IABD 24: The Nightmare-Knights

Beggahasta squinted through the spring meadow, her eyes scanning the space where Matthias’ door hovered. “I don’t see anything. Nothing at all.” 

“Really?” Her son pointed to the portal again. “Not in that spot right there?” 

He saw the doorway to his dream-realm as clearly as he could see the sun. 

“No, there’s nothing there.” She looked at him. “What do we do now?” 

He shrugged. “I hardly know how this works. I didn’t even know I could go into other people’s dreams until I stumbled into Kari’s. But I have an idea. Come, come with me.” 

Matthias led Beggahasta to the door, pointing at it when they were a pace away. “Still nothing?” 

“No.” She shook her head, gingerly extending a hand.  

Her fingers phased through the portal, disappearing as though she was touching the surface of a lake. “Am I touching it?” 

“Your hand’s passing right through it.” He checked the other side of the doorway; her fingers were visible there, poking through as though the portal didn’t exist for her. “I don’t think this is working, let me try something else.” He reached into the portal, his hand slid back into his dream-realm. “What do you see?” 

“Your hand disappearing into thin air,” she said. 

“Alright, so take my hand, mother.” He took her hand and stepped through the door, focusing his intent on bringing her into his dream-realm. 

Her hand hit an invisible barrier as he tried to pull it through the doorway; it felt similar to the force that prevented him from entering misty voids in his dream-world.  

Grumbling, he stepped back into her dream. “I’m sorry, mother, I don’t think I can take you with me.”  

Her brows knitted together. “And so once again I find myself needing to rely on my fourteen-year-old son. Is there nothing else we can try?” 

“Nothing that I know of,” he admitted. 

“Then we’ll have to try a different approach to free your brother.” She paused, thinking for a moment. “Matthias, when you go back there, make sure you do not fight him again tonight. I want to discuss something with you, but you’ll need to gather information first. Stay safe, alright?” 

“I will, mother. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

He took one last look around the spring meadow and stepped back into his dream-realm.  

“That was a nice dream,” he whispered. 

### 

Matthias waded through the blood-bog, eyes scanning the islands of skulls surrounding him. Focusing his intent, he moved slowly, noting that the splashes of the waist-deep ichor quieted—ever so slightly—as he concentrated on remaining hidden. 

‘Where is he?’ he wondered, listening for the sound of chewing or the crunch of skulls. ‘Does he already know I’m here? Is he hiding?’ 

He threw a glance over his shoulder, looking for signs of his brother: the only thing behind him was his shadow tendril slithering through the blood.  

‘Got to make sure I’m ready to hold my breath,’ he thought, rounding the corner of a smaller island. ‘I’ll dive under the water and force myself to wake up at the first sign of—’ 

A roar shook the realm, nearly driving a scream from Matthias’ throat. 

The sound of skulls crunching echoed through the air to his left. Cautiously, he waded in that direction, crouching down so only part of his head was above the crimson liquid. 

After a few minutes, he spotted the hulking, bestial form of Bregindoure perched atop another large island—bodies strewn over it—roaring at the Rune of the Berserker burning in the black sky.  

Red steam poured from his jaws as he smashed his fists against the skulls, sending bone fragments high into the air. Snarling, he dragged his claws across the skeletal remains.  

Matthias slowly moved through the bog, partly-hidden beside another bank of skulls, while covering his golden hair with the shadow-tendril. 

There, he stayed, watching, focusing his intent on learning as much about the creature’s form and habits as he could. He watched his cursed brother rage and roar, tearing great gouges from the island’s surface, splashing about in blood, shaking his razor-sharp coat of iron wire. 

The beast was fast—muscles trembling with wrath—constantly gnashing his teeth, and flexing his talons. There was no pattern or form to his movements. 

‘He’s completely unpredictable,’ Matthias thought, watching the chaos that was his brother’s rampage. ‘And he’s damn fast too. How am I supposed to find openings?’ 

The more he watched, the more he realised the undeniable truth: even with his newfound power, he was not going to overcome this beast in a physical contest.  

He paused, shaking off the thought. ‘Come on, Matthias. You don’t have to beat him. All you have to do is give him a battle to help him find clarity. You have to survive him long enough to let him reach that moment. Still, you can’t do that if you can’t figure out how he’s going to attack. But even if you do, you’re not fast enough to dodge—” 

His brother roared at the Rune in the sky then at the island closest to the one he was on. 

‘What’s happening?’ Matthias followed his gaze, stifling a gasp. 

Before Bregindoure, a mounted warrior sat astride a warhorse among the skulls. 

He hadn’t been there a heartbeat earlier. 

“There you are, Beast!” the warrior cried in a haughty tone, his voice intimately familiar. 

“That’s…that’s me!” Matthias hissed quietly. “But I’m different.” 

The mounted warrior was a grown man—unlike the real Matthias—thinner and shorter, with finer features twisted in handsome arrogance.  

No blood of giants marked either his features or form; this nightmare-version of himself was fully human. 

