a man besides him shouted. The knight found this to be an extremely helpful statement.

“Indeed,” the knight said slowly. “I killed a dragon?” he added for confirmation.

“That is why you went up the mountain!” someone else supplied.

“You must have killed it, for you to be alive!” someone else added.

The knight nodded his head, all of this was very logical. And it even explained what might have happened to his lunch, though the details were still fuzzy.

A man who reintroduced himself as the mayor led him to the local inn, where his wounds were treated, and food was supplied. And all along the way he was followed by a happy procession of people.

That night he slept at the inn; the best room offered to him free of charge. The next morning, he had an ample breakfast, the mayor presented him with a sack of golden coins, and he was offered a horse for his journey. Apparently, he had ridden in on one, but none had come down from the mountain.

The grateful villagers also provided him with a map to a castle nearby, where a wizard was said to live. He headed in that direction on his new horse and with his bag of golden coins secured at his side, hopeful that the villagers had been right, and there was a wizard who could restore his memories to him.

It was almost a day’s journey through mostly empty land, save for a smattering of trees and empty fields, the wheat already cut down for the season. By the time the knight arrived at the wizard’s tower the sun was beginning to set, and he found himself once again quite hungry.

The tower was simply that, a pile of stones haphazardly arrayed in a long tube, that stretched to a ridiculous height into the clouds above. There were no stables for his horse, so the knight dismounted, and knocked on the front door.

He waited, and wondered where the wizard was in his tower, and if he was at the top, if he would even be able to hear the knight. He knocked again, and this time heard a booming voice in answer.

“Who goes there?!” the voice asked. His horse flicked its ears back, but otherwise seemed unimpressed.

“I seek your aid, wizard!” the knight shouted back.

There was only silence in response. The knight waited longer, considered knocking again, but then the door opened for him.

Before him stood what he would normally have thought of as a short, old man, if not for the red glowing eyes and the two obsidian horns that poked out from his long grey hair. “Aid, you say?” the wizard asked, eyes flicking from the wizard to the horse.

“I recently fought a dragon,” the knight began, unable to stop staring at the horns. “And I lost my memories during the battle. I come seeking your aid to restore them.”

“A dragon, you say!” The wizard exclaimed. Then he chuckled and gestured for the knight to enter. The knight paused to look at his horse, but the wizard waved a hand, and suddenly his horse stood rigid. “Come, come inside!” the wizard was practically jumping up and down now, and the knight found his feet slow to move once again, as he shot one last look at his horse. The poor beast rolled one eye at him, its body quivering, but still it gave no sign that it would be able to move from the spot.

“Now, what you will need is a potion.” The wizard said, once the knight had stepped inside. The knight immediately looked up, but there was no sign of the rest of the tower above them. When he looked down, he could see a bed in one corner, a fireplace with a skillet hanging nearby, a bench that the wizard was bending over, and the knight wondered what the rest of the tower was for.

“I will need some of your hair,” the wizard said, and the knight obediently yanked out a few strands and handed them over. Then he watched in horror as the wizard opened a box, removed a live frog, pulverized it, then sprinkled in his hair. The knight turned away as the wizard continued working, his nose the only part of him to continue being offended by the potion making. Finally, the wizard finished, and he waved a bottle under the knight’s nose, a gleeful look in his garnet eyes. The knight wondered for a moment if he was one of those knights who was sworn to kill monsters, since he had fought a dragon. And if that was true, if he should strike down this wizard in front of him. But the thought passed, as the knight did not feel confident that he could win, and he wanted to the potion the wizard was presenting to him, no matter how foul the process had been to make it.

The knight reached out for it, but the wizard drew it back. “You must pay first.” The wizard scolded.

“How much?” the knight asked.

“How much is in that sack?” the wizard asked, pointing at the pouch of golden coins the knight had just received.

The knight scowled at the wizard. “More than I am willing to give you,” he replied.

“Then you do not value your memories enough!” the wizard replied.

“These coins could buy your tower five times over,” the knight replied, sure now that the tower did not even exist. “If you insist on all of them, I will go find another wizard with a smaller fee, and you will have wasted your time and your supplies.”

The wizard shrugged. “I can always sell this to another knight with no memory, you would be surprised how many knights come here with the problem,” he added the end slyly.

“With my hair in it?” the knight countered. “Half the purse.”

The wizard scowled at him. “Three quarters.”

“Two thirds” the knight countered.

