Shadow of the Knight (The Orb Book 3)

by Matt Heppe

  “Would you like to feel that way all the time?”

  “I would!” Ayja heard the enthusiasm in Vendal’s voice.

  Morin removed his hand and stepped back so that he was directly in front of the three knights. “Do you doubt who I am, Sir Vainor?”

  Vainor shook his head. “You are Prince Morin. I know it.”

  “I am King Morin. I will take the Orb of Creation from the varcolac, Cragor. I will take my rightful place on the throne of Salador.”

  “Yes…Your Highness.”

  Morin nodded. “To do this I need an army. That’s why I’ve taken your town. Your people shall serve as my foot soldiers. And you, and your sons, shall serve as my commanders.”

  “If you are my king, why have you slain my people? Why have you destroyed us? My people are innocent.”

  Morin shook his head. “None are innocent in war. War makes some into heroes and others into slaves. It’s the way of it. In death they serve a great cause.”

  “I won’t be a part of it,” Vainor said.

  “Nor I,” said his eldest son.

  “Touch them, King Morin,” Vendal said. “They’ll see.”

  Morin nodded. “Wise lad.” He took a step forward and raised his hands to place them on the two men’s brows. The eldest son flinched, but Morin’s touch froze him. The father struck Morin’s hand, but he might as well have struck an iron post. Morin touched Vainor’s cheek.

  “This is your destiny,” Morin said. “To feel the power of eternal life. To serve as eternal lords over the world. This is your right as the strong arm of the Eternal King.”

  Thunder rumbled overhead and rain fell. A gust blew across the square sending cloaks flapping. Ayja’s cloak was in her pack, but she was too frozen by the scene in front of her to take it out.

  “Do you accept my gift?” Morin asked. “To serve me as my pyren, granted eternal life and eternal dominion over the world?”

  “I do,” said the son. His younger brother smiled at him.

  “Never,” said Vainor.

  “Think of your wife and daughter,” Morin said. He nodded to a pyren and two women were led from the keep. One was older, the other younger, and both dressed in night shifts. “I can keep them safe from harm. If you are one of my pyren, they will live on as great ladies. But if you declare yourself my enemy, well, my ghuls need sustenance. You’ve seen my ghuls, haven’t you?”

  “Don’t hurt them,” Vainor said, his voice clear and strong.

  “Then you agree to my offer? You will be one of my lieutenants?”

  “I will,” Vainor said without pause.

  Morin released the two men. Both shuddered and almost fell at the lost contact. The lych, Daimon, approached bearing a gold goblet.

  “Kneel,” Morin commanded. He drew his sword as the three men knelt. “I dub thee Pyren of the King,” he said, touching each of the men on the top of their heads in turn with the flat of his sword. “Do you swear fealty to me, King Morin, from this time forward?”

  “Don’t do it!” the older woman called out. She still wore her nightshift and struggled against the pyren holding her.

  Vainor looked to her. “I must if I’m to keep you safe,” he said.

  “They’re monsters! They’re murderers!” she said. “Don’t do this.”

  “When Cragor’s hosts swarm across the land, laying waste and raping all they see,” Morin said, “then you’ll know monsters. Your husband and I, my lych allies, their pyren and ghuls—we are all that stand between the world and destruction. Now, Vainor, do you swear to it?”

  “I do.”

  Ayja turned to Cam. “What should we do?” she asked. The rain came heavier now, soaking her hair. The ghuls, pyren, and lyches took no notice of it.

  “We do nothing,” Cam said. “Now’s not the time.”

  Vainor’s wife sobbed as Morin raised his sword and cut his own bare left wrist. The cut was deep and black blood flowed freely from the wound. Daimon held the golden goblet under the wound, catching Morin’s blood.

  “Now drink and become pyren,” Morin said.

  Three knights glanced at one another, balking at the request. Ayja glanced to Cam. He grimaced and shook his head. What could they do but go along? Besides Morin and Daimon, there were dozens of pyren and hundreds of ghuls nearby. She had to stay close to Morin and to endure.

