Shadow of the Knight (The Orb Book 3)

by Matt Heppe

  Morin turned to face his army. “Lyches to me! Pyren to me!” he called out. His officers plowed through the massed army, the ghuls cringing and cowering as their lords passed.

  “There’s no time for subtlety,” Morin said. “We cast the die on one attack. We drive for the gates. Every lych and every pyren is to get through the gates. Lord Daimon, you command the rear guard. Bring as many ghuls as we can manage, and then we close the gates. After that we take the Orb of Creation from Cragor and end this war.”

  “We’ll be trapped in the city,” Lord Adun said.

  “Then you must fight well and boldly,” Morin said. “Those who show the greatest valor shall be raised up as great lords of the world.”

  “And if we fail?”

  “You are a lych. You’ll find your way free and make your own place in this world. I, for one, shall come through this victorious or die in the effort. I am the heir of Handrin the Great. The Orb of Creation and the Throne of Salador are my birthright.”

  He looked down at Ayja and put his hand on her shoulder. She did her best not to twist away from his touch. “And my daughter shall be my heir and rule beside me as the Elementar Princess of Salador.”

  Did he even hear himself? He shows his true colors. He once talked of Queen Ayja. Not that it mattered. There’d be no King Morin, or Queen Ayja, if she had her way.

  “Hail, King Morin!” Adun shouted. The other lyches and pyren gathered nearby echoed his call. The ghuls slavered and moaned, but for all Ayja could tell, it was only in hunger. None gave any indication of understanding.

  “Come, drive for the gates. Keep your ghuls, as many as you can, with us until the very end.”

  They departed the tree line and made their way across open fields. They were jogging now, angling towards the city walls. Cam shrugged his pack from his back and let it fall to the ground. “Just useless weight now,” he said.

  Ayja followed his example. It was a relief having it gone. Now it was just her, her armor and arms, and a waterskin. There would be no more traveling, no camping, no maneuvers. Now they would fight.

  Cragor’s army made no sign that they’d seen the approaching danger, but morning was still a quarter night away, and the cloud-shrouded moon provided little light. Ayja saw them, though. Thousands of unluks pressing forward towards the city gates.

  Ayja, Morin, and Cam were the tip of the spear, leading the mass of ghuls forward. It seemed surreal to Ayja, almost as if she was looking down at herself from above. Here she was, running towards death. It made no sense. What am I doing here?

  And yet she kept running. It was what she had to do. Even if she had a choice to stop, she wouldn’t have. The way of the warrior is death.

  They reached the dry moat that guarded the city walls and ran along it, straight for the gate. Cragor’s unluks had seen them now. Ayja saw their confusion. Their ranks boiled and stirred as some continued for the city gates while others faced the onrushing threat.

  “Unleash the ghuls!” Morin shouted.

  Without another word, the unspoken bonds holding the ghuls back were broken, and the living dead raced towards Cragor’s army. The ghuls sprinted forwards, heedless of the danger, their only desire to kill and feed. Javelins flew out from the defenders, some striking home and sending ghuls tumbling. Other ghuls, struck by javelins, continued forwards, ignoring their wounds.

  Ayja looked into the aether and saw the strands she desired. She flicked them with her fingers and her thoughts and summoned up a shield of wind she’d use to drive off any missiles that threatened her or Cam. Just ahead she saw the glow of magic as Morin reached into the aether, summoning some powerful magic.

  Morin threw his hand forward just as they reached the unluk lines and a ball of flame leapt towards the enemy, growing larger as it flew. The flames exploded among the unluks, shredding their ranks. Unluks squealed and screamed as the fire burned them.

  “This way!” Morin shouted, leading his army into the carnage. Ayja, Cam, two lyches, and a dozen or more pyren poured into the gap. Morin called his fire again, and now more of the unluks fled. The stench of burning hair and hide filled the air.

  Only a narrow line of unluks barred them from the drawbridge and gatehouse now. Ayja raised her spear and with a primal shout charged into them. The unluk in front of her raised his shield as she stabbed at his head, but it had only been a feint. Before he could lower his shield, she stabbed him through the thigh. He squealed and dropped his guard, and she ran him through the chest, her spear driving through his aketon as if it weren’t there.

  Cam had split the skull of the unluk facing him with one mighty blow from his axe while Morin had cut down two in as many strokes of his sword. The unluks facing them broke and ran.

  Ayja yanked her spear free and joined Morin and Cam as they ran across the drawbridge. There were more unluks here, and standing in the middle of their line was a man—a man with silver eyes shining in the darkness.

  Is that how I look to Cam? She felt her own silver vision, lurking just below her consciousness. If she wanted, she could call it up—it felt that close. She yearned to feel the silver power and fearlessness coursing through her blood.

