Dawn of the Zombie Knights (17 page)

‘I am not nothing, foul one! I am a great knight.'

‘Be that as it may in your own head, if not in reality, we require the flower and nothing else. The Black Knights ride.'

And so it was over. The knights, grumbling and mumbling about how hungry they were and how they just wanted a little taste of Pete's brain, went and mounted their horses and rode off.

Pete ran over to Sir Mountable, livid that the flower's location had been revealed, but devastated at the injuries the old man had suffered.

‘Lean in close, boy.'

Pete did so, not trusting himself to speak. He didn't need to.

‘I gave them my house as the flower's location. It will not stall them for long, but it will stall them. You have a day. Perhaps two. You must warn your mother and you must warn the King.'

The knight caught his breath as a surge of pain rushed through him.

‘I am not long for this world, boy, but I will say this. I have fought with great knights. I have fought with knights I regarded as heroes. You fought as well and as bravely as any I ever shared the field of battle with. You fought with heart, and skill, and I am so proud of you.'

Sir Mountable swallowed, tears of pain and loss flowing freely.

‘I had a son once. I loved him more than anything in the world. He too was a knight, and he had the potential to be a great one. I lost him many years ago, in battle, and I shut myself off from the world. You have opened it up to me once more.

I see so much of him in you, even though you are your own man. In this you have given him life, and in doing so you have given me life. I am not your father, but I think of you as a son, and it is a great honour for me to do so.'

Tears sprung to Pete's eyes. He knew that another's opinion of him was not his goal anymore, but to have earned Sir Mountable's respect and love meant more to him than he could have imagined.

‘We shall fight together again,' he said to his mentor, his eyes blurring. ‘We shall defend the town together. You and me. You can't leave me. Not now. Who will train me? You will survive.'

Sir Mountable shook his head, wincing at the effort it took.

‘No, boy. Your journey must continue without this grumpy old man.'

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, then stared straight at his trainee.

‘Listen closely. We have spoken of this often, and you know you do not need the title of a knight, however you
are
Sir Pete McGee. The name fits. Wear it with pride. Act with honour, act in service to others … and one more thing.'

He gestured for Pete to lean closer. Pete did so, crying openly now. Sir Mountable had never called him anything but boy before, so the knight using his name for the first time had set the tears in motion. Sir Mountable reached up and grabbed Pete's collar with a shaking hand.

‘Win, Pete McGee. Defeat the Black Knights. Your exile is over, for others are in danger. Go to King Rayon. Warn him. Gather others to your cause and
defeat the Black Knights!'

The effort to speak took too much out of the old man. He lay back, eyes closed, a smile on his face.

‘You will win,' he said, the words barely audible, a breath of sound. ‘Of this I am sure. You will win, my son.'

A short breath, caught. A slow hissing as the breath was let out and Sir Mountable, Pete's mentor, his teacher, his friend, was dead.

ete McGee buried Sir Mountable himself, using the knight's helmet as a headstone. He wished he could do a better job, something more appropriate to celebrate the life of a great knight.

He stood there for a while after, shoulders hunched over, staring at the mound of dirt. It had happened again, just like Smithers said. Someone close to him had died, and it was his fault. It was always his fault. He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. He felt so responsible.

Images flashed through his mind, real and imagined. Marloynne and Ashlyn, about to be married. Sir Mountable, saying how proud he had been of Pete, how he thought of Pete as a son. The black zombie knights, dead and yet alive, astride their gross horses. King Rayon looking over his town, destroyed by the rampaging evil. His mother, standing in front of the Wilderene Flower, protecting it, the zombie knights advancing.

Pete leapt to his feet. His mother. Part of him longed to rescue her, take the Wilderene Flower, and run. Just get away from everything, let the others take care of themselves. He knew that wouldn't be the end though. He knew the zombie knights wouldn't rest until they had the flower in their grasp.