  Morin nodded to the three pyren standing silently behind the three knights. The pyren stepped forward as one and touched the necks of the knights. The men stilled at once. Then, one at a time, they raised their heads to drink from the cup.

  When the youngest son finished at last, the pyren released them and the three men flopped to the ground, helpless to violent seizures gripping them. The two women cried out at the sight of the tormented men, but pyren prevented them from approaching.

  “Let them feed,” Morin said. The pyren lifted the still convulsing men and took them to the bound prisoners. “Your ghuls will sustain you. They are bound to you and will obey your will. Draw from them the strength you need, but do not drain them completely or they will die. Come, create your first ghuls.”

  The bound prisoners shrank away from the new pyren, but couldn’t escape their bonds or the pyren holding them. Vainor and his eldest son, still shaking and too weak to move, were gently lowered in front of two of the prisoners. A pyren took each of their hands and placed it on a prisoner. The whole time the pyren whispered into Vainor and his son’s ears. Instructions, Ayja thought, but she couldn’t make out the words.

  Through their gags the prisoners cried out in fear, but after only a moment, they stilled. Soon their flesh grew pale and their skin grew taut against their bones. With every passing moment both Vainor and his eldest son grew stronger—no longer needing the pyren to support them.

  The youngest son, however, convulsed more violently then before. The pyren with him lifted his hands and placed them upon a prisoner, but Vendal’s spasms were so strong the pyren could barely hold him still. “Be strong,” one of the pyren said. “Draw life.”

  Vendal shrieked and for a moment held his claw-like hands in front of his face. After a terrible, twisting convulsion, he collapsed and lay still.

  Sir Vainor stared at his stricken son, but then the pyren supporting him took him to his next victim. They placed his hands on the prisoner and the process began again. Vainor and his pyren son went from man to man, draining the life from them, and becoming visibly stronger with each prisoner he touched. With each victim, the new pyren’s skin grew paler as his half-life began. Never again did he look back at Vendal.

  Morin won’t rid himself of his pyren.

  Ayja saw it now. The pyren were his power, the slave-soldiers he would use to rule. Her stomach twisted as, on the ground, the prisoners who’d been drained of life began to twitch and move.

  New ghuls are born.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Telea woke to the sounds of children playing. She frowned in confusion, not realizing where she was at first. Sunlight streamed through the window, and she smelled fresh baked bread.

  Orlos’s home.

  She blinked her eyes awake and sat up in the soft bed. Orlos’s mother, Maret, had given her a shift to sleep in. Telea had no spare clothes of her own. She had nothing to her name but a tattered dress and a pair of borrowed shoes.

  The room was small but clean and bright and decorated with wreaths of vines and dried flowers. The bed was soft and warm. The night had been cool, but it was late morning already, and the day had started to warm.

  Outside, two little girls chased one another around a large enclosed garden. A beautifully carved fountain stood in the middle of the garden. The grounds were a mix of raked pebbles and beds of pretty white flowers.

  Maret appeared from some doorway below Telea and hushed the children. When that wasn’t successful, she herded them, giggling, out a door.

  “Let them play,” Telea said from her window. “I’m awake.”

  “Those girls!” Maret shook her he
ad. “I’m sorry if they bothered you.”

  Telea looked up into the sky. “I’ve probably slept too long already. How is Orlos?”

  “He’s up and eating, thanks to you. It was amazing, truly amazing, watching you.”

  Telea shrugged. “I’m a healer. It’s what we are trained to do.”

  “I’m glad you were here. He wouldn’t have made it without you.”

  “I’m happy we made it in time.”

  “When you’re ready, come down and eat.”

  Telea smiled down at her. “I will. I’m starving.”

  A wooden washbasin sat on a table in her room. Linen towels, soap and two brushes sat next to it. She smiled at the kindness of her hostess. Telea took off the shift and washed. She’d been too exhausted to do more than collapse into bed the night before. It felt good to be clean for the first time in ages. A real bath, a hot bath, and she would have been truly content. She put on a fresh shift that had been left for her.