His golden plate armor flashed like a second blazing sun and his magical star metal blades shone like moons belted to his saddle. His steed, a magnificent dire horse with a hide like fresh milk, pawed the skulls. A scarlet cloak billowed behind him like the tail end of a flame.  

He pointed a golden gauntlet at Bregindoure. “I am Sur Matthias Archebal Dramagnus-Stonebreaker, Archknight Secondus of Evalmera, Mighty Dragon of the North and Grand Master of the Order of the Silver Pauldron! Beasts such as you should be locked away forever or butchered so the rest of us might live! Isn’t that right, sister?” 

A second rider appeared beside the dream-Matthias, mounted on a golden steed. 

Her face was a cross between the real-life Dagma’s and that of a delicate woman who would have been quite at home in an Ostarite storybook about fair damsels. She was clad all in white armour, and sat holding a golden lance. 

A cruel smirk twisted her face. “That’s right, brother. It’s time this monster was put down forever. Look at how he peers at us! He wants to eat us!” 

“He won’t eat anyone ever again.” Nightmare-Matthias promised. “Come, Sur Dagma! Let us free ourselves from this menace!” 

The beast-Bregindoure growled at the twisted versions of his siblings, claws digging deep trenches into the skulls he stood on. 

Suddenly, he charged, closing in on the knights. 

His flashing claws and gnashing teeth slashed at the mounted pair, but their steeds turned with incomparable agility, wheeling around to flank the beast. The monstrous Bregindoure whirled first on the Nightmare-Matthias—who’d drawn his star metal blades—but Nightmare-Dagma’s mount charged. 

Her lance plunged into his back. 

He roared, spinning around, swiping at her…only for Nightmare-Matthias to urge his mount forward, his blades lashing out, slicing the back of Bregindoure’s legs. His brother screamed, whirling again, but—as fast as he was—both opponents matched his speed and outnumbered him two to one. The beast had no focus, baited into lunges that allowed lance or blades to strike ever deeper into his body. 

Soon, his blood joined the steaming ichor of the bog, and his movements slowed.  

As he weakened, he lunged again at Dagma, but Nightmare-Matthias leapt from his saddle, the golden-armoured man landed on Bregindoure’s back. His blades stabbed into his spine, the knight’s weight overbalancing the beast, driving him into Dagma’s lance. 

The monster howled, impaled through the heart. 

Dagma’s horse charged ahead, pushing the twitching beast over as she used her lance to pin him to the island of skulls, while Sur Matthias leapt away. 

There, Bregindoure remained trapped, flailing weakly, crying out with wrath. 

“Look at how pathetic he is, Dagma.” The Knight-Matthias sneered above his pinned brother. “Defeated, just as he has been every day of his life.” 

“Imprisoned just as he has been every day of his life,” Nightmare-Dagma added. 

“A Beast and a burden to his family,” they said in unison. “A monster that lacks even the grace to die.” 

“No wonder father didn’t want you,” Nightmare-Matthias said.  

“We don’t want you either,” their sister added. “And we will keep you here until you do us the kindness of passing into the after-world. Free us, brother!” 

Both nightmare-knights laughed, and their humour shook the entire dream-world.  

The real Matthias’ teeth ground so hard he thought they might crack; it took every ounce of willpower to stop himself from charging these dream mockeries and shredding them like cloth. 

But—deep down—he knew he couldn’t stop them. 

‘I can’t beat them,’ he thought. “I couldn’t fight Bregindoure for more than a few seconds, and the two of them just ripped him apart. I’d die in an instant. Besides, they’re part of Bregindoure’s dream: what’s to stop him from dreaming them up again, even if I kill them? And…I have to remember my goal: it isn’t to help Bregindoure kill nightmare versions taunting and fighting him, it’s to help him gain the Rune of Clarity.’  

He frowned, watching his brother struggle with the ghosts from his own mind. 

‘And I have no idea how to do that.’ Matthias looked at the two knights, then at Bregindoure. 

With a roar, the beast pulled himself free of the lance—his wounds healing—whirling on the knights. They laughed and fought him again. 

And again. 

And again. 

For a dozen rounds, the battle repeated, always ending with Bregindoure pinned to the skulls. 

It hurt Matthias to watch, but he did not pull his eyes away. He was learning, observing more of his brother’s movements in combat so he could help him. 

He would take the information to his mother in the morning. 

Then, they could plan. 

Still, it was horrible to watch. 

### 

“My poor boy,” their mother groaned. “My poor boy.” 

It was the early morning after Matthias had entered his brother’s dream, dawn had not completely crested the eastern mountains yet, and Altaizar had departed sometime in the night. Dagma was asleep in her bed and Mother and son had slipped into the woods—away from prying eyes and ears—to discuss what he had learned. 

“Mother, this is going to be tough,” the boy said, his face stony. “I don’t even know where to begin. I’m no wiseman and no great speaker of words; I don’t know what to say to Bregindoure to lead him to his moment of clarity, and—even if I did—I don’t know if I could fight him long enough to say my piece. Do you have any idea of what to say?” 

