This story was originally written as a satire of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.
Sir Herbert burst out of the darkness.
His silver armour shimmered in the ebbing shadow. He held a spear, and a jewel-encrusted sword was fastened to his belt.
Behind him was a stampeding hell beast. It was jet black, panther-like, with eyes of flame.
In an attempt to slow it down, Sir Herbert danced through a patch of jagged boulders.
The beast crashed into the boulders, sending shards of rock splintering through the air.
It did not slow its pace, though. If anything, it made the beast faster.
It closed in on Sir Herbert.
He could hear the constant clatter of its heavy footfall behind him. He could feel the seething scorch of its breath on the back of his neck.
Then, the ground under his feet began to wither away, and a crumbling cliff edge cut into the horizon.
With each step, the rocky ledge lurched closer.
The beast was now clawing at his ankles.
In a last-ditch attempt to save his own life, Sir Herbert threw himself at a nearby boulder and pirouetted through the air.
As he landed, several stones dislodged and tumbled over the edge of the cliff.
The hell beast dug its enormous paws into the earth and skidded to a stop.
Sir Herbert scrambled to his feet and faced the beast. The tip of his spear was inches away from its red eyes.
The beast snarled, bearing its yellow fangs.
He knew that if he thrust his spear into the beast, it would charge at him, and both of them would fall over the edge. Instead, he drove his spear down beside the beast and plunged it deep into the earth. Using the momentum, he vaulted over the creature and landed behind it. Letting his spear clatter to the ground, he quickly unsheathed his sword and flashed it across the beast’s hind legs.
A thick yellow fluid gushed from the two incisions he had made.
The beast’s knees gave way, and it thudded to the floor.
‘That’s all a bit much, isn’t it? It’s almost like you’re trying to impress someone. I’d have gone with the ol’ sand in the eyes, bash its head in with a big rock trick.’ Winfred, Sir Herbert’s squire, stepped out of the shadows. He wore a rusty set of ring mail and a plaid tunic. He had oily black hair, stubby features, and two beady black eyes.
‘Perhaps you can try that one out for yourself when you are having heroic battles of your own,’ Sir Herbert said.
‘I’m ha — .’
Suddenly, a black arrow whizzed inches away from the tuft on Sir Herbert’s helmet.
They turned to see a small army of hunched figures marching towards them.
They swarmed around Sir Herbert and Winfred.
‘Wizwog, help me through!’
‘Very well, my lord,’ said an ogre that towered over the others. ‘Make way for the Supreme Overlord, please.’
The crowd split down the middle, and Wizwog ushered the Supreme Overlord through.
The Supreme Overlord was a small man with a pointy beard.
‘I see you’ve been busy,’ the Supreme Overlord snapped. ‘No matter.’ He waved a hand at the hell beast corpse, and it disintegrated into a smouldering pile of ash.
He turned to Winfred and Sir Herbert. ‘Now, what shall we do with you two?’
Two black tendrils lashed from the Supreme Overlord’s hands and wrapped around them.
‘I could squeeze you until you pop.’
The black tendrils clasped tighter.
‘I could let my minions pull you limb from limb.’
The ravenous horde howled and clanged their weapons together.
‘I could even have Wizwog squish you and be done with it once and for all.’
Wizwog groaned.
‘How about you let us go?’ Winfred suggested.
‘Let both of you go. I’d have no prisoners, then.’
‘What about if you let one of us go? You’d still have one prisoner, and the person you let go could tell everyone else how scary it is down here.’
‘Well, it is pretty scary down here, I’ll give you that. And I do really only need one prisoner to try my new curse on.’
Winfred gulped.
One of the black beams faded, and the Supreme Overlord stroked his beard. ‘Very well. Who shall it be?’
Sir Herbert and Winfred both exchanged glances before speaking.
Sir Herbert stoically said, ‘Winfred,’…
… and Winfred, less stoically, said ‘me.’
Winfred then quickly said, ‘but — but I need someone to show me the way out of here.’
‘There are no worries there. Wizwog can show you out.’
Wizwog’s enlarged features crackled into a toothy grin.
‘With all due respect, I don’t trust Wizwog.’
Wizwog frowned.
‘Surely, you don’t want to go with Hagwhittle. He’s terrible company.’
There was a moan from somewhere in the crowd.
‘No, no. I was thinking more of someone I know.’
The Supreme Overlord twiddled his moustache. ‘How about this fellow, then?’ He pointed towards Sir Herbert.
‘But, he’s your prisoner.’
‘I’m sure he’ll come straight back.’
Sir Herbert knelt. ‘On my honour as a knight, I will return.’
