Shadow of the Knight (The Orb Book 3)

by Matt Heppe

  “We saw them,” Sulentis said from behind Telea. “They’re imprisoned in the stump of the Emerald Tree.”

  Orlos shook his head. “No. They’re in Dromost. The stump is a gateway.”

  The world spun and Sulentis had to catch Telea or she would have fallen. “What did you say? A gate?”

  “I was there,” Orlos said. He shuddered and closed his eyes. “The spiridus are in Dromost. They are tormented. I have to free them.”

  “Another gate?” Sulentis said, looking at Telea. “Did you know?”

  “No…I had no idea.” She looked at Orlos. “You were there? How did you get out?”

  “I went through…I don’t know how. The spiridus cried out for help, but there was nothing I could do. And then a demon came, and I fled. The spiridus wanted to follow, but they couldn’t.” He paused. “Can I have some more water?”

  “What does this mean, Telea?” Sulentis asked.

  She shook her head. “One moment,” she said. “I have to think.”

  Tell me, she said to her demon. What is happening?

  It is a one way gate to Dromost. The veden created it with a massive blood sacrifice.

  Can anyone go through?

  Only a demon.

  Telea frowned. How did Orlos go through?

  He didn’t. The demon within him did.

  The spiridus?

  Yes.

  Could you go through?

  I won’t! I’d be set upon by other demons and might be consumed by them and become part of them. I am only a worm. We are small and powerless. Food for bigger demons.

  And if you are killed in Dromost, you perish forever?

  Always reborn as a worm, it replied. There was deep anger in the thought.

  You were once stronger.

  The voice didn’t respond. Telea thought it gone, back in hiding again. I was once stronger, it said. Longing filled the voice. And anger. Then I was betrayed.

  Sulentis shook her shoulder. “Telea,” he said.

  “We are safe,” she said. “The gate is one way.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know.”

  Orlos stared at Telea for a moment. “There’s a demon in you. I can see it.”

  She shook her head. “No! What are you saying?” How could he know?

  He sees me, her demon said. He is a demon. We are one and the same.

  “I performed a summoning to heal you,” Telea said. “Nothing more. You see the aura of my magic.”

  He shook his head. “There’s something there. Some dark thing.”

  “Orlos,” Maret said, “she brought you back from death. This woman, Teleana, saved you.”

  “What of the spiridus?” Orlos asked. “Can you save them?”

  Say yes, her demon said. There is a way. And a price.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Ayja and Cam marched through the night and into the dawn. Darra walked with them, never far away. Often he would drive ghuls back when they came too close. They cowered like dogs before a cruel master when he raised his hand or ordered them off.

  “They want to kill us,” Ayja said to Cam when Darra wasn’t near. “We’re in an army of monsters who want to consume our blood.”

  “We could fight our way clear,” Cam said, “but how long would we be free? I don’t even know if we are in the vanguard, the main battle, or the rear guard.”

  As the sun rose over the mountains, the ghuls moved deeper and deeper into the shadow of the forests around them. Their movement slowed as well as they dashed from dark patch to dark patch. Ayja watched as Darra drove them forward.

  “They don’t like the sun,” Ayja said. “If we wish to leave, the day would be when we should do it.”

  “Do we want to leave?” Cam asked.

  Darra joined them before Ayja could reply. “A cloudless day. This isn’t good,” he said.

  “The ghuls don’t like it?”

  “It burns their flesh and saps their energy.”

  “And you,” Cam asked. “Does it do the same to the pyren?”

  “It does, but we know enough to keep ourselves covered. Even our eyes.” It was true, Ayja saw. Every inch of the pyren’s body was covered with armor or cloth. He even had a black veil over his eyes and a hood over his head. “The ghuls are too stupid to cover themselves. Even if I commanded one to wear clothes, they wouldn’t keep themselves covered for long.”

  “It’s horrible what you’ve done to them,” Ayja said. “They aren’t human anymore.”

