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Henrik

When I look backon this night, one thing will stand clear in my memory—the morning is blasted cold for early autumn.

Sharp, dead weeds find places to jab between my leather tassets as I sit in a dark field, waiting for the creature that’s been terrorizing the small village of Danmire to grace me with its presence. Sunrise is still a few hours away, but the grass is already stiff with frost. Clouds have settled along the nearby river, spreading fog throughout the field.

I rub my gloved hands together, trying to work feeling back into my fingers. My knees ache from crouching, my ears are frozen, and I’m starting to question the villagers’ sanity.

Every night, they told me.

Just after dark, they told me.

A wise man would have given up hours ago, admitting the creature wasn’t going to make an appearance. But no one can blame me for sitting here in the cold of night, not with my knighthood so close.

I’m going to slay the monster when it finally decides to make an appearance, bask in the villagers’ praise, and then carry its hide back to Cabaranth.

And finally, after all these years of training and mucking through dozens of ridiculous, mundane tasks, I’ll have earned my seal.

It’s not just any seal—it’s a badge of golden honor. It declares the man who wears it is no ordinary mounted knight. Only a step under the Royal Class, answering to the king directly, there is no greater position for a man of common or even noble birth. A sealed knight is the best, one of the king’s elite. The envied, respected—

I curse low and leap from my crouch, grasping the hilt of my sword.

Not far away, a shadowed creature creeps through the field, keeping low in the late wheat. Somehow, it slipped past me and now heads in the direction of the silhouetted cottages.

There aren’t many houses in the village—only seven in total, along with a tavern that doubles as an inn. The people who live here are simple folk, all farmers and a bowyer who used to own a shop in the capital before he retired to the country. The old crafter is half-blind now, which is a shame considering he’s the only man who might have had a chance to take on the beast and live to tell the tale.

But instead of facing the monster themselves, the villagers requested the king’s assistance, telling him a jacquesalaupe is wreaking havoc in his fair province. And for once, His Majesty sent me on a task worth completing.

And now here I am, five bloody seconds from botching up my chance at knighthood.

I hurry after the creature as silently as possible, imagining it in my mind. I have no memory of the beast, no remembered pen-and-ink illustration to pin to its name. It’s an elven word, something rare.

Jacquesalaupe—terror of the night, beast of nightmares. Key to obtaining my seal.

I creep along, staying low. It’s impossible to discern the monster’s size as it remains close to the ground in the cover of the wheat. I don’t dare get too close, not until we’re clear of the field and in the open.

Adjusting the grip on my sword, I wait for the creature to reach the edge of the field. The wheat stirs as the beast briefly hesitates before leaving its protective cover. Finally, it darts into the open.

I murmur a string of curses, resisting the urge to plunge my blade into the frosted field.

The creature wasn’tslinking. It wasn’t hiding most of its bulk in the wheat—it’s merely small. Small enough, in fact, that it’s only the size of a rabbit. With the body of a rabbit. And a white cotton tail…just like a rabbit.

But this is no bunny.

The jacquesalaupe went still the moment I cursed, and now she tilts her pink nose in the air, taking in the scents on the breeze. An obscenely large rack of antlers tilts back with her head, and the tips nearly brush the ground.

Fortunately, I’m downwind, and she can’t catch my scent.

But I don’t dare move a muscle lest I startle her. After several long, cautious seconds, the antlered rabbit hops to the closest vegetable patch and begins sampling the green cabbage before helping herself to a few peas.

I watch as she moves onto the lettuce, wondering what in oblivion I’m doing here.

I shake my head, livid. It’s the most ridiculous-looking creature, and there’s not the slightest chance its hide is going to secure my seal.

With a sigh, I shove my sword into its sheath and pull the bow from my back. I don’t use it often, preferring to feel the weight of my blade, but it will do for this.

The seldom-used weapon creaks as I nock an arrow. Instantly, the jacquesalaupe freezes. She turns my way, and though her body goes still, her nose twitches.