Then maybe he could run without the flower. Just leave it and all its problems behind. He had seen the knights. He had fought the knights. He did not know if they could be stopped, and he was scared out of his mind.

To run was not the way of a knight though, scared or not, and it was not the way of Sir Pete McGee.

‘You will do what you know is right,' his mother had said.

He knew he must face the doubts and he must face them head on. A knight must protect those in danger. Regardless of how the town had treated him, it would be
his
actions that would define him. That was what Sir Mountable had worked so hard to teach Pete, and he would not let his mentor's death be in vain.

Sir Pete McGee wiped his face with his sleeve. His eyes, still damp, went hard and focused. He strode over to where Lightning was standing. The horse's ears pricked up as it sensed the change in the air, the change in Pete as he walked. Lightning whinnied and moved towards Pete, who walked over and pressed his forehead against Lightning's.

‘Okay, boy. It's almost time. I must prepare now. You relax. You will know when I'm ready.'

Lightning whinnied again and trotted over to his favourite tree. He stood there, his eyes never leaving Pete.

Pete went over to where his and Sir Mountable's belongings lay. He took out his arrows and sharpened the ends until they gleamed. He shined Sir Mountable's helmet until he could see his face in the metal. He held it up to the sunlight and then placed it back at the end of Sir Mountable's grave.

He sat for a while then, eyes closed, focusing on his breathing, slowing it down, trying to sense everything around him. Again, images flashed through his mind. His mother, last of all, crying out for his help as the Black Knights overwhelmed her.

His eyes snapped open and he stood.

‘LIGHTNING!'

His horse cried out in reply and galloped towards Pete, who ran, picking up his quiver and crossbow as he went. Lightning stopped and bowed low, and Pete swung aboard on the run. One last ride before the battle. One last ride for fun. Then they would see what those knights were made of.
(Well, I can tell you … they're made of blood and guts and skin and bones, just like you and me. It's just that theirs are more visible. Okay. Enjoy your dinner!)

The Black Knights rode fast, following the route given to them by Sir Mountable. They were close now. The flower was almost theirs. They could smell it … well, they would have been able to smell it if they weren't so smelly themselves. But they could sense it, at least. Their destiny was at hand.

Pete breathed in deeply, the fresh air filling his lungs, every nerve tingling. Lightning galloped faster than he ever had before, eyes gleaming. The air rushed past Pete's face as he rode with his eyes closed, at one with his horse. His mind was clear now. This was a moment for him and Lightning to enjoy.

Lightning suddenly stopped as they neared the campsite. Pete's eyes flashed open. In an instant he drew his crossbow and fired three times at a tree, all three arrows thudding into the trunk within centimetres of each other. Lightning galloped over to the tree and skidded to a halt. Pete jumped off and sliced the three arrows through with his dagger, sending the ends flying to the ground, the heads of the arrows staying embedded in the tree.

The boy and his horse walked over to where Pete's pack lay. He picked it up and slung it over his shoulder. His hand slipped subconsciously into his inside jacket pocket, where it held the tiger eye crystal for an instant, and then the note from his mother. Her image flashed into his mind once more. He gripped the note, the words in his mind, the paper scrunching between his fingers. Sir Pete McGee's face went hard. He let go of the note. He was ready. He walked back over to Lightning.

‘This is it, boy. This is our time. This is everything we have worked so hard for, and I tell you this right now, we will not back down. We will not surrender. Let's do this. Let's kick some gross, stinky, rotten, knight butts!'

Lightning reared up on his hind legs, kicking the air. He landed and bowed low. Pete bowed in return and then mounted his horse.

‘YAH!'

Sir Charge was not happy. Not happy at all. The old man had given them the long way home. They had finally arrived at the run-down shack and there was no Wilderene Flower to be seen. The knights tore the place apart searching for it. Nothing. NOTHING! Sir Charge screamed in anger, smashing his fist through the wall of the house. The town would pay for the old man's deception.