‘Well, that’s settled, then,’ the Supreme Overlord said.
The crowd separated, and Sir Herbert led Winfred through the labyrinth of grey boulders and molten fissures.
When the two finally reached the path that led to the kingdom of Avalot, Sir Herbert dramatically turned around.
‘You can’t possibly be thinking of going back?’ Winfred asked.
Sir Herbert gave him a solemn nod.
‘After all that, you’re going to waltz back in there! That was my A-game, you know? It doesn’t get better than that.’
‘I gave my word, and the word of a knight has to mean something.’
Winfred scowled at him. ‘You really are an over-zealous boob. Will you at least come to say your goodbyes before you go and get yourself killed?’
‘I think my honour will permit me to do that,’ Sir Herbert said.
As they made their way into the grassy valleys of Avalot, Winfred murmured something.
‘What was that you said?’ Sir Herbert asked.
‘Nothing,’ Winfred smiled.
When they finally arrived at Green Rock Castle, a chorus of trumpets greeted them.
Inside, the court wizard, Percival the Purple, sat on a wooden stool. He was eating a packet of sherbet flying saucers.
When he noticed Sir Herbert and Winfred come into the castle, he quickly shoved the remaining flying saucers into his mouth.
‘Greetings, Percival the Purple,’ Sir Herbert said.
Percival got up from his stool and bowed. He was a few feet taller than both of them. He was dressed in a fine silk robe with a big, floppy purple hat. He carried a knobbly walking stick. There was an air of serene wisdom about him, a kind of quiet dignity, some may say.
He brushed sherbet out of his long grey beard before greeting them.
‘Good day, Sir Herbert. How goes the gallant crusade?’
‘You did that on purpose, didn’t you? Just so you wouldn’t have to share,’ Winfred snapped.
‘Certainly not.’ The paper bag in Percival’s hands burst into flames. ‘I — I didn’t see you, that’s all.’
He threw the flaming paper bag on the floor and concealed it beneath his boot.
‘Where could I find the King at this hour, honourable hermit?’ Sir Herbert asked.
A smoke cloud rose from Percival’s leg.
‘Both the King and Queen, along with other noble dignitaries, are in the royal party pavilion, good sir.’
Sir Herbert bowed his head. ‘Thank you, Percival.’
There were several princesses in the pavilion. They were gossiping about Sir Lancelot going mad. ‘I think it makes him seem mysterious,’ one of them said dreamily.
The Queen sat on her throne, knitting a sock. The King sat beside her. He was searching through a crate of old crockery. The sound of clinking cups echoed through the halls.
‘You’d never guess what this noble chap has gone and done,’ Winfred said.
The King tossed aside a dusty, bronze cup and continued his search.
The Queen looked up. ‘It’s no use, dear. He’s been like this ever since he found out that his childhood friend at Camelot has found the Holy Grail.’
‘Arthur,’ the King grumbled scornfully. ‘I could tell you some stories about him that would make your hair curl.’
The Queen smiled.
‘Go on, dear. You can tell me. What has Sir Herbert done?’
‘He’s only gone and agreed to sacrifice himself.’
‘That’s very noble of him,’ she said. Some of the nosier princesses swooned.
Winfred’s face turned red. ‘But that isn’t all. Just wait for this bit — .’
The King held up a silver cup that was lined with sapphires and looked at the Queen expectantly.
‘If I remember rightly. Prince Rodney sent us that for our twenty-sixth wedding anniversary.’
The King threw it back in the crate and carried on rummaging.
Sir Herbert dropped to his knees and addressed the Queen. ‘Your grace, what Winfred says is true. I am to face an end befitting of any true knight.’
He turned to the King and laid his spear on the ground. ‘And on you, my liege, I bestow my spear. May it defend your righteous kingdom for generations to come.’
The Queen nudged the King.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ the King implored. He had not been following the conversation. He glanced at Sir Herbert, then at the spear, and said the first thing that came to his mind. ‘That is a very good spear. You made it yourself, you say? Leave it here, and on the way out, my court wizard will give you three bob for it. How does that sound?’
‘No, my liege. I give you this spear freely. I seek no boon other than the hope that it may serve you well in my stead.’
The King was searching through his crate again and not paying attention.
The Queen nudged him.
‘A fine bit of haggling there!’ he said. ‘Let’s say five bob, shall we?’
Sir Herbert looked up. The King was lost in a world of ornamental cups. It was no use.
‘Very well,’ he sighed. ‘But on my honour as a servant of the realm, I shall not take any of your money.’ He rose to his feet. ‘I shall now take my leave,’ he announced.
‘Goodbye, dear,’ the Queen said.
