The Tale of Rostefoe

"But there’s nothing here!" shouted Cederic. "’Cept some clothes and cheap jewels."

Harron raised an eyebrow and stared into Daphne's eyes.

"Well, there is something after all."

As Harron spoke, Robert brushed against him, walking backwards. He was looking down the long stretch of road that joined with the blue sky. The sun had been bright, making it difficult to focus on the object drawing near.

Harron shielded his eyes with his hand.

"What is it Robert?"

"It…looks like…a knight on horseback."

The three of them could now see what Rostefoe had seen already. A single, shiny figure getting larger with every second.

Daphne saw the knight and smiled. She looked back over at Harron who stood puzzled.

"How many, Robert?"

"One- it looks like…one?"

Harron, confident, crooked a smile and chuckled to himself.

"One knight, huh? A hero- a savior, perhaps? Perhaps not."

He moved to within inches of Daphne, taking her smooth, delicate chin gently in his fingertips.

"I’m not going empty handed today, sweetheart."

"What do we do, Harron?"

"Do? We wait. Knight or no, its only one man. And dead men don’t tell tales."

The vision was majestic. Coming towards them was a brilliant horse. It galloped strongly, rhythmically, never faltering. In its owner’s grasp it was like steel handled by a forge. It was a powerful horse, young and steady.

Stern and powerful, too, was its commanding knight. He was covered in a suit of flawless armour. It’s silver shell reflected every nuance of light, projecting colors and images so magnificently that it was almost blinding. The armour was forged seamlessly. It was rounded and light, with no corners or edges. It seemed new, a symbol of purity, a vessel of strength.

The magnificent rode the brilliant. The horse was named Chariote. Upon Chariote rode Garvin.

Rostefoe was mesmerized. He found himself as do those who fall under the shadow of legend. It was only when the knight brought his steed to a slow gallop that the spell was broken and Rostefoe could once again examine the villain element.

The three brothers stood staggered, but close to one another. In front was Harron, standing calmly with one hand behind his back, his sword concealed there. To his immediate left stood Cederic. His left hand balanced a knife. In the rear was Robert- younger, inexperienced. He had a small mace behind his back, however the chain was longer than he anticipated and the spiked ball dangled in the opening between his legs. As sinister as he tried to look, he drew a short chuckle from Rostefoe who watched incredulously at the scene developing.

Garvin brought Chariote to a stop and dismounted. He took several steps forward towards Harron and looked around. Daphne was standing by the carriage, smiling at him lovingly.

Garvin spoke in a manner indecipherable to Harron. Daphne replied in the same manner, as if answering him with some information. Bucky knelt by the wheel, a look of admiration and respect on his face. The driver was still unconscious by the horses.

Garvin removed his helmet and held it in his left hand above his sword. His face was rigid and hairy. He moved to within a foot of Harron.

"Are you ready to die?" asked Garvin, but again he spoke in a language that the thief could not decipher.

Harron only smiled, nodding.

Then, with speed not readily attributed to him by Rostefoe, Harron took a quick step to the side and, leaning back, gripped the sword in two hands and swung it in an arc through the air and brought it down across Garvin’s chest.

A shower of sparks flew across his face. And when the motion was completed, Harron was leaning over his spent attack and Garvin was standing before him, serious, without a scratch upon his armour.