The Red Knight

‘He’s camped outside my place of power.’ The captain reached all the way to the well, a long way for him. Thirty paces through rock. But he could feel the power there, now. He reached out, touched it, took a sip, and cast.

The soap rose, crossed the room, and fell into the bath with a splash.

‘Damn,’ said the captain. Not his soap. The sharpening hones for his razor.

Harmodius grinned. ‘Soap? Is it pink?’

‘Yes,’ said the captain.

‘Still, you are much improved. I know you were well trained, you just have to be less secretive.’ He shrugged. ‘An easy thing for me to say.’ He picked up the soap and then held it out of reach.

‘I’d be able to do more if he weren’t right outside my door, waiting to come in and rip my soul out,’ said the captain, scratching. ‘Soap please?’

Harmodius looked out from the tapestry. ‘Nice new window,’ he said. ‘Get your power elsewhere. You know how.’

‘From the well?’ the captain asked.

‘How about the sun?’ Harmodius asked.

‘I’m a child of the Wild,’ the captain said. ‘My mother made me that way.’

Harmodius wasn’t looking at him. He was looking out over the fields. ‘Do you trust me, boy?’

The captain looked at the tall, proud figure. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘Not to give me my soap, anyway.’

Harmodius barked a laugh. ‘Fair enough. Fair enough. Do you trust me as a mentor in Hermeticism?’

The captain thought for a long few heartbeats. ‘I think so,’ he said.

The old Magus nodded and ripped the tapestry off its hooks, so that the afternoon sun fell right on the tub. ‘Take the soap. With the sun. Do it.’ He held the soap where it could be seen.

The captain felt the sun against his bare skin like a faint weight. He held up a wet hand, and let the sun lick it.

He had always liked the sun. Especially in spring.

. . . scent of flowers . . .

For a fraction of a heartbeat he’d had it, and then revulsion set in. It was like a gag reflex.

The soap didn’t move.

‘Try harder,’ Harmodius said.

‘You could just give me the soap, and we could do this when I’m dressed.’ The captain felt very much at a disadvantage, naked, wet, hurt and vulnerable.

Harmodius narrowed his eyes. ‘Cast.’

The captain tried again. He let the sun kiss him. He drank in-

And spat up, narrowly avoiding his bath. ‘No,’ he said.

‘Better,’ Harmodius said. ‘Very good indeed. May I tell you what I admire in you, Captain?’

‘You’re going to try flattery now?’ asked the captain.

‘It’s not that you are not afraid of anything, because, as far as I can see, you are afraid of everything.’ Harmodius crossed his arms. ‘It’s that you overcome that fear every time.’ He nodded. ‘Now seize the power of the sun and cast.’

He let the sun caress him. He felt the power of it, which was rich, like good cheese – thicker than the power of the Wild, and more intense.

And then something in his mind slammed shut.

‘Damn it,’ Harmodius said. ‘Again.’

The captain took a deep breath, and tried again. He could feel the power. And he wanted it. To touch the sun-

To touch the sun was to be clean.

I am the child of incest and hate. I was made to be the destroyer. I can never harness the power of the sun.

The bathwater was warm, and the sun was warm. He pushed his revulsion down, and he reached for it. He thought of riding in the sun. Of horses in the sun. Of Amicia standing in the sun-

Just for a moment, he connected again. The sun falling on his hand was a conductor, and his skin drank in raw power like a sponge.

And then he gagged on it again. He coughed, physically, and the soap, halfway across the room, fell to the floor.

‘Ah-HA!’ roared the Magus.

‘I can’t do it,’ said the captain.

‘You just did it,’ Harmodius said. He picked up the soap and handed it to the man in the bath. ‘There is no limit, boy. There are no rules. You can tap the sun. For a long time, you will resist it – something in you will resist. But by God, boy, you just reached out and tapped the sun in its purist form. I know men who take the sun from water, from the air. Damn few take power straight from the source.’

His water was cooling, and the captain began to soap himself.

It grew cooler, too fast.

‘You bastard,’ the captain said to the Magus.

‘Best do something about it,’ Harmodius said.

The captain reached out to the well.

Harmodius was there, a tower of blue fire.

He went into his palace.

Don’t, said Prudentia. He’s waiting.

‘So he is, said the captain after touching the key hole.

He could feel the bath getting colder. ‘You bastard,’ he repeated.

The sun was all around him, and he reached for it.

And nothing much happened.

He thought of a summer day. But he thought too much and all he saw was sweat and bugs.

Autumn. The colour of pumpkins and standing corn and wheat ready for harvest – so many things golden and orange and ruddy in the setting sun-