Winter Tales

When the nights are long and dark, best beloved, the Knights gather round the great fire and tell the Squires stories of their encounters in the service of the Light. They tell of beasts: the Sloth and the Secretary-Bird, the rapacious Magpies and the Cawing Crows, Tin-Men and Cavemen, and sometimes of rogue Knights.

But the stories the Squires love best are of the monsters that have been faced, and sometimes bested, and they quake at the tales of those Knights who have been defeated.

The Knights tell of the Harpy, with her sweetly charming singing, who beguiles unwary Squires before carrying them off to faraway places from which they cannot return. For lo, the Harpy has talons of iron which sink deep into the flesh and leave a permanent mark, it is said. And if perchance a Squire or a Knight should sense the danger and resist then the singing becomes a foul screeching which is heard across the land, and souls shiver in fear of her terrible revenge.

Then The Knights tell of the Fifteen-Headed Hydra that all Knights are required to face, before initiation, in its deep dark lair. Sometimes the stories tell of more heads or of fewer, but it is always known as the Fifteen-Headed, that breathes flame from any of its heads at random. Even though a Shield-Bearer always accompanies the prospective Knight, many do not survive the encounter; the Knights tease the Squires with the tale that the Shield-Bearer may not act and is only provided to return with news of unsuccessful forays.

A futher story may be told of the Clockwork Swordsman who wields a rapier sharper than wit, and who seeks to pierce the heart and draw blood from all who are sent to face him. When he has tasted blood, he sends the Squire back to the Training Ground with a permanent scar. Many do not survive this but fade away and are not seen again.

Some Knights tell of encounters with a Great Bear, who welcomes Knights into his big warm strong embrace and hugs them harder and harder until all life has been squeezed out.

Some tell of Clouds of Doves who coo gently in the courtyards, but fly away in adversity.

There are many more stories of distant monasteries with peculiar practices, each with its own unique chimeras.

But the most terrifying monster is the Snow Queen, who kidnaps those who have received the distorting mirror into their hearts; she removes them to her lair and attempts to instil her coldness into them, taunting them with further cracked pieces of icy glass. The sojourn in the Ice Palace, where no warmth may penetrate, is daunting indeed to those without a thick skin and warming blanket. Her glacial breath, it is said, can freeze the blood even as it runs in the veins. Even her frosty gaze can chill a man to the bone.

Yet we have heard, best beloved, that the Snow Queen is vulnerable; that at the Passing-Out Parade she has melted, and transfomed into a warm, gushing flood.

But the most terrifying report is that within an hour she always refreezes into a being as hard and and cold as before, and more angular than ever. She cannot help herself. It is her nature.