  There was a dress in the room, a simple green kirtle. Telea pulled it over the shift she’d slept in. It fit well enough but laced up the back. She’d need help tightening it. The dress was too large for Maret. Telea wondered whose it was.

  Her shoes were missing, so she left the room barefoot. The hall was empty. Four doors stood open to empty rooms. Telea padded down the smooth tiles of the hall to the stairs and descended to the foyer. There were shoes and boots in cubbies by the front door. Just like home. Unlike the Saladorans, who seemed content to wear their shoes indoors.

  Faint voices whispered down the hall. She passed smooth, plastered walls accented with twisting, polished pillars that rose to the ceiling like the limbs of a tree. At the end of the hall she found a kitchen. Maret was there. Orlos sat with his back to Telea.

  “There you are,” Maret said. “The dress suits you.”

  Orlos turned, and the smile on his face disappeared.

  He sees me, the demon’s voice said. Just as I see the demon in him.

  It’s a spiridus. Not a demon.

  We are the same.

  Maret strode closer, saying, “Let me fix your dress.” She stepped behind Telea and tied the dress until it fit snugly. Telea wondered at the scars covering the woman’s face. They weren’t the result of an accident, it was clear. She’d been cut—viciously. “There. You’re done,” Maret said. “Please sit with us.”

  Telea went to the small, round table and sat. There were only seats for four, and she was very close to Orlos. He gave her a dark look. She smiled at him, hoping to take some of the anger from him. “How are you feeling?” she asked. “I’m surprised you’re up.”

  “Much better, although I don’t truly remember anything.”

  “Well, I remember,” Maret said as she placed bread, butter, cheese, and jam on the table one after the other. “You were as close to death as one can get. Only Teleana’s magic saved you.”

  “Just Telea, please. And thank you for the food. It looks wonderful.” Telea turned to Orlos. He was very young, several years younger than she. “You were weak from hunger and thirst, and that stone…it assaulted your spirit.”

  Maret placed a hot cup of tea in front of her. “Eat, Teleana. Please, I’m sure you’re hungry after your journey.”

  “Do all people in Belen have such dark skin and wear their hair in so many braids?” Orlos asked.

  Telea shook her head. “My mother’s people do,” Telea said, wondering how many times in her life she’d said those words. “Her people live beyond the borders of the empire. My father’s skin was as light as yours. The Empire of Belen is very large. There are people of many races there.”

  She took a piece of soft bread and then slathered some jam on it. She didn’t know what fruit it was, but it looked delicious.

  “Do all people from Belen have demons in them?”

  Telea froze, the bread half way to her mouth.

  “Orlos! Don’t say such things,” Maret said. “She saved your life!”

  Telea took a bite of bread to save herself from having to respond. What response could she give? He saw the demon as plainly as the demon saw the spiridus in him.

  “Apologize, Orlos. She could be Queen Ilana, and I wouldn’t care at this moment. I would have lost you without her.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. The apology didn’t make it to his eyes.

  He would never trust her as long as she denied what he knew to be true. “I think the spiridus can be freed,” Telea said. “The magic trapping them can be defeated.”

  “How?” Orlos asked. “You weren’t so certain before?”

  “I’m not. I need to go back and examine the stone more closely.”

  “Is it safe?” Maret asked, worry creasing her brow. “Kael and Sulentis went back down there this morning.”

  “Sulentis is an elementar—” Telea started.

  “He’s what?” Orlos said. “Sulentis an elementar?”

  “He saved me from Del-Oras. I was captured and tortured by Duke Braxus. Sulentis freed me and we fled to Landomere.”

  “But how do you know he’s an elementar?”

  “I saw him control fire. He knocked down guards with the wind. He caused water to propel us across a moat. It wasn’t subtle. He used his magic openly.”

  Maret nodded. “He’s admitted it, Orlos.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Orlos asked his mother.

  “It didn’t come up. Orlos, I’ve only barely had time to feed you.”

  “He used his magic to save you,” Telea said. “We couldn’t have gotten through the tunnel if he hadn’t used his magic to make a path through the stone.”