As they left the castle, Winfred collected the five bob from Percival the Purple.
‘So, you’re really going through with this?’ Winfred whimpered.
‘I am.’
‘I think I’m going to miss you.’
‘To give his life for his fellow man is the greatest honour a knight can ask for.’
‘Now I think of it, I don’t think I will miss you all that much, after all.’
Sir Herbert smiled.
‘I guess this is goodbye, then,’ Winfred sniffed.
‘Farewell.’ Sir Herbert unsheathed his sword and proudly marched to the Badlands.
Winfred wiped his eye.
The Black Fortress rose like a sharp thorn that seemed to pierce the sky. Shadows swelled around it.
Sir Herbert thumped the door.
‘Wizwog! Door!’
There was silence.
‘Wizwog!’
‘I guess I’ll have to do it myself, then.’
The sound of footsteps pattered through the halls.
‘What fool put that up there?’
Sir Herbert looked up. There was a removable slit high up on the door frame. It disappeared and then magically reappeared several feet lower.
The slit opened, and the Supreme Overlord’s round face poked out.
‘Yes?’ he said.
‘I have returned.’
The Supreme Overlord eyed Sir Herbert. ‘You’d better come in, then.’
Inside, there was an enormous marble statue of the Supreme Overlord. It nearly filled the entire fortress. The sculptor must have been very generous, too, because it had broad shoulders and bulging muscles.
‘Impressive, isn’t it?’
Sir Herbert nodded.
‘And that’s really what I look like underneath this baggy robe.’
Sir Herbert looked at the Supreme Overlord. ‘Sure it is,’ he smiled.
A long spiral staircase wound around the statue.
‘This way,’ the Supreme Overlord said, leading him up the stairs.
He took Sir Herbert into one of the chambers.
When they were inside, he pointed to a spot beside a window. ‘Now, you stand over there. You won’t feel a thing, I promise.’
Sparks simmered around the Supreme Overlord as he gazed at Sir Herbert with intense concentration.
‘Master!’ Wizwog shouted.
The sparks fizzled away.
There was the hammer of giant footsteps running up the stairs.
Wizwog floundered into the room. ‘Master,’ he panted. ‘I’ve checked the door, and there was nobody there.’
The Supreme Overlord scowled at Wizwog. ‘I did it myself! I don’t know why I even bother having you around in the first place! Get out of my sight!’
The ogre’s enormous shoulders sagged, and he shrank out of the chamber.
‘Now, where was I? Ahh, yes.’
Sparks danced around the Supreme Overlord once again.
Sir Herbert found himself trapped in a cage of telekinetic energy.
Inside the cage, the winds began to roar.
Sharp shards of ice whirled around Sir Herbert.
Once he was frozen solid, the gale turned fiery.
Flames danced around the knight until his entire body was enclosed in a metallic shell.
And then it stopped.
The Supreme Overlord excitedly picked up a nearby crossbow and sent a bolt whistling towards Sir Herbert.
It bounced off his left leg.
‘I told you that you wouldn’t feel a thing,’ he sniggered.
He put the crossbow down and pointed his finger at Sir Herbert. A green light pinged out of his fingertip and floated towards the knight.
Sir Herbert shrank.
The Supreme Overlord pranced over and picked him up between his forefinger and thumb.
He took one look at Sir Herbert and tossed him out of the window.
The knight landed on the shores of the river Whyx, startling a family of otters.
Eventually, one of the braver otters nudged him with its head and pushed him into the tide.
The current carried Sir Herbert into the sea, and for generations, he whooshed in the waters. He was carried to the far corners of the earth, to places yet undiscovered by humankind. He saw the many marvels of nature and the many wonders of the world. Eventually, though, he found himself in a damp cardboard box at a car boot sale in Brighton.
Big Johnno was rummaging through the box. Since his sudden growth spurt, he had reached a newfound level of notoriety on the playgrounds of Saint Wallace’s Junior School. It wasn’t often that a boy who collected whistles and read Wikipedia entries in his free time got to be this popular. He was even made the second lieutenant in the school gang.
He scrutinised an ALF plush toy that smelled a bit of old cheese.
‘My mum says we can each have one toy to take home,’ Sally the Butcher shouted.
He continued to search through the box of 99p toys.
Bulldozer Ben came over. ‘Found anything yet, Johnno?’
‘This tin knight looks pretty cool,’ Johnno said, holding up Sir Herbert. He inspected the armour that had been forged in the smouldering smithies of Lancashire, the sword that had seen many a gallant battle and was still stained with hell beast blood. Then, he tossed the knight back in the box and took out a slightly discoloured Optimus Prime action figure.
‘I think I’ll get this one instead.’
