The First and Lass Kiss of Uomo d'Ingara

Snow glided down, the forest dark. Sir Uomo d’Ingara’s boot crunched on as he walked slowly through the trees. He breathed heavily, and it came out so he could see it, in the frozen air. Snowflakes came to rest on his plate armor, only to be pushed away as he walked through towards his goal. It was a cold night, but Sir Uomo was hot, filled with purpose. He was living like they did in the old tales, indeed!

He could see a flickering in the distance, a campfire. A blaze where his love, the Duchess Constantia Giorgioana Liberad Volopora lay captive against her and her father’s will. It had been only two weeks since the vile brigands known as the Bastards of Bologio accosted the Duchess and her ladies in waiting as they rode through his very forest. The messenger gave her father three weeks to come up with the ransom or she would be defiled in the most evil of ways. Uomo himself had wanted to run the man through when he said those words, but the fourth son of a minor baron doesn’t act without the leave of the Duke in his own court. The Duke howled, and threw the man out, but called for his treasurers.

***

Uomo had fallen in love with Constantia the moment he saw her nearly five months ago. She had long flowing yellow hair, a prominent nose, and glowing hazel eyes. Her chin rounded to a perfect point, her teeth flashed easily with her smile, which when Uomo caught a glimpse of it, make his entire week. She came up to his shoulder, the perfect height, and her bosom was always perfectly proportioned and heaved when she laughed with her ladies.

He longed to kiss her red lips, every single day and night. He imagined at their first kiss she would giggle as his short beard tickled her cheeks, her deep soulful eyes piercing his calling him to embrace her forever. The very thought now, as he strode through the forest, made his groin armor uncomfortable.

***

Uomo tried to go to the Duke a few days after the messenger, to organize a rescue. The old chamberlain, Sir Douglass Firr, stopped him and scolded him for his impertinence. “The Duke doesn’t need a wet behind the ears dust knight to tell him that he needs to rescue his daughter.”

The chastisement still burned Uomo. He wasn’t a dust knight, a landless ruffian who often traveled from castle to castle offering their sword. His father held Zalan, their ancestral home. He was always welcome there, but unless a great tragedy happened, would never hold it. He left to find his own fortune. It was that or the church if he wanted to amount to anything in this world. He couldn’t see himself spending all that time reading, so his father had Smelest craft him a sword.

It was a tough, durable blade, without adornments. A brass hilt separated the blade from the grip, which had a small piece of citrine set in the pommel. He hadn’t named it until he reached the Duke’s castle, and then it became Constantia. He hadn’t asked the Duchess what she thought of having a sword named in her honor, as that would require speaking with her.

Three days after the messenger left, a party of knights led by Prince Chadwyck Metmornos Viriili arrived at the Duke’s castle, proclaiming that they would rescue the duchess in distress, and restore what the Duke had lost. After a rousing cheer, which Uomo didn’t join, the Duke proclaimed a feast and from that moment forth the prince and his party caroused and feasted.

Nearly every wench in the castle entertained the prince, as did most of the ladies of the court as well. Few of those women had even spoken with Uomo in the months he had spent in the Duke’s court, much less kept his goblet full during meals or sat in his lap to make merry. They ignored him to the point that he started taking his meals in the training yard, and he made Sir Kelvan Yorin, the master at arms, keep the yard open for his practice at nearly all hours of day and night.

It was Sir Yorin who brought Uomo with the rescue party into the forest. Prince Chadwyck and his retinue continued to drink and wench at the edge of the woods, waiting for morning to truly enter and get the duchess back. They insisted that Yorin join them, so he left Uomo in charge of the armament of the encampment. That gave him the chance to make a rescue attempt himself. His father could only afford to give him an ill fitting leather breastplate. Now, he clad himself in steel from head to toe, choosing a hound-skull helmet to protect his head. He wouldn’t dishonor himself by taking one of the knights weapons. His own would suffice.

He would rescue her himself, and make her his bride. Her father would certainly have to grant the hero who defeated the Bastards and saved his daughter that boon. The kiss that he dreamed of for months would finally be his.

The camp guards let him walk out into the snow with only a small challenge. They all knew him, as common men they didn’t wish to upset anyone with a sir. The snow began as the trees enclosed around him, only a vague idea of which way he was headed.

Uomo let his heart guide him towards his love. He kept her face in his mind, her smile telling him which way to walk and which not to. He kept the visor up, letting the snow land on his nose and his outstretched tongue. Oh what a tale for the bards this would be! The snow crunched and crunched as he proceeded into the forest.