The wizard glowered at him some more, then shrugged, and held out a hand. The knight opened the pouch, and frowned as he counted the coins, then gave the wizard his share. The wizard bit one of the coins contemplatively as he handed over the potion with another hand, then shouted at the knight to stop.

The knight did stop, the vial uncorked, ready to pour the contents into his mouth.

“You cannot drink it now, or it will not work.” The wizard told him.

“What?” the knight answered, annoyed at this news.

“You must face fight another dragon. Drink the potion when you first see it, then slay it, then all of your memories will be restored.” The wizard told him.

“What potion is this!” the knight replied angrily. “You did not tell me it required me to fight another dragon!”

“You’ve already fought one, what are you worried about?” the wizard asked.

“But now I have to find another one…” the knight protested.

“Don’t worry, I know there is one in the area.” The wizard answered, and chuckled.

“Can you tell me where?” the knight demanded.

“Why yes, you have told me where it will be.” The wizard replied, this time almost cackling.

“I have told you no such thing!” the knight countered.

The wizard sighed. “You say you killed a dragon on a mountain?” the wizard asked, his tone implying the knight was slow minded. “But you only are here with a bag of coins? You left behind the hoard?”

The knight slowly nodded his head.

“Then by now another dragon will be there, picking through its new additions to its hoard,” the wizard chuckled again. “But you must hurry back!” the wizard told the knight, and with that he waved the knight from his tower. Another wave of his hand released the horse, which would have bolted, if the knight had not held fast to the halter.

As the knight swung on to his horse and rode off, he heard the wizard’s laugh behind him, and he had to ride some distance before it fully faded into the distance. It was full dark now, but the knight pressed on, wishing to get the finally step of this journey over with. He rode through the village while the people were still sleeping, only pausing to draw more water from the well for himself and his horse, before beginning his ascent back up the mountain.

It was faster going up than coming down, despite how tired his horse was. When they reached the top the knight dismounted, patting the poor creature and securing it to a nearby tree that jutted out between two boulders. Nearby was the mouth to a cave, and the knight set his shoulders and entered it, trying to keep his steps as quiet as possible.

He made it only a few steps before he heard a crunching noise ahead of him, the sound of coins clinking and sliding past each other, some massive object sliding along the ground. The knight paused long enough to drink the potion and draw his sword, then he continued deeper into the cave.

And was met with a sudden burst of purple powder. The knight had to stop his progress again, this time bending over to gasp and cough. A tail appeared from out of the settling dust and whipped him back against the wall. The knight lay there stunned, as the dragon lumbered past him.

The knight tried to lie as still as possible, hoping the dragon would take him for dead, and come back. But as he lay there, he heard an immense racket from the mouth of the cave. Lights flickered too, as spurts of flame lit up the night occasionally. The knight lay there, perplexed for a while, then there was silence.

The knight stood up and limped to the mouth of the cave.

The dragon was heading back inside, and upon seeing him stopped. The knight tensed and raised his sword.

“Oh,” he distinctly heard the dragon say. “You have killed me.” Then the dragon slumped over.

The knight stood rigid to the spot, transfixed as his horse had been earlier. The dragon opened one eye and stared at him. “We did not fight yet,” the knight informed him.

“Why do you remember that?” the dragon demanded, as he clambered to his feet. “the potion has never failed before.” The last was a mutter.

The knight considered this for a moment. “I took a potion as I entered your cave, a potion I received from a wizard in a tower with glowing red eyes and two obsidian horns.”

“Wizards!” the dragon huffed, a bit of smoke tufting from its nostrils. It was hard to make out the dragon in the darkness, but the knight suddenly had the sense that he was standing before an older dragon. His hands tensed over his sword.

“Did you receive a potion from the same wizard that would steal the memory of all who challenged you?” the knight demanded.

The dragon huffed again. “It has always worked in the past,” the dragon huffed again, as his only answer.

“But why?” the knight asked.

“If I kill the knights, then more come. If the knights think they have killed me, then the stop coming, till I am spotted again.” The dragon answered plainly.

The knight considered this a moment, then shrugged. “I must kill you, if I am to get my memories back.” He informed the dragon.

“Wizards!” the dragon said again. Then a burst of flame came from his mouth and enveloped the knight. “Now I must find myself another mountain,” the dragon huffed, as he climbed over the charred remains and headed back to his hoard. “Oh, what a trial!”