The Sworn Knight

by Robert Ryan

  He did not like them gaining in power. Especially, he did not like it when that power did not come from him. But the world moved on, and the more power they had the more they sought. Yet he alone could hold the Morleth Stone. Osahka promised him preeminence, and in that promise he trusted. The stone was all that he believed in now, and he was right to bind himself to it. It was the future.

  A dark figure swept through the air near the tower, and there was a rush of wings. It was gone into the night again, and then it banked back, swept lower and alighted with grace on the parapet near him.

  This elù-drak was younger. She had not the confidence of the previous one, but still those eyes locked onto his and he took a step forward before he controlled himself.

  “Speak!” he ordered.

  The creature gave what might have been a bow. “The lands of the north and west I have flown,” she replied. “My belly is full, and my eyes have seen much. My ears also have heard the tidings of the land.”

  Druilgar knew what that meant. She had taken a man captive and made him into her thrall. Off him, she had gathered news. And then she had killed him. The magic did not last long.

  “What tidings have you heard?”

  She told him many things then, some of which he knew already and others that were new. For the most part, it was good news.

  He questioned her most about the city of Cardoroth, then he bid her go. She did not need to eat, but like a cat hunting a mouse for the play of it, she would find amusement in the streets below.

  Cardoroth interested him, and greatly. He had heard much before, but he knew more now.

  It was a weak city, at the moment. The old king was gone, and a new king was in his place. War had ravished the realm. It was ripe for the plucking, and more and more Druilgar considered that it would be his first target. It was not that far away, and he could establish good supply routes for an army. His army was both fresh and growing. There would be little battle. Like fire engulfing a forest, his new order would overrun the target. Then, he would sit on two thrones, and he could contemplate the next move.

  It was rumored though that the new king in Cardoroth was a lòhren-king. He was aided by lòhrens, and he was one himself. That was a factor to consider. So too that he had so far overcome all obstacles in his path.

  But in the end, all men encountered forces they could not beat. This new king would find it so, for lòhren or not, he had no aid from a Morleth Stone. He would be a worthy foe, and then he would fall before bright steel or dark sorcery. It mattered not which.

  Druilgar had not long to wait before a third elù-drak reported. This one was older, yet she approached with sublime grace. She banked at an angle, and then glided to land before him.

  Like all the others, she held him with her gaze, testing him. But in her wisdom she knew in but a moment that he would not succumb.

  “From the south I have come,” she said, and her voice was deeper and richer than the previous ones. “It is home to my kind, and all is well there.”

  “You saw nothing of interest?”

  “Nothing did I see save that the land stirs and allies of old wake. More of my kind will come, and others also that serve the Shadow. You have friends, great one, and they come to support you. Of enemies, I saw none.”

  He sent her away then. Her news was good, and expected. The elù-draks had been the first to serve, for they had the power of flight and could cover great distances. Yet he longed for the day that other soldiers would swell his army, and it mattered little if they were not human. All could serve equally, and all be equally honored.

  Dawn was close at hand now. He should return to the palace and sleep a little, though he had less need for it now. The Morleth Stone seemed to sustain him more and more. Yet he reveled in the night, and enjoyed the blanket of darkness. Below him, that dark was lit by lights just as the sky was lit by stars, but here, in Faladir, he was in control. Sometimes, he felt the stars mocked him.

  He was nearly ready to descend the tower, but something stayed him. He gazed around, for the vantage of the pinnacle of the tower offered him a view of the entire city.

  Something was wrong, and he waited.

  But not for long. There was a mighty crash that came from nearby, somewhere in the People’s Square. There was a commotion there, and he knew by instinct, or magic, that it was the work of rebels.

  With his mind he summoned the elù-draks that he had so recently spoken to. Two of them came and alighted before him, ignoring each other. The third was some distance away, but he sensed her speeding toward him.

  He pointed to the square. “There is trouble there,” he said. “Kill our enemies! And when you are done, spread terror through the city. Let the people, let all who dwell here, know fear!”

  The creatures dove from the top of the tower and sped into the dark. They would see his will done, and he would watch and listen.

  Yet still it disturbed him. How could there be rebels? And greatest of them Caludreth who had escaped. He was a threat, if ever there was one.

  Anger burned through him. Fury even. He had thought himself above emotions, but perhaps this night would subdue the city once and for all.

  20. Like His Own Shadow

  The middle reaches of the night had passed, and Savanest sat alone in thought.

  He had much to think about, for much had happened.

  His mind turned to the girl. He was fascinated by her. How had she learned the magic she had in such a short time? It was clear that she had talent, but that was not enough. Nor did she have the Morleth Stone to nurture her, as did he.

  It was a problem that he could not solve. Far better to just accept, however it was done, that she had learned swiftly what it had taken him a lifetime to discover. What had taken him decades had taken her just the passing of a few seasons.

  So it was also with her skill at fighting. That, he had not seen himself yet. But he had seen Lindercroft’s grave. That was proof enough.