***

Uomo heard a noise behind a tree in front of him, a wet bleat that spoke of a filthy uncultured lout. He raised Constantia to his lips, kissed the blade right above the hilt and lowered the hound-skull visor. “You there, come out and face me! I am Sir Uomo d’Ingara, and I will fight you to release the beautiful lady Constantia Giorgioana Liberad Volopora from your vile clutches!”

There was a shuffling behind that tree, and a throat clearing, “Sounds like Sir Dead and Stupid to me, coming up here all by yourself. Why would you want to rescue that stuck up bitch anyway? You think she’s gonna give you a little kiss? Don’t ya!” Chuckling came from behind a couple of other trees with that comment.

“Why don’t you cowards come find out? Come face my steel!” Uomo’s pride swelled with each word.

“Okay, we will if you are so eager, Sir Knight. But when you are on your knees begging, don’t say we didn’t give you a chance to head back.” As the last word drifted through the falling snow, four men came around the trees they were hiding behind, and strode towards Uomo. They were lightly armored, wearing boiled leather jerkins, and carrying spiked clubs.

Uomo stood up straight, clicked his heels together, and raised his sword up to his face and slashed away to his right, ready. He let the first man charge through the snow, club held high, to nearly reach him. Uomo spun around to avoid the club blow, and slapped his sword’s blade against the man’s back. That caused him to fall face first into the snow, and Uomo thrust the sword quickly into him as he lay there. There would be no time for theatrics or flourishes. He kept his mind affixed on his purpose here.

The second and third man were on him immediately. Uomo blocked the blow from one club with this sword, but the second glanced off his helmet, and scraped down his back, the metal spikes screeching on the armor that kept them from rending his flesh. Uomo stepped into the stance of the man whose blow he blocked, and head butted him.

The man’s nose exploded, blood covering his face and dripping into the pure white snow. He howled, and Uomo swiped his sword at his belly. The man jumped back, dodging the sword, but slipped on something and fell backwards. Uomo stabbed at his prone form, but felt himself being lifted off his feet by the fourth man, who tackled him.

Uomo rolled over, to protect his stomach and to look for his sword, which he lost when he fell. He spied it only a few feet away, so he started to crawl towards it. A heavy blow drove him down into the snow, as one of the brigands struck him with a club. He was joined by the other two, each of them striking his back with their weapons, and kicking Uomo in his sides and legs, screaming obscenities and curses at him.

Without the plate armor, he would quickly be dead. Uomo thought for a moment that maybe he should curl up in the fetal position, but something told him they wouldn’t stop until he was dead. So, he glanced around and found his sword. He crawled towards it, hungering for it as much as he ever did for the woman he named it for.

Uomo’s legs burned and he felt that his attackers hadn’t broken them yet. His fingers grasped around the hilt of Constantia and he swept it around his body. His attackers jumped back, one of them pouring crimson into the snow. He stood up, pain radiating from his legs, buckling his knees but he gritted his teeth and faced the two remaining brigands.

The brigands advanced on Uomo as one, but that didn’t save them. Instead of blocking or dodging their shots, he took the blows on his body, and ran his blade through their chests, spraying their scarlet blood over the porcelain snow.

Uomo knelt by their corpses, praying a few words for each of them. He rose and resumed his rescue mission. His breath emerged out of visor as steam, and he whimpered with each step as he felt his legs were just one giant bruise. His heart prayed a single word of thanks to Yorin, and the smith would made this armor. Whatever punishment he received when he returned for borrowing it would be worth it.

***

Uomo found two more small groups of bandits on his way to the campfire. Blood trickled down his right arm, and the one of the thigh plates was stove in, pinching his leg. He was certain that his right foot was broken, and he could feel a splinter of wood or metal impaled in his back near his ribs. He was better off than the eight dead men he left behind at those camps.

The snow had steadily increased until Uomo could barely see ten steps in front of him in the night. It melted on his armor, giving the metal a lustrous sheen, and washing the blood away. The cold tempered his hot blood, so that Uomo was neither chilly nor sweating excessively.

Before him his love awaited. There were several tents, and an unattended bonfire. The fire crackled as the wood broke and the flames ate snow. Uomo trudged toward the largest tent, sure of himself that he would find her held captive inside.

He pulled aside the tent flap, and the sight took him aback. There were two brigands sitting on stools, holding wine bottles, the tent illuminated with several lanterns. The Duchess sat disheveled on the rug on the ground, her dress stained with a large red blemish. She looked up at Uomo and weakly smiled. Uomo looked around at the tent, seeing dozens of spent jugs and decanters.