  “It will be more horrible if Cragor conquers the world. The ghuls serve a noble purpose. And when that purpose is done, there will be no need for more to be created.”

  “Winning the war is important,” Cam said, “but isn’t the manner of your victory important as well?”

  “And what would you prefer? A noble feeling in your heart as Cragor's varcolac kill and rape a hundred times as many Saladorans as we've turned into ghuls?”

  Cam looked as if he might respond, but then turned away, anger clouding his face.

  “There has to be another way,” Ayja said.

  Darra laughed. “Show that path to us Princess, and we shall take it.”

  Cam and Ayja marched on in silence, falling several paces behind Darra. Cam had told Ayja of the war fought with Akinos and the eternals. He’d told her that Akinos had invaded because he thought he had to save the world from the Wasting. The awful truth of it had been that he had been the cause of the Wasting.

  What kind of person would I be if I were queen? What would I do if I held the Orb of Creation? It was too hard to imagine. She was Ayja, a girl from the poorest, most backward region of Salador. Cam had raised her well. He’d taught her to read and write. He’d taught her history and of the ways of the world. But what did she know of ruling?

  The image of her atop a throne in a cloak of royal red trimmed with white fur shattered as she remembered the stories Cam had told her of royal intrigues. She didn’t know anyone at court. She had no friends or allies. All she had was Cam. They’ll take advantage of me. They’ll trick me into doing terrible harm.

  “The ghuls are gone,” Cam said.

  Ayja looked around. He was right. The sun was fully above the mountains now, and none of the ghuls had approached them for some time now.

  “Will the army stop for the day?” Cam asked Darra.

  “The ghuls will go into hiding. The pyren will carry on.”

  “We’ll get too far ahead,” Cam said.

  “The ghuls will run through the night and catch up. Prince Morin needs information. We’ll push forward and make contact with the enemy.”

  “And when will we rest? Cam and I?” Ayja asked. “We can’t march forever.”

  “You’re wrong. You can march forever.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He means he can give us strength,” Cam said.

  Darra nodded. “We can do more than take life. We can give it. But unlike the eternals who use the Orb as a well of life, we, the pyren and lyches, can only give life by taking life from others. When King Morin healed you Princess, he did it by taking life energy from the ghuls.”

  “I won’t have it then. I won’t take life you’ve stolen from some innocent child.”

  “You already have.”

  “It wasn’t my choice!”

  “You won’t have—”

  “A choice?” She glared at him. “I dare you, pyren. Lay a hand on me and see what happens.”

  He held up his hands. “I would never harm you, Princess,” he said. “But I wish you would reconsider.”

  “No. And Cam and I will rest and eat now. These past few days have been hard.”

  Darra stared down the valley to the northwest. “A little further, Princess. There’s a town—”

  “We know it. And no more Princess. I am Ayja.”

  “Very well, Ayja. Please. A little further. Prince Morin might still be there. Let him speak with you.”

  “I don’t know what he might
say that would convince me.”

  “Just to town,” Cam said, relenting. “And then we must rest.”

  Darra nodded, faceless behind his steel mask. “Very well.”

  They followed the stream deeper into the valley. As they marched onwards, the high mountain walls slowly receded. Lower yet, at the town of Malton, the stream would turn into a shallow river, navigable by small boats, but for now it was a cold stream tumbling over rocks and falls.

  The road was quiet, but how else would it be? There never were that many travelers. Now that Morin’s army had passed, would there ever be any travelers again? There was nothing to go to. Everyone up the valley was dead. Everyone she knew was dead. Her friends, their families… everyone. They were dead, or they were ghuls.

  Unbidden, images of her friends as ghuls flashed before her, with their skin pale and stretched and their eyes dull in death. Ayja clenched her fist and looked at the sky in an effort to dispel the ghosts invading her vision. It was her father’s fault. He’d created the pyren and the ghuls that had killed all of her friends. He’d ruined her life, driving her from the home and life she knew.