  But her skills, however acquired, were not really an issue. Still less a problem. Her, and her ragtag group of followers were not a match for his force. If it had been necessary, he would have summoned more aid before he moved on her. But it was not necessary, and doing so would have carried risks.

  He did not know exactly where Sofanil was. But he would not share credit for the girl’s capture with him. It was possible other knights had been sent also. He could not be sure, but he did not think so.

  No. The girl would be his, and he would take her in fetters before the king. He would be rewarded for that, though certainly it would be reward enough to see her taken to the holy presence of the Morleth Stone, and look into her eyes as she was transformed against her will. The moment of her breaking would be exquisite.

  He could barely wait for that moment, and that it was some while away only enhanced his expectations. But her capture was not that far off. It would be soon, and he had already placed his mark upon her. Fear gripped her, and like a leash he would pull that and control her. When the time came she would be powerless against him.

  His was the greater power, and she knew that now. She had seen, perhaps, the Morleth Stone. It was always on his mind, and even as he had gazed into her eyes he had felt the stone stir and reach toward her. She knew what was coming, and against that she could not prevail.

  Or maybe it was just his fancy that she had seen the stone through his gaze. He himself saw it all the time now, so it was only natural that he would assume she saw it too. But he had not imagined its stirring.

  For a moment, he felt uneasy. Why should he see the stone at all times? He was a knight, after all, and he was in charge of his own destiny. He did not need the stone.

  Even as he thought that, the image of the stone rose unbidden in his mind. Black it was, mysterious as the midnight sky. What forces did it contain, hidden? What powers that could change the world?

  It was a thing of beauty, too. Black, polished to a smoothness like glass, yet harder than diamond. He laughed the
n, remembering how they had beat at him with hammers, cast him from the heights onto the stones below, buried him in the depths of furnaces and smote him with magic. Yet he still lived, as he always would. Life eternal was his.

  Savanest swayed and felt a roar in his ears. No, that was not him. That was the Morleth Stone. That was what they had done to it in ages past to destroy it. And they had failed.

  The wave of dizziness faded. He was himself again, but the stone remained on his mind. It was with him always, like his own heartbeat, breath or shadow.

  He bestirred himself. Too long he had thought. It was time for action, and he knew what needed doing. Dawn was creeping over the land, and his men would be awake. For them, it would be a day like no other.

  The camp was astir when he walked into it. The men had eaten, or were just finishing their meal. There were campfires, and these were being put out. They were not great soldiers, but they were organized. He could say that much for them, but they needed to be more, and they would be.

  He waited until they were done, and the captain approached him.

  “What orders, my lord.”

  “We will continue the hunt. While you slept, I have communed with our quarry.”

  “You found her camp?” the captain asked.

  “She found ours,” Savanest replied, and he knew all the men had gathered close and were listening intently.

  “She was here, while we slept?”

  “In a manner of speaking. But do not fear, she could do you no harm. I was here to protect you.”

  “And you spoke with her?”

  “Indeed I did, and it was a pleasant conversation. At least for me. She, on the other hand, would not be so pleased. I put fear upon her such as she has never felt before.”

  The captain shaded his eyes from the rising sun. “Will she not try all the harder to flee from us, then?”

  Savanest grinned. “But of course, yet what does that matter?” He pointed to the were-hound that sat on its haunches near the men, its head tilted and its ears pricked, listening.

  “We have the means to find her anywhere, now. But we still must be quick.”

  Gently, Savanest touched the were-stone about his neck and pulsed magic into it. He felt a moment of uncertainty about what he was doing, but then he pushed it aside. Necessity demanded the action he would take.

  “Men,” he said. “You have served me well. And I know you have more yet to give. Are you ready to serve your king and realm?”

  The captain saluted. “I’m ready, my lord!”

  There were shouts from the soldiers as well, but not all of them.

  Savanest infused more magic into the stone, and he sent it out like ripples in a pond to all the other stones.

  “Are you ready, men?” he asked again.

  This time there was a roar of approval. But the hound that had once been a man began to growl. No one paid it any heed.

  Again, Savanest sent a pulse of magic through the stone. Rarely had he ever held such power. His strength was growing day by day. Whether it was enhanced by the Morleth Stone or the controlling were-stone that he wore about his own neck, he did not know. But he liked it.

  “Let the world tremble!” he cried out. “For we are coming!”

  “We are coming!” the men shouted back. They stamped their boots and clapped their hands. Some lifted high their heads and unleashed a primal sound that contained no words but spoke of their eagerness.

  Savanest surveyed them. They were almost a pack of wolves preparing to set out on a hunt, and he laughed. But he concentrated once more.

  One last pulse of magic he sent through the stone about his neck and into the others. One last invocation of power, and the change would begin and nothing could stop it.

  The captain screamed first. He drew his sword, but only looked at it in bewilderment. Then he screamed again and cast the blade aside. He had no use for it anymore.

  Or perhaps it was because his fingers grew together, and fur sprouted down his arms. He screamed again, though maybe it was a howl.

