A strident shriek pierced the blust'ry night's veil as Good Lady Lenne ran barefoot down the castle road.
"Possessed! He's possessed! There'n be a daemon in that armor!"
Her words were underscored by the pitt-patt of her soles against the cobblestone. A howling wind fluttered the train of her wedding dress behind her
as she ran, as thumping wood doors gave way to legions of torches. The stomping of feet, the wooshing of wind and the creaking of branches followed her
until she she found rest in the town square, recovering on the stairs of the crier's rostrum. As the townsfolk drew round her, she breathed deeply and composed herself.
The Alderman approached and addressed her with as much concern as his weary mind could muster:
"Good Lady Lenne, what has afflicted ye so terribly on a wretched and ugly night such as this? Your nuptials are yet hours old; the warmth of marriage is best shared
amongst oneself, not cast to the wind for the Fae to find. Where be ye betrothed, the good Lord Knight Galhain?"
Lady Lenne spoke calm but quaverous as she held her nerves at bay:
"Your words hold true, Alderman. The virgin Artemis hides herself hides above in gray-cloudy cover on this night-- a bride much less belongs in this roughness.
Alas, Galhain is the very reason for my flight!"
The winds died down at her proclamation, yielding the air. The Good Lady Lenne found her confidence and continued in a firm voice as the crowd drew closer.
"I had spent the early evening with my lover, as is right with a marriage freshly made. Galhain was as he always was, clad in that noble mail from head to toe. When
the time came for our union's consummation"-- this she spoke of with embarassment undetected, for the night did her one grace and hid a flush rushing to her face--
"I looked upon a wretchedly ugly truth. Whatever creature lurks within that armor is no knight of honor: it is a daemon!"
The townsfolk gasped at her declaration; the boughs shook in surprise; many of weaker wills fainted.
The Alderman, now fully in his senses, spoke in quiet, sensitive tone.
"My Good Lady, what makes ye think a daemon hath took up residence in the Lord Knight's castle? I trust ye word, Good Lady, but a daemon
tis a blight of most remarkable make. If wert a daemon, that would spell rot at our very core. Could there be any chance it was a visitor from the Faer Folk,
or a spectre, or a dullahan?"
"Nay, it were no member of the Tuath De. Since this morn's ceremonies drew close, I hadn't released my lover from my gaze adoring. We were
together all evening; not even the most fickle Fae could have wiled its way in.
"Neither was it spectre, for I felt not deathly cold but a living heat. As stated my lover and I were hipbound throughout the night, and through
that connection I felt a warmth. When the moon was halfway up its climb, we retired to our chambers; there,
as the hellhost picked me up so gently and laid me down upon a feather-soft bed, I again felt that warmth. That warmth was doing due
to the infernal bile coursing through its body, I now understand. Its very blood ablaze!
"Nay Neither could it be a dullahan, for the removal of its visor was proof of its nature. It had continuity in its being, of this there is no doubt: as it began
to lay down its armor, I saw the full body of the man I loved, sculpted by Pygmalion. Yet, as it at last unfixed its helm from its foul form, I glimpsed the most
accur'd countenance it hid. The eyes that pierced me were not of the light, though they did have a pale radiance within. I needed naught but one fleeting glance at
its ghastly guise to confirm
the truth most grim: my newlywed lover," her voice now strained, "the Lord Knight Galhain is wighted. Oh, how could such a blessed day be followed by such a
wretched night!"
Her composure broke again, and the Good Lady Lenne wracked with sobs.
"Aye, Good Lady, your logic is sound. Twas not me place to put such scrutiny on you. Come, let us fetch the Holy Man. Only he can deal with a daemon-- and
this tis the only reason we keep him round."
So off the two went to fetch the Holy Man.
The Holy Man took up residence in a thatched hut on the outskirts of town. While this made for an unpleasantly long journey on a wretched night like this, on the whole this arrangement was preferred because no one quite liked him. The Holy Man spent his days telling off the townsfolk, proclaiming somesuch behavior or another was frowned upon by his Lord the God. It seemed to many that this God frowned upon so many facets of daily life that God's quarrel was indeed with the whole act of life itself. The townsfolk thus concluded that they were stuck with such a rotten Holy Man because all the betters had dutifully followed their God's teachings and ceased the benighted practice of living altogether. The people often prayed that one day their Holy Man would be as pious as those others.
After trudging their way through the tangles and bramble, finally they happened upon the Holy Man's hut and rapt at his door. A few moments passed with no response, and so the Good Lady Lenne spoke up. "Twould be wise to ensure that the man is in fact home. I concede, tis the hour where all good things are at rest in their homes, but we know all well that this man is a spiteful being. It would befit him to be running amuck at this evening's hour." The Alderman found this suggestion sensible, and pressed his ear against the hut's door to see if the tenant was awake. While he marked no sounds of life, the Alderman did note a low periodic roar. The Holy Man's snores resounding throughout his thatched up like a sleeping drake curled atop its mountain of gold.