  Almost at the same moment she saw it, Ayja smelled the smoke rising from the valley below them. Cam gave her a look, and she knew he smelled it as well. There wasn’t much smoke, or it was far enough away that she couldn’t see it. She did notice, though, gathering clouds in the distance.

  They marched on and after a bend saw the town of Malton laid out below them. Here was the source of the smoke. Several of the buildings had burned, but most were still intact. Most of the smoke billowed from the keep guarding the far side of town.

  Malton had a wooden palisade, with stone towers guarding the gates. From their position on the hill above the town, Ayja saw dead defenders on the towers and in the streets. More than defenders, she realized. There were dead citizens lying out in the streets.

  “They’ve taken the town,” Ayja said. “I doubt there’s a soul alive.”

  “King Morin came through here last night,” Darra said. “I imagine he marched on before dawn.”

  “They’ve sacked the town! Look at all the dead! He says he’s the King of Salador, but he kills his own people. Look at them all.” Ayja’s shoulders sagged in defeat.

  “He’s recruiting,” Cam said. “There should be more dead, but they’re all ghuls now.”

  “It takes an army to win a war,” Darra said. “Now we have an army.”

  A cloud passed overhead, blocking the sun. The shade was welcome respite from the summer heat, but there were more clouds behind the first.

  The river they had followed down from the mountains ran through a gap in the hills below them and then was channeled around the town of Malton to form a moat. Without a boat, there was no way around the city. Their only choice was a stone bridge that took the mountain road over the river and through the back gate.

  They hiked down the valley road to the bridge. The near side was unguarded, but two small guard towers protected the far side. The back gate of the city was much smaller than the front, as it led only to the high mountain villages. Cam and Ayja crossed the bridge. The gate was open but only enough for a single person to pass through.

  Darra walked through the gate without a pause. More cautious, Ayja went to the gate and peered in. The town was dead. There should have been some noise—the sounds of dogs barking, carts rolling, doors slamming, and the shouts of vendors. Nothing. A dead guard lay on the road nearby, his face turned away. Further in lay a woman in a white linen kirtle covered in blood.

  A dark cloud passed overhead. “There are ghuls behind us,” Cam said. Ayja pulled back from the gate. At least a half dozen ghuls worked their way down the valley behind them. “Stay close to Sir Darra,” Cam said.

  They passed through the gate and found Darra waiting for them. The three of them stood in a large square near the gate. Ayja had only been to Malton a few times before. It had seemed huge and intimidating before, but now it was eerily quiet.

  “There are ghuls here,” Darra said, glancing at the surrounding buildings. “We’ve caught up to the army.”

  “What do you mean?” Cam asked, hefting his axe. “How many?”

  “They must have stopped here and sheltered from the sun. I can feel them all around us.”

  A chill crawled down Ayja’s arms. She stared up into the dark windows of the homes surrounding the square and held her spear tighter. “All around us? You didn’t answer Cam. How many?”

  “Thousands.”

  “Forsvar protect us,” Cam said.

  “I don’t understand,” Ayja said. “The whole town? Everyone has been turned into ghuls? All in one night?”

  “Hurry,” Darra said, ignoring her. “We must get to the other side of town. I can’t keep so many ghuls from you. We must find King Morin.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance as they hastily strode through abandoned streets. Second stories loomed over them, casting deep shadows beneath them. They passed a dead carthorse still in its harness. Blood pooled around its head.

  There were a few bodies. Men mostly but a few women. Far less than Ayja expected for a town of its size. Then again, the attack had come at night, when most people would be inside.

  The street was narrow, much narrower than back in Peravil. Something shattered in a house they passed. Ayja saw movement through the broken front window. She slowed and let her vision enter the aether.

  “No, Ayja, keep going,” Cam said. “There could be hundreds of them. We can’t fight. We’re not far from the keep and the gate towers.”

  “Yes, keep moving,” Darra said.

  They lengthened their strides and hastened their way through the town. Now when Ayja looked in windows, she saw ghuls in every one. Were they real or imagined?