  Orlos sat back in his chair. “I thought I’d saved him twice from inquisitors on the border of Landomere. I suppose it was only an act. He didn’t need saving at all.”

  “You helped him keep his secret and save more elementars,” Maret said.

  “I would have kept his secret! He should have told me.”

  “His magic isn’t all-powerful,” Telea said. “He can only protect himself from threats he knows about. If he was ambushed or taken at unawares, who knows what might happen?”

  Orlos nodded. “I suppose. I only ever warned him of danger. It’s not like I fought anyone off.” He smiled. “I can’t believe he’s an elementar. He’s a crafty one.”

  “He’s a good man,” Telea said. “I think I’d be dead if not for him.” She paused. “I don’t like that he’s exploring the stone without me there, though. I should go and see him.” She paused a moment and said, “Would you like to come, Orlos?”

  He blanched and sat back in his seat. “I don’t—”

  “Is it safe?” Maret asked. She moved to Orlos’s side and placed her hand on his shoulder.

  Telea raised her hands in a gentling motion. “I don’t mean for him to go into the chamber, but it would be good for him to go outside for some time. Come, take a walk with me.”

  Orlos sat up straighter. “What if…what if I did want to go back in? The spiridus are there.”

  “The stone isn’t alive, and I don’t think it can reach out and harm you. It poisoned your spirit when you touched it. In any case, you would be safer there with me. I can protect myself with song.”

  “Don’t go in there, Orlos,” Maret said. “There’s no reason for it.”

  “We have to save the spiridus,” Orlos said.

  “There’s nothing you can do,” Telea said. “Powerful blood magic was used to imprison the spiridus. Only the magic of song can fight it.”

  Or the magic of blood, her demon said.

  I’ll never use blood magic again.

  You used it to save him.

  That was healing.

  Same thing, the demon seemed to laugh inside her. Only instead of healing him you could have taken him.

  Go away!

  “What’s wrong, Telea?” Maret asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “That look on your face.”

  “Nothing!” She flushed, havi
ng spoken too loudly. “I was just thinking of what happened in Del-Oras, when Duke Braxus had me prisoner.” Telea stood. “Would you mind if I took some bread with me? I want to check on Sulentis.”

  “Of course! You must go right away?”

  Telea took a thick slice of bread and a hunk of cheese. “I don’t want any harm to come to them.” She took a long drink of tea. “Thank you.”

  “I’m coming,” Orlos said. “I want to know more.”

  “Be careful,” Maret said.

  “We will,” Telea replied. “I’ll watch over my patient.” She and Orlos walked to the front hall, where Telea found her shoes. She wished she still had her good boots and her own clothing. Orlos put on a pair of moccasins.

  They left the house and emerged into bright sunlight. Across the terrace, Telea saw a crowd of people gathered near the tunnel entrance. “They’re already at work,” Telea said.

  “They can’t leave the spiridus, or their remains, down there,” Orlos said. “It’s an affront to Helna and the Great Spirit.”

  “Let’s see what we can do to help.” They started across the gardens. Telea had never seen a place so beautiful. The Landomeri had planted flowers, shrubs, and trees in amongst the ancient, toppled ruins of Belavil. Unlike the artificial, geometric gardens of the Imperial Palace, these gardens flowed with their environment, perfectly blending nature with the weathered white stones.

  When they were well away from the house, Telea said, “Of course you’re right, Orlos. There’s a demon in me. How did you know it?”

  “There are things I just know. Maybe it is the spiridus in me. But I knew it.” He shot her an angry look. “But you denied it in front of everyone.”

  “I had to,” Telea said. “Please, it isn’t what I want. I had to use magic…blood magic to save myself when Duke Braxus’s man was torturing me. It was then that the demon entered me. It is a weak demon, though. It has no power over me.”

  “Will it? Someday?”

  Telea shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. I can’t be rid of it until I return to Belen. Only a singer or a healer can force it from me.” A thought kindled hope in her. “Unless…is there something you can do?”