“Chadwyck! I knew you would come!” The Duchesses words emerging from her mouth slowly and with purpose.

One of the brigands looked him up and down, “I don’t think that's the Prince. Not tall enough.”

The other slowly lowered the bottle from his lips, “I don’t think so either. This one has been in a fight tonight.”

Constantia giggled, “Oh C'mon, it has to be Chadwyck. Who else could it be?”

“It is your rescuer, and knight of the realm. Unhand her you brigands, or face my steel!” Uomo tried to sound heroic, but the words came out tired and sore. He raised his blade in challenge to them.

Constantia laughed, and one of the brigands charged him. Uomo bit his lip through the pain, and spun around so the man would run past him. He swung his sword and hit him in the back, dropping the brigand with a long wound across his back. Uomo jabbed his sword into his side and then turned to face the last one.

That man remained seated. “I don’t you know what is going on here Sir Knight.”

Uomo took a step back to steady himself, “It looks like you kidnapped the Duchess and have held her for ransom, and you and your debauched fellows have celebrated your fortune. You celebrated too early.”

The brigand looked at Uomo, and looked over at the Duchess, who appeared to still be processing what just happened. He started laughing a deep rolling laughter, “I never thought that I would ever seen someone who actually believed those fairy tales. You don’t need to fight me Sir Knight. You can have her. But for your sake, I would start seeing what’s there, instead of what you want to see. It will be a real shame if you never find your way, a man such as yourself.”

With that, the brigand stood, and backed out of the tent, exiting away from Uomo. The Duchess remained seated on the ground. “Let me help you rise and remove your restraints, my Duchess.”

“Oh, thank you Chadwyck. But they took off the restraints after they captured me, didn’t need them anymore. Why are wearing that silly helmet? Take it off and lets have a drink!”

Uomo raised his visor, and the Duchess stumbled backwards, falling back down on the rug. “Who are you? I don’t know you?”

He extended his hand to her, and stood up as straight as he could. “I am Sir Uomo d’Ingara, your servant and suitor.” He beamed as he said it, willing her to confirm.

She shook her head, her hair sweeping in the air. “Okay, say did you purchase one of my Oscar Fielding portraits? Is that were you know me from?”

Uomo let confusion creep into his mind. “No, I am a knight, your savior. I wish to protect you and take your away from these evil men.”

She laughed, “Oh, you don’t have to do that. Chadwyck will be along shortly, and we are going to get married. He is such a handsome and fine man. Cassandra bet me that I couldn’t entertain him enough to get him to marry me, but I know I can entice him. She helped set this up, and let him know where to find me. Can you go get him? It should really be him here for this evening.”

What was she saying? “I don’t understand Duchess. I saved you, I braved the elements and put myself to the hazard as any true knight would to come to your rescue. I’m who you should marry, I’ve done everything you could want. I don’t understand why. I rescued you, and you don’t even offer your hero a kiss?”

The Duchess shrugged her shoulders, “I didn’t need rescue, especially from someone that begged me for a portrait. You can just talk to Douglass about buying one, you don’t need to bother me. But if that is what it takes for you to go get Chadwyck, you can have your kiss.”

She pouted her lips together, and leaned forward. Uomo moved closer to her, and closed his eyes as he moved his lips to hers. She didn’t open her mouth, but he could taste the vintage on it. The dreams he had of this moment turned to ash as she pulled away, a look of disgust on her face flashing on it before she changed it to a blank stare. “Now, you got your reward, Lomo d’Angara. Be a good man and help me out. I need a big strong guy like you to assist me. I’ll stay here and keep warm, and you go get the Prince. You can even stand guard over the tent afterward to make sure I’m safe.”

Uomo turned around and headed out the flap without saying a word. A blast of wind and snow covered his face, the melting flakes dripping down his cheeks. He looked at his still unsheathed blade, covered in the nights work, and slid it carefully into the its sheathe. He looked up, the moon shrouded in cloud.

To his right, the way back to the camp. He had a warm tent there, food, a bottle of wine spirits. He could impart his tale, and in the old days the Duke would laud him with a round, and embrace him as a son. Uomo didn’t think that is what would happen now.

He turned away and stared into the white darkness. Unbroken snow lay in his path. Uomo took a step, and smiled. He would start his new life, one free of illusions. He would be better, for himself and no one else. Uomo would make his own fairy tale now.