  She heard another crash in the house next to them.

  They were here. Ghuls surrounded them. She felt their presence. She felt their hunger. She looked over her shoulder, but nothing moved on the street behind them.

  Ayja glanced overhead. As she looked up, a raindrop struck her face. Just a drizzle, but there was more to come. Thunder rumbled ahead.

  “What’s that ahead?” Cam asked. He held her shoulder and pulled her to a stop. They both crouched low.

  “What did you see?” Ayja asked. The road widened into a broad square, but a large inn blocked their view. Jumbled, broken tables rested under an awning.

  Darra motioned for them to wait before he strode forward, into the square. He paused a moment before returning to them. “We must wait...” he started, and then paused, staring down the street behind them.

  Ayja looked over her shoulder and saw them—ghuls creeping down the street. There were dozens of them. Close by, Darra just stood, staring at them. Ayja tapped Cam and pointed at the danger.

  “You can stop them?” Cam asked the pyren.

  Darra shook his head. “No. There are too many—and more will come.” He paused a moment. “Follow me. You will see something you do not like, but it can’t be helped. Do not interfere.”

  He led them past the inn and into the square. On one face of the square stood two towers and the open town gate. To the right of the gate was a large keep. Lord Vainor’s castle. There was a crowd of men in front of the keep. No, not men. Pyren and prisoners. And there, in front of them, was Morin.

  The keep’s doors were broken wide. There were scorch marks on the white stone walls. Morin’s magic, Ayja knew. He’d broken the gates with his elementar power. High above the castle, smoke still rose from one of the towers.

  Three men in armor stood near Morin. They wore East Teren yellow with the sign of a standing bear in black on their tabards. A pyren stood behind each of the men.

  “Lord Vainor and his two sons,” Cam whispered in Ayja’s ear. One of the sons looked her age, the other several years older.

  “Don’t stop,” Darra said behind them. “We must move closer to the pyren.”

  A crowd of bound prisoners, maybe twenty, knelt facing
Morin and his pyren. The prisoners were gagged and had their hands bound behind their backs. All were soldiers and each had a pyren standing behind him.

  Morin looked up from the prisoners as Ayja and Cam approached the back of the crowd. His dead, pale face showed no emotion, nor did his iron black eyes. With a slight gesture he motioned for them to stop. Then he turned his attention to some of the pyren and with a wave of his hand he sent them back towards the city streets. There they held back a growing crowd of groveling, snarling ghuls.

  From the city gates marched another group of pyren. All wore yellow tabards with black chalices emblazoned upon them. One was different. He glowed with a pale aura that glimmered in the aether. A lych.

  The eight pyren formed a wedge behind the lych as they escorted him towards Morin. A few strides from Morin they halted and took their knees. “My King,” the lych said.

  The lych wore a yellow cloak trimmed in black fur. It seemed odd that these living dead would care so much for noble appearances, Ayja thought. They play at humanity. It’s a costume.

  “Welcome Lord Daimon,” Morin said. “Rise. Let us begin.” He turned to the three noble prisoners. “Lord Vainor, you and your sons fought nobly. You cannot be blamed for your loss against my army. I am King Morin, High Lord of the Kingdom of Salador.”

  Vainor stood proudly, his chin high and his back straight. His eldest son attempted to emulate him, but the younger son was clearly in shock at what had happened to them. He tried to keep a brave face, but he kept staring from Morin to the prisoners gathered before them to the pyren guards.

  He wants to run. It’s taking everything he has not to flee.

  As if hearing her thoughts Morin turned to the young man. “There’s nothing to fear,” Morin said. “Today is a great day. It’s an important victory on the path to final victory.”

  Morin strode up to him, and before the young knight could react, Morin placed his hand on the man’s forehead. The boy immediately relaxed and a broad smile crossed his face.

  “Do you feel the power, Sir Vendal?” Morin asked.

  “I do,” Vendal replied.