Swords & Heroes Story #18

The Carrion Knight by Thomas Grayfson

Feb 04, 2025

S&S One Story at a Time

Thomas Grayfon’s stories are new to me, but he’s been a busy writer of late. Crimson Quill Quarterly just published one of his tales; and a new one is slated for release this fall in Dark Speculations: Tales of Various Shapes and Shadows #2. As with most new-to-me writers, I often email and pepper them with questions about their story. I’m kind of a dumb reader and often miss subtlety and ambiguity. Thomas was gracious enough to answer my wonderings about why this or that took place and why the Knight did such and such. I doubt you’ll have any problem following this adventure - my questions say more about me than the story itself! - but my advice is pay attention. There’s more going on in this dark fantasy than one might expect. I think you’ll see what I mean! + Ed.

The Carrion Knight by Thomas Grayfson

Kavion gritted his teeth, enduring the wave of sulphur that invaded his ethereal senses. Once, he had possessed a keen nose, sharp and befitting of the noble class, but now it existed only as a hollow void within his bleached skull. The valley remained enveloped in darkness, marked by the bruised shadows of encircling hills.

Guiding Elsmere, his steed, Kavion pressed onward. His skeletal hand rested over the cavity where his heart once pulsed. They navigated the path of a meandering stream, its sinuous twists reminding him of a serpent. Its waters were illuminated by the reflections of a blood-red moon, concealed within an expanse of starless skies.

Time had forsaken this desolate realm, erasing Kavion’s memory of how long he’d been travelling. The absence of companionship, save for Elsmere, had worn his mind to the point where the faces of those he once cherished had vanished. It felt as if his loved ones had long ago transcended their mortal shells to enter the gardens beyond the veil, and yet he couldn’t fathom why he remained, alone, and without explanation. Was it penance for some long-forgotten sin? The unsettling notion of never finding answers sent a chill down his spine. Perhaps, he mused, he might find solace if he rested.

But something called to him from the darkness, a presence both formidable and mysterious. Kavion’s purpose had become elusive, slipping like sand through the fissures of his memory. Nevertheless, a yearning persisted, tugging at him from the cloaked depths ahead. This longing was undeniable, a force so strong that his pyrintus—the cerulean soul-flame ensnared within the marrow of his bones—resonated with an echoing symphony of pain.

Only this unwavering force compelled him to forge ahead. He clung to the saddle, resolute not to succumb to the allure of dust.

The stream had become a graveyard for those who yielded to the sweetness of death: the glistening scale-skins of the Lizavra, the skeletal remains of fellow Solarans, and the spiralling antlers of the Felsworn protruded from its waters. These were but a fraction of the lifeless forms scattered among patches of sickly green algae blooms.

A piercing howl, reminiscent of the grinding cut of a saw through steel, fractured the stillness of night.

Elsmere’s hooves came to a sudden halt. Undaunted, Kavion poised himself, his stance unwavering, spear gripped firmly in his hand. Pyrintus coursed through his skeletal frame, but as he drew upon it, he perceived its potency diminishing, lacking the electrifying rush of adrenaline he’d once savoured when they had first bonded—a decline that continued with each subsequent use.

Erupting from his left flank, a dog vaulted towards Kavion. His spear thrust forth, the strike skimming off the canine’s sinewy cranium before its muscular body smashed into his ribcage, almost unhorsing him.

The dog’s jaws fastened onto his offhand with an unrelenting grip, vigorously shaking its neck as if determined to expose the phantom of his heart. With one swift motion, Kavion thrust his spear downward, piercing the dog’s tender nose. A sharp yelp escaped the creature as it found itself impaled on the blade, its massive paws desperately pounding for surer footing. Elsmere shuddered beneath the assault, enduring the blows on her back.

Despite the beast’s iron weight straining his spear, Kavion retained his grip on the handle, drawing from his meek reserves of pyrintus. With a calculated twist of his arm, he flung the dog into a patch of rocky debris nestled between stream and hill.

Kavion placed a hand on Elsmere, sensing her desire to escape. His eyes drifted down to the jagged bite marks engraved into his arm, the notion of yielding to that same urge briefly flickering across his mind. But the relentless pursuit of these hounds had worn his patience thin, and he refused to remain their hunted quarry any longer.

Four-legged silhouettes stalked the fringes of night, their approach silent as they descended from the hills. Kavion retracted his spear and hurled it, the weapon finding its mark and impaling one of the menacing forms. The struck hound erupted into a cacophony of howls and thrashed upon the stream’s surface, causing the water to bubble and churn as it became infused with the creature’s foul blood.

