Anna Kauffman 

2022

This piece was inspired by Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and my take on that type of story. To avoid confusion, the titles that women knights were given instead of 'sir' would be 'dame'.

Dame Topia and the Sorcerer's Army

In the fair kingdom of Camelot was the good and gracious King Arthur who ruled over his kingdom with a fair hand, leading the people into a time of peace and prosperity—any man could vouch for that without the need of a bribe. At the time of this tale, the cold fingers of the winter’s frost had not taken the lands or come early to steal the crops from the people. It was near harvest, the crops of the serfs were plentiful and all was well with the lands. 

King Arthur was in celebration with his knights, who had just come back from a week long hunting retreat—a well-loved sport—and the game they had killed was being cooked in marvelous ways and eaten. The circular wooden table they sat at had no beginning nor an end and therefore no one was placed at the beginning nor the end of the table; they were each placed as important as the next. The merry singing of the men and women carried throughout the hall and only grew rowdier as the gleaming goblets were refilled.

The knights themselves were eating as much as they were drinking as they recounted their own tales of the hunt, reliving the thrill and the triumph that was part of the sport. Each story became grander than the one before as the tales continued to be told, each knight sure his kill was the best. In the midst of the tale-telling and the jolly but unharmonious singing, King Arthur sat with his beloved Queen—Guinevere—at his side.

A loud slamming of the large front doors slammed open, revealing a worn-looking messenger and his humble horse, both drenched in the rain that was heavily falling outside. While the music and chatter faltered and tapered off, the merriment and warmth of the celebration was not lost; the golden and bright candlelight contrasting with the weather outside the hall—dark and cold, while the sky crackled with white streaks.

King Arthur called for someone to get the man a blanket as the cold rain prevented him from speaking; a tongue bitten off by one’s own teeth was of no use to anyone. He made accommodations for the horse as well—the messenger was not going to ride out again in this weather and his horse must be fit to ride tomorrow.

Once the man was sufficiently warmed by furs of game previously hunted, he began to speak, his voice clear and strong despite his recent endeavor,  “King Arthur, we have learned of a great disturbance in your villages—one that only you or your knights could properly calm.”

If it had not been quiet in the hall before, it was now quiet enough you could hear one place down their fork to put aside their food for a story. 

At the king’s request, the messenger continued and relayed a troubling tale of a powerful undead skeleton army aided with magic so whoever tries to strike it down or flee after seeing it is put into a deep sleep from which not even the loudest bell could make them stir. As the tale was being told, a murmur rippled through the crowd, causing King Arthur to frown.

“And how have you survived to tell this tale?” he asked the messenger.

“I was born blind, my king, an affliction that has saved me from the cruelest of fates many times.” Previously discarded as a trick of the light, the statement proved that the light was not a trickster and did not lie. The man’s eyes were clouded over—apparent now that attention was brought to them. Their sight had been taken from them a long time ago.

The king thanked him and made sure he was comfortable for the night before convening with his knights. The celebration continued in the Great Hall after the king assured his guests that he would take care of the issue. The knights stood before him in a different room, this one much more somber, the knights soberer than they had been before. Present and alert now that a threat had been called to attention.

“I have reason to believe that it is all the doing of my half-sister—Morgan le Fay. I have known of her wish to take over the throne for some time now and I see no evidence pointing away from her in this supernatural attack on my lands,” King Arthur confided to them; there were only fourteen there at the time. 

“My king,” the fourteenth knight stepped forward, “it would be my honor to serve you and vanquish a threat such as this.”

The fourteenth knight was Dame Topia who joined King Arthur’s knights after having proved herself a worthy addition to the group: a simple save of the king from a wild boar that had been undisturbed by the many arrows it had gotten to its body, wanting nothing but the King’s blood to be spilled when it rushed at his noble, white steed. Since that fateful day, she had pledged her loyalty to King Arthur and she joined his famed knights.

She was of shorter stature than the rest, only able to come just above the tallest knight’s shoulder but that affected her ability none. Dame Topia was a skilled swordswoman, having practiced with her older brother when he was training to be a knight as well. The only difference was that he was not a knight of King Arthur—having decided to go to other places in the world. She was dressed in her best garments, fit for the celebration she had been taking part in. Swathed in blue cloth with green accents underneath, silver chainmail as the base layer to it all—she was dressed not unlike the men around her. Her hair hit her shoulders and went no longer. 