The Alderman again knocked upon the door, and swiftly delivered a second and third. Upon this third knock did the snoring cease, and the resting wyrm stumbled
to the doorway and opened the door but an inch. A gravelly voice spurned the pair:
"What business could one have on a wretchedly ugly night such as this? The Lord our God frowns upon those making mischief when His eyes cannot see. State your
business and swiftly depart!"
The Alderman, already absent of patience, curtly replied "The Good Lady Lenne has had dealings with a devil this nightfall; the Lord Knight Galhain is wighted."
The Holy Man and his door squeaked in unison at the mention of a devil, as he promptly slammed it shut. A moment later the door opened a crack again,
and the Holy Man whimpered:
"A d-devil, you say? In the Ser Knight's abode? Of this you are absolutely sure?" and the Lady Lenne restated her reasons. She finished:
"So you see, Holy Man, we have need of your practise. It is none of our wishes that our acquiantance is made thus-- or indeed at all-- but only you bear the arms
that could set the devil to flight."
The cretin sighed and meekly affirmed her.
"Verily, you speak true. Give me a moment to prepare the sacraments. I wish to resolve this posthaste."
With the miserable man in tow the party began their final trek across town to the Good Lord's keep. This last leg was by necessity the slowest of their goings: the evening's exploits had taken so long that the moon's descent was well underway-- and the Witching Hour nigh. It was now that beloathed time of night where the mind's faculties failed and the world seemed unwound. What may be naught but nagging nettle in daylight is indistinguishable from grasping hands; roads would lengthen as West parted from East instead choosing to pair with North. The small band would have no hope of ever navigating to the keep if Artemis did not bestow her blessings of slatted light to just barely mark their path. At last, they happened upon the hold of Lord Knight Galhain.
With the Good Lady as their guide, the trio made their way throughout the keep. They passed portrait after portrait of their ruler in gleaming garb posed thus and so.
At the fifth of these the Alderman inquired.
"Tis a most curious thing, these paintings. Not one of them show the Knight without his armor. Now pondering it, as the Knight Galhain ever been seen unequipped?"
Lenne wistfully replied, "I mark no such occasion in my memory, Alderman. This evil has truly been hiding right beneath our notice for these many years.
Shame on us all for our ignorance."
The last few words earned a "hear, hear!" from the Holy Man.
The Good Lady continued, her voice now pained.
"Yet there was goodness in his nature, no? That once-man had a noble bearing about him; the town would not stomach a villain so long, nor would I have fallen for
something vile." She sighed, pained. "Oh, prithee Holy Man, banish this daemon. Bring us back the man-that-was."
They came upon the final bend of the castle; Good Lady Lenne gestured down the leftward fork and spoke softly, drawing up her confidence for the confrontation.
"My lover lies within the fourth door. Let us draw ourselves up now, for the daemon will offer no quarter."
The Holy Man trudged forward, holy blade waving in front of him.
"But of course the vile thing resides in the hallway sinister! Come, let us end these dark dealings."
Summoning what passed for courage, the Holy Man leapt into the fateful room and stared down upon the fiend. It was encased in armor as it always was.
As the other two strode into the room, he barked at the thing.
"Wretched, ugly night-beast! Depart our most noble host at once! Begone from this domain. Fie, away!"
The clad creature unexpectedly mewled its reply.
"Stay your sword, good man, I plead! I am the good Knight Galhain, as this land has known me. There is no fell magicks afoot."
"Ah, then traitor from the outset, are you? Pah, what fools are we,"-- this punctuated by a jab of the torch and spear--"to be lead by Hell-Hain
the daemon! Remove the sinful shell shielding from thy skull, wight, and stare down steel twice sainted!"
At this final threat did the thing in the armor begin to quake and tremble, proof surely of its hellbound nature. With the *clank-clank* of knocking knees it raised trembling hands before the crowd in a beg for mercy. A heartbeat later, it lifted its hands further and made to unclasp its helm. This motion called forth the memory of Lady Lenne's first encounter, and she stood locked with mortal rigour as bravery and fear mixed within her equally. The Alderman mustered what courage he had-- which indeed was not much-- and peered at the scene from over the Good Lady's shoulder. Still behind behind him had fled the cravenly Holy Man, blade trembling in his hand. As the hellish helm fell with a final *thunk*, all finally bore the terrible truth:
Sir Galhain was but a wretchedly ugly knight.