Kavion’s hand instinctively found the saddle, fingers curling around the grip of his warhammer, while Elsmere reared, her hooves lashing out like thunderbolts, shattering the face of a dog that had ventured too near. Seizing the moment, Kavion leant forward, sweeping his warhammer in an arc above his skull, raking a darting hound along its spine.

The dogs were tireless, and with every foe Kavion dispatched, another took its place. They moved with the cunning of a well-honed pack, an inky undercurrent that slithered low, their jaws gnashing at Elsmere’s legs beneath her rusting chainmail, rending flesh until she began to falter.

Kavion gritted his teeth, a hiss escaping as the chaos erupted around him. Elsmere, succumbing to her wounds, plummeted towards the earth, her screams kindling a fierce panic within his mind. The world seemed to lurch sideways as he braced for impact, landing harshly on a jagged rock, his skull rebounding off its hard surface. He sensed a distant burst of pain in his temple, the rest of his body turning numb as his pyrintus receded, a gentle tide ferrying him into an almost-blissful silence.

A weight lingered deep within, a shard of the willpower he had once possessed and now clung to like a scavenger. If only he could relinquish it, perhaps this ordeal would finally come to an end, granting him the freedom to die.

As he teetered on the edge, a radiant figure materialised from the swirling mist. He recognised the spectre of his former self: a lithe figure crowned with a cascade of ebony curls, adorned in the noble regalia of a knight. He felt an overwhelming sense of awe, tinged with a pang of jealousy, for he yearned to bask in the warmth of flesh and blood once again, to resume his role as the protector of his lord’s fertile lands, and to revel in the love of his wife, son, and another he felt an undeniable connection to, whose memory felt significant but somehow lost.

With an outstretched hand, he reached for the knight, pulling him into a tight embrace. The faint scent of lavender and rose on the man’s neck delicately brushed his senses, entwining with the surge of pyrintus that enveloped them both. The knight uttered sounds that eluded Kavion’s understanding, despite his fervent efforts to decipher them. Then, with deliberate care, he extended his hand to rest it upon Kavion’s chest.

The vision was abruptly shattered as Kavion was dragged back into the realm of the dead. He awoke to the gruesome sounds of gnawing mixed with Elsmere’s subdued whimpering. The dogs were concealed on the other side of his steed, but Kavion felt the pressing weight of their snouts as they tore open her belly and gorged on the feast within.

He sought to rise, only to find his leg ensnared beneath Elsmere’s bulk. A dog scrambled across her body, flashing its gristle-flecked teeth and locking its wild eyes onto him. With newfound vigour, Kavion swung the clawed side of his hammer. The blow punctured the leathery skin of the creature’s neck, sinking deep. As he pulled back, a chunk of the dog’s flesh tore away, followed by a gush of pinkish saliva that spewed from its parted jaws. The creature’s eyes rolled skyward, and it collapsed behind the horse, disappearing from view.

Elsmere retched, mustering her last ounce of strength to thrash wildly. Kavion seized the moment to free his ensnared leg. As he rose to his feet, his gaze fell upon the two remaining hounds, standing amongst her innards, their snouts slick with gore.

A whistle resonated, its echoes sending ripples through Kavion’s phantom heart, too high-pitched for the range of ordinary human hearing. As his gaze shifted toward the source of the sound, he briefly glimpsed a pair of gleaming yellow orbs perched halfway up a hill, starkly contrasting the familiar red eyes of the dogs.

In response to the whistle, the hounds’ ears twitched, and the smaller one lunged forward. Kavion deflected the initial assault, thrusting his hammer into the dog’s mouth, shattering its teeth, and sending fragments scattering amidst a dark mixture of saliva and blood. The force of the strike caught on bone, wrenching his grip free as the dog tumbled away, carrying his last weapon into the shadows.

The larger dog slammed into Kavion, sending him reeling backward as it thrashed with bared teeth and claw. He reached down, seizing the hound’s tail, and ripped it free with a gush of blood. The wounded dog yelped and fled, leaving behind a crimson trail that marked its escape towards those radiant yellow orbs. Kavion pursued, slicing through the thick shroud of dank mist that enveloped the valley as he ascended the hill.

Upon reaching the plateau’s edge, an obscured figure came into view—a Solaran. He stood bare-chested, his ample belly protruding over soiled trousers, a beastmaster’s whip clenched in his stubby hand.

The dog streaked past its master and galloped further up the hill. He shouted after it, then puckered his lips to release that unmistakable, high-pitched whistle. It seemed to have no effect, the hound’s dwindling form blending into the dull expanse of the hillside.

As Kavion closed in, the beastmaster snarled and lashed out with his whip, a motion met by Kavion’s outstretched arm. The leather lash coiled around his sturdy bones, and Kavion pulled, yanking the man off balance, his stumbling steps drawing him closer.

