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| Knoll's Edge by Ray, of Light 03/16/2003, 6:22pm PST | ||||
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| Dawn breached the heavens and reached to the earth
And infant fall morn' joined this scene in birth There's a man, all in white, by a creek and its pond surrounded by meadow and birches beyond, ignoring the screeches of crows in the trees and the chill in the mist and the hue of the leaves. Scars - a maze on his face and in place of his hair, are the roots of the oak that you see in his stare. He's watching the water and lost in a thought of limits discovered and lessons hard-taught. A noise from the treeline snatches his gaze as a rider and horse approach from the haze. A troll fills the saddle and armor above with blood from some battle still wet on its gloves. Soot on its face and mud in all places don't hide the ugly at one hundred paces. Toothy and yellow and speckled and grim, the troll woah'd its horse and said through a grin: I mean to do battle, white man on the ground. I mean to do battle, it's nothing profound. I mean to do battle, and bash in your head. I mean to do battle, and make you be dead. I mean to prevail, as a matter of course I mean to prevail, for I'm on a horse - and I have a blade, leather armor, and mail The better to kill you, defenseless and frail. But I'm in a hurry and offer these terms To expedite you into food for the worms - Offer surrender, and kneel in the dew Beg me for mercy, and here's what I'll do - I'll empty my scabbard and then give a swing to sever your neck: you won't feel a thing. But should you refuse and insist on a fight I'll see you suffer a day and a night. You can die as a lamb, peaceful and sweet Or bleating in agony, which will it be? Tapping troll-fingers and idle hoof-beats counted the seconds the man watched his feet. The sun lit his shoulders and set them aflame. The light ringed his face and darkened its frame. With features concealed by shadows and scar, his face was a mask, surreal and bizarre. After four measures he lifted his head. He opened his mouth, and here's what he said: Who will prevail, and of victory boast? A question's the answer - Who wants it the most? Who wants it enough to be blind to the sun? And dumb to the taunts, and deaf to the drums? To shutter his eyes to musket and blade and open them, then, to the board and the game? Wants it enough to forget what he hates, Forget what he's lost, and what he may gain, To forget what he loves - and love all, by default Firstly, the foe he deigns to assault? - to love his foe's fears and then his foe's dreams? and what his foe is and what his foe seems? and love him in weakness and, equally, strength? In short, to love him, and love him at length? Will you prevail, and know victory's touch? I answer the question - Do you love me that much? The troll drew a blade and lifted it high and charged on its mount and gave a troll-cry. The man watched it come and watched it some more The man watched it come and dwelled on his chore. The troll swung its blade at a form still as wood and severed the air where the man had just stood. It looked to the sky to ask where he went and noticed the answer, in rapid descent. The horse's head caught him, ears held the weight And there he squatted, feet steering its gait. Plucking the sword between beats of the hooves He numbed the troll's arms with blows, liquid-smooth The troll was a veteran and stranger to dread But now the exception wielded the edge which flashed through the air, aimed at its head The troll saw its end and flinched, but Instead - The stroke trimmed its beard and made it look neat The followup fixed its pants with a pleat. He lanced its blisters and cut off its warts Then gave it a haircut, tidy and short. Done with the beast, done with the fight, he shifted his feet and landed upright. The troll riding past, its dead arms awoke, roared over a shoulder at the man and his joke. The troll drew a knife to make a new run at it Darkly intent, but the horse would have none of it. Horse carried rider in newly-found rush, and the man saw them slip back into the brush. Had you met me before I witnessed this trial, I would've sworn that scars couldn't smile. Ray! |
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Knoll's Edge by 03/16/2003, 6:22pm PST  |