Beggahasta grimaced. “I do and I don’t. I know if he could see the beautiful soul inside himself, he wouldn’t see himself as just a beast. He needs that false image of himself shattered, but I don’t know the words to use to get him to the truth. We’ll have to think about that together.” 

“And also, how do I survive him?” Matthias grunted, frustrated. “I don’t even know how to begin fighting him. I’m not strong enough, not fast enough and he’s too unpredictable.” 

Beggahasta looked at him evenly. “How many real fights have you had, Matthias? Sparring doesn’t count.”  

“Well, uh…if you include the gamrung…less than half a dozen…”  Matthias admitted. He wouldn’t count his feeble attempts to stand up to Kari and Siegfried when he was younger as ‘fights’; they’d been too one-sided. 

“That’s not very many,” Beggahasta pointed out. “With so little experience, it makes sense that you would mistake what you truly lack when it comes to facing your brother.” 

“Then what am I lacking?” he asked. “Share with me your wisdom, oh wise mother.” 

“…that almost sounded facetious.”   

“It wasn’t,” he said, looking at her with large, innocent eyes. 

“Hm, I’ll believe you this time. Alright, what you lack is the proper training.” She pointed at the star metal sword slung across her back. “I have used Tallis to slay mortals across half a hundred battlefields, and over time, hundreds of beasts in the Wolfwood. Is that what Tallis was forged for?” 

“No.” He remembered the old stories about the ancient sword and the songs sung about the magics poured into it.  

Magics that made it a bane to a very specific type of foe. 

His eyes fell on the draconic hilt of the blade. “It was forged for slaying dragons.” 

“Yes, and it’s no surprise that a blade forged to slay death-breathing dragons is more than adequate for killing mortal warriors, even those warriors well along the path to mastering Life Enforcement. However.” She tapped the pommel. “Just because the blade can kill both mortals and dragons, does not mean the way one fights both can be the same. The same goes for beasts as well, Matthias.” 

She looked to the east. “For your whole life you have been sparring against humanoid opponents and—-to compensate for your weaknesses—you learned to be cautious, to read your opponents’ forms and learn their fighting styles before engaging. That does not work with a beast: a beast has no fighting style.” 

“You’re right. And Bregindoure’s so strong and fast, and unpredictable,” Matthias groaned. 

“He is, but let me ask you something: our ancestors dwelled deep in the Wolfwood for forty thousand years: a hellish forest filled with beasts, many forged in nature’s wrathful heart for the purpose of driving mortals to extinction.” Her voice turned grim. “Remember the old stories: the Age of Wolves was a terrible time. In those days, the Three Pillars of power were not as they are today: the gods had not granted their Gift, the art of Life Enforcement was nearly lost, Divine Breath did not exist. And, much of the old magics were forgotten.” 

“I remember the stories.” Matthias recalled the tales told by firelight when he was a boy. “Our ancestors had to overcome the beasts with nothing more than their bodies, wits, and steel.” 

“That’s right, and do you think your human ancestors were stronger than the beasts they faced? Faster? More unpredictable?”  

“No,” he admitted. 

“And yet they persevered, didn’t they?” A light seemed to shine in her eyes. “You have spent your whole life stuck on learning how to fight mortals. Many of your future opponents will wield swords, shields and all manner of weapon, but many will fight by way of claw, fang, beak and instinct. Until you grow powerful enough to crush them, you must learn how to turn their strengths into weaknesses, how to negate the advantages of their speed, and how to trick them into engaging with you the way you want. Do that, and a beast’s chaotic instincts will become the most predictable fighting style in the world.” 

A light seemed to shine in his eyes now. “And how would I learn how to do that?” 

“I will teach you.” She smiled. “I promised you I would train you personally, and now that time has come. The forms we take when using Way of Stone have been passed down through our family for generations, but you would not have been able to use them without Life Enforcement or Divine Breath. Since you now can: I want you to know that our family martial arts were created to destroy mortals and to crush beasts. In less than two weeks, I believe I will be able to get you to the point where you could survive your brother in his nightmare-world.” 

“That’ll be good, mother!” Matthias clapped. Part of him was just as eager to spend more time with his mother as he was to learn new techniques.  

“Of course, training will not be enough.”  She looked at the forest. “We will also need to provide you with practical experience. Remember the demonic beast-tiger I spoke of? You asked if we could hunt it together.” 

“Yes?” He asked excitedly. “Are you agreeing to do it?” 

“I am: to gain the practical experience you will need to fight your brother’s beast form; you must defeat an actual beast. You and I are going on a tiger hunt, but only after…”  

She looked down at the gauntlets on his hands. 

“…I teach you how to use the prize you won from Haakon.” 

###

Author's Note

So fun fact, in a SUPREMELY early version of the story, the golden knight Matthias was something he dreamed for himself when he was a child. Like it was literally a dream sequence where he was a mighty archknight, riding across the plains, slaying an evil sorceress.

That dream didn't really fit the current version of the story, but I liked the design of the dream Matthias from that sequence. Hence it gets put to much more GRISLY use here.