Kavion’s hands clamped around the beastmaster’s throat, and the man writhed and struggled as he was lifted from the ground. A leather strap encircled the man’s neck, from which a pair of small glass vials dangled, their contents casting a luminous yellow glow that flickered within the confines of smoky flames.

The orbs were pyrintus, Kavion realised—the same substance that coursed through his own being, the wellspring of his strength. Did others like him exist, those who had eluded death’s embrace and drawn power from this unearthly source of vitality? How many kindred souls had fallen prey to this Solaran? At least two had succumbed to his hounds, trapped within the confines of his glass trinkets.

Kavion’s gaze locked onto the beastmaster, a wave of satisfaction flowing over him as he witnessed the man’s desperate struggle to breathe, his face transforming from a pallid blue to a suffocating shade of purple. He savoured the kill—an existence undeserving of life—and relished the knowledge that the final image imprinted on the man’s fading consciousness would be that of Kavion’s deathly skull, stripped of any semblance of pity or empathy.

The beastmaster hung like an overfilled sack of wheat. Kavion released his grip, allowing the limp body to plummet to the ground with a dense thud.

As the lifeless figure sprawled, Kavion’s focus returned to the vials. He carefully untangled them from the leather strap before giving the beastmaster’s corpse a forceful kick that sent it tumbling into the murky abyss below. Cradling the vials in his palm, his own pyrintus responded with a reassuring thrum of familiarity.

A ravenous hunger welled up inside him, an almost primal urge to devour the glowing yellow flames. Unscrewing one of vial’s lids, he brought it to his mouth, parting his jaws as though they were a cavernous void. Inhaling a tendril, he felt it flicker and writhe, sending quivers throughout his body.

Yet, a discomfort gnawed at him as well. The newfound pyrintus was foreign, its essence cold and resistant to his control. He felt as though consuming it would be an act of coercion against its will.

The words spoken by his former self, the spectre-knight, rang with newfound clarity. We shall never impose subjugation upon another. He clung to that rekindled vow as he defied the insatiable pull of his own pyrintus. Suppressing it was painful, a relentless throb that penetrated deep into his bones.

Slowly, he exhaled, watching the yellow flame disperse in the air, even as every fibre of his being yearned for more. His hands trembled, yet he managed to close them into a fist, crushing the vials nestled within. The glowing essence swirled around him, coalesced into a ribbony band, and slipped away, dissipating before his eyes. An unexpected emotion surged within him: a long-forgotten sense of relief.

Turning, Kavion descended the hill, threading his way through the grim scene of lifeless and dying hounds. Each step was deliberate, his body aching from the lingering aftermath of his self-denial. Retrieving his warhammer and spear from the muddy banks of the stream required a determined effort.

Once his weapons were secured, he approached his faithful steed, kneeling beside her to rest a hand on her mane. He spoke a prayer in his mind, hoping she had found peace in whatever realm she’d departed to.

The horse stirred, and Kavion stepped back as she unsteadily rose up before him. She appeared lifeless, her innards dripping from a gaping belly. Nevertheless, her gaze locked onto Kavion, her eyes radiating an eerie, yellow glow. He realised the pyrintus, liberated from the beastmaster’s vials, had chosen his steed as their new vessel. He didn’t dare question what had happened, fearing it might shatter the enchantment. Instead, he counted his blessings and tenderly stroked her mane.

The presence tugged at Kavion with renewed intensity, a throbbing pulse within his skull that threatened to engulf his thoughts if left unchecked. Could it be another being like himself, a denizen of undeath?

If pyrintus could exist beyond his own skeletal form, with the power to resurrect others like Elsmere, then perhaps there were more of the undying he had yet to encounter. It would be foolish to assume that he and Elsmere were the sole recipients of its favour.

If this presence were to prove itself an ally, it might assist him in recalling the sins that had cast him into this broken realm and, he dared to hope, offer the key to his redemption. This possibility, along with the freshly resurfaced memories of his family, rekindled his spirit and drove him toward a greater goal than the mere survival of his wretched self. It filled him with a renewed sense of purpose—something he had once known and longed to regain.

He readied Elsmere, and together they journeyed deeper beyond the veil, traversing the stream that now coursed with the freshly spilled blood of the dead.

The Carrion Knight © 2025 by Thomas Grayfson (2440 words) All rights reserved. You may restack this story via Substack but please do not republish elsewhere. Banner and clipart by Gilead, used by permission.

Thomas Grayfson is a fantasy author whose works have appeared in Swords & Sorcery Magazine, Crimson Quill Quarterly, and Waystation. He is from Perth, Australia. For a list of his current stories, visit his website: thomasgrayfson.com.

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