  Rolling to the ground, the captain moaned and frothed at the mouth. But his mouth disappeared as a snout grew. Wicked teeth gleamed as the lips were pulled back, and the eyes darkened to deep pits of animalistic hatred.

  He knew what had been done to him, at least that part of him that retained human thought and emotion, but that did not matter. He must obey the stone he wore.

  But still he thrashed on the ground. Fur sprouted everywhere over his skin, and his body changed, stretching and altering shape. The clothes he wore split, and he bit and chewed at the leather belt that his sword sheath hung from. With a snarl, he bit through it, and then snapped at the boots that hung in tatters around his lengthened paws.

  The captain was soon gone, and a were-hound rose to all fours in his place.

  Savanest looked around. Of the soldiers that had faced him before, he now saw his new servants. Or at least the beginnings of what they would be. Many had stayed mostly human, but all showed some sign of the change. They waked on two legs, yet snouts had grown on some. On others, tufted ears stood out. Some had the round shoulders of bears, while the bristled skin and tusks of boars stood out on others.

  With the last of his magic, Savanest infused the stones they wore with a final surge of power. This would give them endurance and speed to run. Then he drew on the magic to sustain himself so that he could keep up with them.

  He looked at the tracker hound that had watched all this and whimpered. Was he glad now to have companions?

  With a surge of thought through the stone, he told the hound what he wanted, and it leaped to the chase. The hunt was on now in earnest, and Ferla would learn even greater fear.

  21. A Debt Repaid

  The elù-drak approached, and Menendil held his sword in a trembling grip. He had heard the legends, and just before he had heard Caludreth’s warning. Do not look into her eyes.

  But he could not help himself. Like water that must run downhill, his gaze met her own against his will.

  And she smiled at him. She was beautiful. She was everything he had ever desired. In her arms…

  He looked away, and there was a hiss from the creature. She was not as beautiful now, and the lips that once held promises were pulled back to reveal gleaming teeth, but it was no smile.

  “Back!” he cried, and he waved his sword threateningly. All his wits and skill with a blade seemed to have deserted him, but at least he was avoiding that deadly gaze.

  “Come to me,” she whispered, and stepped closer.

  He would rather have fled, but he knew that if he did so she would be on his back quicker than thought, teeth biting and hands ripping.

  “Come to me,” she implored again, and there was a note of disappointment in her voice. Perhaps she sensed that having nearly succumbed to her once, but resisting, he would not easily fall victim to her lure a second time.

  Nor would he. He strengthened his will. If he were to die here, at least it would be fighting and not as a slave to her.

  The fighting would come soon, for she spoke no more and stalked toward him. Her every move was grace, and the wings behind her flared a little at each step. She almost floated toward him, part walking and part flying.

  He saw the wicked spurs at the elbow joints of her wings, and he concentrated on these, shifting his gaze from one to the other so as not to look into her eyes.

  It was the spurs that were his greatest danger. Almost, he fancied, he could see the deadly poison they contained glisten on their surface. One scratch from those and he would be finished.

  She came at him in a rush. With a snarl and flaring wings she attacked, but he was ready for it. He drove his sword forward in a lunge.

  The elù-drak was swift though. She dodged to the side, avoiding the tip of his sword, and came at him from an angle. He retreated, nearly tripping in his haste. But somehow he got his blade between the two of them, and she paused.

  He was no match for her. She was too fast, and w
ould have probably been so in his youth. He had practiced little with the blade these last few years, and his skill had fallen away from him like leaves off an autumnal tree in the first gale of winter.

  What could he do? Nothing. He would die here, but he would do so with dignity. He would be no thrall to her magic, and if he could, he would take her with him.

  He drew his dagger, so that if she got past the sword, which she would, even as he died he would stab her. Perhaps it would be a mortal blow, and perhaps not. But he would likely only get one chance.

  Yet the dagger was long, and he saw her wicked gaze fall to it. She had read his mind, and her eagerness had lessened. But in the end, it would not stop her. It would only make her more careful.

  Menendil decided on something. While she hesitated, it was time for him to act. It was an old lesson from his army days. Do what the enemy expects least, especially when you are outmatched.

  He lunged toward her, this time not stabbing but slashing in a narrow range of movement, always keeping the sword between them and never overextending.

  She seemed surprised, and she rose up slightly in the air as her wings beat rapidly, but she avoided him with ease and landed some distance away.

  Menendil slowed, now stepping forward with careful steps, stalking her as she had stalked him only moments before.

  She tilted her head and gazed at him, her tongue sliding across her lips.

  “Come to me, little man,” she said. “You are a worthy opponent. I will reward you. Kneel before me. Worship me, and you will live. I promise it.”

  Menendil felt his legs go weak. He knew it was her magic at work, and he knew she would kill him despite her words, but the force of her will was overpowering.

  He was not sure what he would have done. The strength of her will was like a wave washing over him, but the burning desire to live was just as strong. He stood, trembling and uncertain, the sword in his hand nearly forgotten.

  But suddenly the force of her will was gone, and she turned her head to the side. Even as she did so, a blast of fire washed over her, and Caludreth came running, sword in hand and attacked her.