Peter Rambier's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Peter Rambier walked into the ruined hamlet alone, sword drawn, cape dragging through ash. He was young, barely twenty, but he had sworn an oath: to build a knightly order for villages like this one, the forgotten places no lord would guard. Now the village lay broken. Splintered doors. Crushed fences. A child's shoe in the mud. The beast had come first, and Peter had come too late. The survivors huddled by a well. He knelt among them and planted a blue banner in the dirt, a golden dog stitched on the cloth. "Stand behind this," he said. "I'll face it." An old woman gripped his arm. "It broke six of our men. You're only one." Peter nodded. He knew the odds. He raised the banner anyway, so the frightened people had something to look toward. The monster answered the banner. It crashed through a barn wall, scaled and huge, built to corner a lone fighter. It circled him, herding him from the villagers, cutting off his room to swing. Peter feinted left, then drove his blade under its jaw. The beast reared and knocked him flat. He rolled, came up bleeding, and stabbed again through its ribs. It screamed. This time it did not rise. Peter stood over the dead creature, breathing hard. The villagers crept forward. Then a slow clap sounded from the rooftops. A small figure perched there in a purple hat far too big for her. Green eyes glowed in a young, sharp face. Bones and skulls hung from her black robe. Peter's stomach dropped. He knew her. She had grown the beast from spite and set it loose to break him. "Morgatha," he said. Morgatha Blackthorn tilted her head at the banner. "A dog. How sweet. You want an army of farmers." She smiled without warmth. "You killed my pet. Fine. I've already found a better game." Peter lifted his sword. "What game?" "Your banner told me who you are. A boy who protects the weak." She laughed. "So I'll take the one thing that could keep them safe forever." From her sleeve she drew a small red rose. Its petals glowed with soft light. "They call it the rose that cheats death. Grown from a single bloom, hidden in the deep woods." Peter's grip tightened. "You'll heal no one with that." "Heal?" Morgatha's eyes narrowed. "I mean to burn the whole vine to root. If your little order can't save these people from dying, what's the point of you?" She crushed a fistful of black dust and vanished in smoke. The rose vanished with her. Peter stood among the wounded, the dead beast at his feet. He had won the fight and lost the greater prize. Somewhere in the deep woods, the last cure for these villages waited, and a witch raced to destroy it. He wiped his blade and turned toward the trees.