King Arthur saw nothing but determination in her expression and allowed it to be her honor. She was to depart in the morning but that night they were going to finish celebrating their glorious and hard earned victory that came after the hunting sport.

Therefore, only after much merrymaking and the late hours of the night had disappeared into the early hours of the morning, did they all go to bed. 

The next morning, she was fitted in her armor, a silver and blue knight to behold. She sat high on her loyal horse which was not a beauty to see but instead for practicality and usefulness; it was a strong horse meant for labor. In one hand was a sword, the handle looked as if the metal had been braided together to make it. The other hand held her shield where a fantastical creature was displayed. A fox with antlers set upon its head—as cunning as it was deadly and strong. This was displayed on top of waves of blue and green, a sea of loyalty and truth. 

The king bid her farewell with advice to go to Merlin, his mentor that had helped him on many occasions and might have something to aid her. With this advice taken, she left to find Merlin, following her king’s instructions.

On her journey to the forest in which he lived she was met with an old woman at the edge of the fabled forest, her back hunched from old age and hands gnarled, with a wooden cart laying on its side. 

“My dear knight, might I acquire your help, as menial as the task is?” The woman called to Dame Topia who slowed down her horse so she could properly talk to her.

Merlin’s place was only a short way into the forest, surely she had time to help the old woman and so she got down from her horse, “What is the task, my lady, that you require help with?” 

“I need wood for my fireplace in time for winter and my cart has broken,” she gestured to the wooden cart that laid on its side, useless. Up close the lady looked less helpless and more weary.

Once she had gathered the wood that the lady needed, the knight followed the old lady as she slowly walked through the forest, never straying from the path. The lady never said where they were headed or even how far there was to go, and Dame Topia could only watch as the sun—in the glimpses she caught through the gaps in the trees—rose and then started falling. She stayed in pace with the lady, never faster and never slower, and told the woman her purpose for coming into the woods when she had been asked. 

“I am in search of the wizard Merlin. My king sent me to ask him for aid in my next battle.” She didn’t hide the reason for her journey to the woods—she had no need to. If Morgan le Fay was that tempted to make sure no one except herself succeeded in her endeavors of claiming the throne, she had to go through the knights and in particular, this tale’s knight.

“King Arthur?”

“Yes. He is my king and I have vowed to protect him and his people until the day I die,” Dame Topia looked at the old woman hobbling along but the statement had done nothing to elicit even the slightest reaction from her.

Soon the destination was in view: a small stone cottage. An almost picturesque vision, the cottage was just off the path, behind a short wooden bridge going over a stream where fish were swimming and the sound of running water made it all the more calm. The lady led Dame Topia inside, which was peculiar in the supplies and decorations it held. It was a cozy cottage but not one that a regular old woman would have. Hanging from the widows were drying plants—herbs probably—and a mess of spilled vials was on the counter where the kitchen would be. Instead of a kitchen though, it seemed to be some sort of study with tomes flipped open and stacks of notes sprawled around, sometimes underneath the bottles. 

Dame Topia took this in while she was walking over to the fireplace to stack the wood. As she was stacking it, she saw a jar with what appeared to be eyes and she swore that one turned to look at her.

She turned back to the woman, “Who did you say you were again?”

“I didn’t,” came the simple answer as the woman scanned the books on the bookshelf.

She concluded that it was time to continue her journey to Merlin’s dwelling—it had been near dusk when they had finally got the cottage. “Well,” she paused to find where the woman had gone—she was at the window now, “I think it’s time I continue on my journey. Do you happen to have directions?”

“No, but you do not need them,” the woman turned to face the confused and surprised knight. “My dear child, I am Merlin,” the old woman stood up straight, transforming into the epitome of old magic with his long silver beard and long black robes with golden trim and stitching, magical symbols stitched along the edges where it would him the best ability to call on those symbols or perhaps he just stitched them there to remember them. Gone was the woman’s crooked back and old dirty clothes.

“And I have something that will help you,” Merlin said to her, walking over to the bookshelves with all sorts of magical bits and bobs. His voice crackled with power and secrets which was a sharp contrast to the old woman’s higher-pitched and rough tone.

“I don’t understand. How did you know I was coming?” Dame Topia asked.

“Never underestimate the power of magic, my child. I tested you to find where your true loyalty belongs. It is evident that they are with King Arthur, for you never abandoned the journey or complained,” he told her, handing her an amulet. It was a simple blue pendant on a chain—it didn’t have any dramatics to it. “This will prevent their spell of slumber from being placed upon you. And remember, all magic must have a source.”

