There was one story that Gwidon had heard as a child from his mother’s sweet lips, whispering to him and lulling him to sleep. There was also one dream that drove him every single day to get up and practice, to learn and experience. Even to deal with this moron Gustaw. He wanted to be in charge of an army. He was young, true. But every general was once young, every great knight was once a youth, a silly adolescent, whose words were louder than actions, and Gwidon had the time and aimed high. He was always ready to stand in front of thousands of people, lead them like the child is led by the father, and die for them if there was a need to die. Or better yet, not to die, thanks to hours of practice and wars waged, to be victorious. There was something glorious in this profession, something more tempting than diamonds, pearls, and gold. It was his dream come true for which he was willing to marry Princess Karina, who was far from his ideal of wife, and to his knowledge, took pleasure in frequent knight’s visits in her chamber. But who had a happy marriage? The king? Gwidon more than once saw the tax collector coming out from the queen’s chambers long after the darkness fell on the kingdom’s sleepy eyelids. His parents? They seemed happy but died young due to common poor people’s diseases. When his uncle took him to his home and made it possible for Gwidon to become a proper knight, it felt like a dream come true. When he spent his young and best years fighting in the king’s army and proving each and every time that he was the best knight of his generation, it was honour, fulfillment, and happiness. But being in charge of this army, being the king’s son-in-law? It was a glory.
And then he met Lilet. His mother, the only woman that somehow spoke to his heart and encouraged him to be better, calmer, more merciful and sensitive, was long dead. Any thought of whole-heartedly loving any woman was long forgotten. Any dream of true love was pushed into the pages of fairy tales. If he ever pictured himself spending his life with a woman (apart from the reasonable unhappiness with Princess Karina) this woman was rather short, plump, and a good cook: someone who wouldn’t threaten his career. He had actually never thought of ever falling in love. Until he met this witch. Not only was she the epitome of his wildest desires, the most beautiful creature that God has ever created, but also she was quite something… Something which Gwidon wasn’t prepared for. She lived alone and not only did she manage on her own, but she turned obnoxious men who bugged her into animals. She was intelligent and had a profession. She was free. She swam naked in the lake and made love without a ring, wedding, and parents’ blessing, without being a whore. She was everything in his opinion a woman couldn’t or wasn’t supposed to be. But at the end of the day, what should such a woman be? He didn’t remember his mother staying at home and being a proper woman, he didn’t remember her taking care of the household. She was selling jewelry and figurines in cities and she disappeared for weeks, but always came back, making his father jealous of her travels (but glad that there was food on the table) and little Gwidon happy to be cuddled by her loving arms. But then, memories faded, parents died, the uncle took care of him and this blissful idea of family life slowly disappeared from Gwidon’s thoughts.
And this jealousy. He rarely was jealous. When someone was better and stronger at the battlefield, he treated it as a motivation to be even better and stronger himself. And if that wasn’t an option (and Gwidon saw these monstrous men who drank gallons of wine and ate whole cows, not to mention true Giants whom he had recently met) he strived to be more cunning. He knew that muscles lost the fight with brains and tactics won over people’s exhaustion and fear. So when he saw Vandarok’s army, he felt a mixture of fear and admiration. He instantly knew that it was the best-prepared army he had ever seen. He knew that only a miracle could make this army fail, stumble on a straight path Vandarok built for its success. To be in charge of such an army was almost to be in charge of the world. His world. His dream. But now he was supposed to fight against this army and potentially die, as he couldn’t see any other outcome.
And at this very moment, into his life came Lilet. She didn’t make him weaker, quite the reverse, she made him stronger and calmer. And the sex? He enjoyed the pleasure of women of company, but everyone in the castle was doing so, so after a few fruitless and emotionless sweaty adventures he no longer needed to prove his manhood, but focused on his career. But with Lilet it was different. He wasn’t paying for anything, he was seduced, charmed, besotted by her strong and beautiful body. And the jealousy he felt when Gustaw flirted with her was so strong that Gustaw’s head was on his shoulders only by an inch and it didn’t matter that it was the king’s son and Gwidon did worse things to cover his cowardly ass. No one had the right to flirt with his woman.
Suddenly, dark thoughts fell on Gwidon’s soul as he realized the truth. The witch wasn’t his woman. And this seemed to be more depressing than the possibility of never getting to be in charge of the king’s army.
With this gloomy personal misery, he reached the high mountains. He didn’t know where to look for but he knew what he was looking for. With the naivety of a young boy, who has fallen asleep after his mother’s nighttime tale, he walked ahead and looked under his feet.
‘There’s a treasure hidden in the mountains. A treasure put to sleep years ago. And only the purest of hearts and the purest of intentions can find it. There’s an army…’ the sweet sound of his mother’s voice uncovered from the layers of his memories.
And soon he heard the horses. Animal voices didn’t come from above but somewhere from below, pulling him closer to the ground. And then he remembered. He was here as a little boy. He came here, ran away from home after hearing his mother’s tale, desperate to find the army. For years, parents told him that it was only a dream, but now he knew it wasn’t. Even his uncle would have never believed him, so he had pushed this experience to his subconsciousness and forgot about it. Yes, the legend was true. There was an army.
All of a sudden, the earth disappeared underneath his feet and Gwidon fell into a slide, which took him to the underground. His journey ended at the end with a painful bang and his buttocks started to ache. Gwidon looked up. There was someone in front of him, holding a lantern. It was a knight.
The man smiled at him, helped him to get up from the ground, and welcomed him like an old friend.
‘Gwidon, my boy! How much you have changed! How you grew!’
‘I was here before, wasn’t I?’
‘Of course, you were. You weren’t older than six. We were surprised that a child was able to find us, but you were so certain. You told us that you would lead this army. For me, it was like yesterday. I only closed my eyes for a while. And then I opened it again and what do I see? A grown man with the same exact intention!’
‘I do have the same desire, my friend. We are about to wage a terrible war. There is going to be a terrible battle. A bloody, merciless battle. And only you can help us.’
The knight looked into Gwidon’s eyes.
‘I see the purity of your intentions. You’re not for this war. You want to protect what seems to be hopeless to protect. You are the greatest soldier of your generation, indeed, Gwidon. Come with me.’
Gwidon followed the knight to the edge of an underground cliff. The knight lit the lantern and pointed at a sword lying on the rock.
‘Take it. It’s yours.’
Gwidon took the sword. The years made its shiny surface darken and cover in rust. But once Gwidon raised the sword, it magically renewed itself and shone as if it was brand new.
The knight raised the lantern and threw the torch into the cliff. Soon, passage by passage, it lit other lanterns, with domino’s effect, showing the army of sleeping soldiers turned into stone. Their arms supported on swords, swords’ metal edges dug slightly into the ground. It was an army of tens of thousands, who suddenly moved and stood straight as if waiting for an order.
‘I introduce you to your General, my knights.’
Gwidon raised his sword and shouted to his men. The knight, standing next to him, smiled. Gwidon was a great leader, he thought. A perfect general with the purest of hearts. But the boy had also changed, the knight saw it with his hundreds’ years’ wisdom of experience. There was something different in him. A weakness, which could change his fate and take off the destiny which burdened his life when he was so little.
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