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When one’s life’s work was done in the middle of nowhere, one cannot expect anyone to know one’s name.
That was one of the traits of his livelihood that he had accepted long ago, without knowing it.
His sword was still hot, having only just been used to impale an otherworldly beast. The mission had come to an end, and Hallon had withdrawn to a hill on which to rest. He sat by himself, awaiting his comrades to join him. They were still down in the lowlands, attending the carcass, perhaps collecting pieces of it to study or keep as tokens.
When he was a child, he had harboured the same wish as most other boys in the realm. He wanted to be a knight of the Kingdom, to gain glory and honor through victories in war. He had dreamt of coming to court after a long series of gruelling battles, helping to keep order in the realm, and being greeted with the cheers of multitudes, flower petals floating through the air.
This day’s enemy had been a single entity, yet with the ability to destroy whole villages if it pleased. Swathed in layers of mist like a silk dress, it had been difficult to mark its features, but every once in a while, as he dodged its attacks and was brought up close during the battle, he glimpsed narrow, milky eyes and spidery black legs with shining talons at the ends. It resembled a giant, ghostly insect, its bluish-grey aura ever draping it in a nearly-impenetrable, smoky cloak. These were the most dangerous of foes, as you could not see clearly its body, nor its weapons, until it was upon you.
This one creature was capable of spreading its mist through villages, to do the job of a small army, killing most anything it touched before dawn.
From what he had been told by his Captain, the creature survived in the deep forests by spreading threads of mist like a poisoned “net” to incapacitate its prey so that they dropped dead or lay dying. It would then come and feed on the immobilized victim. The theory was it had once killed some humans that were camping near the woods by chance, and liked the taste, which eventually brought it into the villages in search of more of the same stock.
Its mist could creep through any crevice and crack, between the windows, and under the doors, so no amount of shuttering and barricading could stop it from affecting its victims. It had also been known for using its talons to pick locks, and its ability to effectively bore through wood…
And now it was dead, thanks to them, and lay a lifeless mass under the moonlight, the blue-grey mist still clinging to its body.
Those of the Order had resistance to certain kinds of magic, but they were still mortal, and while there had been no casualties in this battle, it was not without injuries. Looking down into the valley, he could see one of his comrades wrapping another’s leg in bandages, and offering them a potion as they sat on the wet ground.
This was not a task that knights of the King’s realm would have been capable of performing, however brave they may be. It took a carefully coordinated effort of a team using both physical and magical powers to accomplish such a feat.
Those of the Order did not kill men. Perhaps that was what it took for them to know your name.
Killing monsters did not lead to glory or honors, did not grant lands or titles. Who in the wider realm would look to the trials of those at the edges of the world, when they had their own battles to fight at home?
What little recognition he had was limited to those within his military circle.
And yet, for all the blood he had on his hands, he was proud to say that none of it was human.
_
They arrived at the village late in the night.
There were no garlands, no rain of gold, no cheers pouring from balconies as they rode their horses through the dusky streets. The people were not even awake.
He looked around him, at the houses with their thatched roofs, separated by narrow alleys of dark, cobbled stones. Such a simple life these people lived, open to the elements, with not even a wall around their little civilization to separate them from the darkness that lay beyond.
An army of men would be able to cut right through it, with barely an effort. How much easier for a monster to cause devastation? To leave it all in tatters, bones littering the streets, and blood running down the cracks as on a rainy day…
Tired as they all were, he and his comrades kept erect on their horses, as their Captain led them through the winding paths towards their lodgings.
When Hallon was a child, he had heard the knight’s code. To protect the weak, to fight evil, to act with honor and courage.
He had heard of whole villages destroyed due to the quarrels of men. From the safety of his own home in the realm, he had watched the smoke go up in distant villages, flames swirling to the heavens from mountain-sized bonfires.
He thought back then that he wanted to use his powers to protect people. And that was what he had done every day since he had entered the field.
No one outside their circle might ever know his name, and he would get no favors from the King. What mattered was that these people would be waking up the next morning, and it would be because of him.
_
But he was wrong about them being asleep.
On the contrary, the villagers had been quite restless. They had heard of the deaths that had happened in neighbouring villages, and several of them were out on the streets, gathered in the village square, with torches and simple weapons. The men had been waiting for the creature in case it came there, while the women and children and the elderly stayed inside.
The village chief came forward to meet the Captain, who conveyed the news.
“Take heart, for it is dead.”
And the people’s collective countenances changed from one of tense watchfulness to breathless relief as they rejoiced.