The cryptic last sentence only puzzled Dame Topia but with the amulet secured around her neck, she went off to find the army. To her surprise, it was just hitting noon when she left. The time manipulation must’ve been another one of Merlin’s tricks.

She continued on her horse for a short while until the next town was close, knowing she was close to finding the army—the sound of bone on bone was hauntingly loud.

When the army came into view, she saw the destruction that the skeletons had created. People littered the ground so densely that sometimes she had to steer her horse in another direction to get around them. The only small comfort she had was knowing they weren’t dead, only sleeping.

The skeletons themselves were a foul sight to see and smell. Many still had bits of rotting flesh clinging onto their bones which gave off the most putrid smell—as if someone had forgotten one of the animals they hunted out in the sun for too long. It was the type of stench that would cling to your bones. They held spears and swords which were old and starting to fall apart like their owners. 

As if they sensed a new presence, they all slowly faced Dame Topia as she held her sword high and prayed to the Lord for her safety. The undead skeletons then rushed at her, having noticed she wasn’t going to sleep as she was supposed to. Around her neck, she could feel the heat of the amulet through her armor.

Slashing through the skeletons as they came towards her, she appeared to be making progress. That is until the scattered bones trembled on the ground and grouped back together to fight her again. It was obvious that a simple sword would not defeat these unnatural soldiers. Fending off the skeletons as best she could—doing everything she could do to not be torn apart piece by piece—as she tried to craft a plan.

Remembering what Merlin said about magic, she looked for the leader. Every commendable army must have a leader, a person to keep the soldier unified, and looking at the elite soldiers—they must be elite to have gotten so far—they were far too synchronized to not have one. Just as she was thrown off her horse—one of the skeletons had slashed at her horse causing him to startle—she saw what she was looking for. 

A skeleton soldier with the last remnants of armor and a helmet was on the far end of the town-turned-battlefield. The leader, even in their last life.

She jumped down from her horse, knowing he was capable of keeping himself alive even without any material weapons, and slashed her way over to the leader, her warpath not hidden—the bones scattering in the air and hitting the ground before trying to regroup. As she got closer, she could see a slight glow of green emitted from its head in the ways it could: through the one empty eye socket and the holes of the nose that weren’t covered by the almost rusted-away helmet 

All magic must have a source.

That had to be where the source of the magic was then. If she destroyed it, then the skeletons would be released from the magic that was making them undead. The easiest way to do that would be to sever the skull from the rest of its body and crack it open. Using her shield, she defended herself against the swarm of skeletons. Swords and spears alike clashed and clattered against it as she marched towards the leader. 

Swiftly disarming it—quite literally—she wasted no time in chopping the skeleton leader’s head off. When she did so, the soldiers that had been pressing at her shield faltered for a moment and that moment was all she needed. Sweeping the closest soldiers with her shield, she was given space to drop the skull, immediately bringing her sword down on it to deliver the final blow. Her sword flashed in the almost setting sun as it sliced through the rusting helmet, shattered the skull, and finally broke the source of the magic: a single crystal previously stuffed with magic. Now it was shattered and only emitted a dying green ember before being snuffed out completely, turning black like it had charred. 

As the green light died, so did the army around Dame Topia. Crumbling on top of each other and sometimes on top of the now-waking townspeople. Her horse joined her as she was catching her breath and watching the confused, horrified, and occasionally surprised expressions of people as they woke up and took in the scattered skeletons. 

She explained that the threat that had been plaguing their town was subdued and that they no longer needed to worry. Hearing her words, the townspeople rejoiced with shouts of hurrah and celebrated Dame Topia’s victory over the army made of bone. 

The knight was given lodging for that night since dusk had already fallen and it would soon be too dark to travel in along with a warm and delicious meal to eat before she fell asleep. She was also given a couple of mint leaves to chew on to help clear the ghastly smell of the soldiers from her nose and her horse was taken care of. 

The next day she was given a hearty breakfast and sent back with the souvenir of a crystal shard and the thanks of all the townspeople.

When she reported back to King Arthur, a feast was held for the following days in celebration of her victory. She told her tale, embellishing it none, and all the knights cheered as she acted out her battle, imitating the swing of her sword on the leader’s skull. She ended her story by kneeling in front of the king and presenting him with the black crystal, pledging her loyalty once more to him as it would be through all trials and tribulations. 

For the rest of the feast, they sang loudly, drank until their cheeks were flushed, and had a grand and merry time.