  Not yet—when I need it. She wanted it now, though. These unluks waited in good order, their spears braced for the onrushing attackers. Time slowed as she charged towards the waiting spear tips. She had no shield to raise in front of her and only an aketon to protect her, unlike Morin and his heavily armored lych and pyren officers.

  Just strides from the spears, she reached into the aether and called fire down on the unluks. Not the fierce inferno that Morin had called, but a flash of light and flame that made them flinch back in fear.

  The unluk spear points wavered in the smoke and fire, and she and Cam ran in among them. Beside her, Morin parried a blow from the varcolac officer and closed in. Morin’s hand flashed out and he grabbed the varcolac’s face. The varcolac froze for an instant and then toppled, lifeless to the ground.

  Ayja drove her spear through the gaping mouth of a surprised unluk and then withdrew it to parry an unluk axe. She bound the axe on the lugs of her spear and disarmed him. He reached out to grab her spear, but she snatched it out of his reach and slashed deep into his arm. Cam’s axe finished him.

  Something struck her head, rocking it back, and she blindly parried with her spear. A pyren pushed close from behind, and she regained her balance. She thrust her spear into the mass of unluks in front of her striking a shield.

  The fighting was unlike anything Nidon could have trained her for. All those hours of fighting him had taught her the skills, but nothing could prepare her for the chaos of the melee. She couldn’t focus on just the unluk standing in front of her—she needed her eyes to be everywhere at once.

  Cam saved her more than once. His axe struck like a snake, blocking blows aimed at her and killing unluks in front of her. Morin drove forward into the unluks, cutting them down like wheat to a farmer’s scythe.

  A sword thrust made it past her guard and cut her arm. Silver rose over her vision, but she pushed it back. Not yet. But she could no longer justify hoarding her reserves of energy. The fight was too desperate. She reached into the aether and drew wind and fire and threw them at the unluks.

  The nearest unluks were thrown off their feet and cast into those behind them. Flames washed over ranks of unluks, burning them. They broke, running for the gates. Morin’s forces pursued them, relentlessly cutting them down.

  “Lyches and pyren into the tower!” Morin commanded. “Send the ghuls against Cragor’s men.”

  The gate tower loomed over Ayja as she ran forward. It was bigger than either of the two keeps she’d ever seen. Javelins and stones fell from above. Then a stone cracked into the bridge in front of her and she realized her death was just an unseen instant away.

  They passed under the portcullis and through the gates. There were no unluks in front of them now, they had all been slain or had run into the city. Morin turned left as they entered a
broad square and called his lyches to him. A cordon of pyren surrounded them.

  Across the square, the last of the fleeing unluks caught up to the rear of Cragor’s vanguard. “Cragor will know what we’ve done soon,” Cam said. “He’ll turn on us.”

  “That’s what I want,” Morin said. He turned to Lord Daimon. “Bring as many ghuls as you can into the city. We’ll seal the gate behind you.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” the lych ran back into the tunnel with four pyren close behind. Already ghuls flowed into the square. They raced towards Cragor’s army without thought or fear.

  “Put some order into that mess,” Morin said to Adun, pointing with his sword at the stream of ghuls. “They’ll be massacred attacking like that, and we need their strength.”

  The lych saluted and ran off shouting orders to the pyren.

  “And now we take the tower,” Morin said. He put his shoulder to the door as he twisted the handle, but it didn’t budge. Without a pause, he leaned his sword against the tower wall and placed both hands on the stone near the lock. Ayja saw the glow of magic boring into the stone.

  “Help me,” Morin said to her. “Help me shatter it.”

  Ayja placed her hands next to his, twisting the stands of aether to her bidding. The stone shattered and the door flew inwards. Both she and Morin stumbled into the room. She whirled, looking for enemies, but the room was empty. There were voices and pounding feet on the floorboards above, though.

  “Follow me,” Morin said. He charged for the stairs, a long dagger in his hand. Ayja had left her spear outside, so drew her sword and followed him. Cam and several pyren were close behind.

  There was a flash of fire and a shout of pain just ahead. An unluk tumbled down the stairs past her. The second floor of the tower was empty but for a single fleeing unluk. Morin dragged the unluk to the floor and placed his hand on the creature’s face.

  The unluk went rigid and then its skin went pale and its beady eyes glassed over. He’s draining the unluk’s life and restoring his own. She’d have to be more careful with her own strength. Unlike Morin and his followers, she couldn’t restore her own energy. She only had the strength she had within her.

  Morin ran up another twisting flight of stairs. There were two unluks here, both bearing armloads of javelins and unaware the tower had been breached. Morin killed one before he could even drop his bundle. Ayja ran at the other. He tossed his bundle to the floor and then snatched one up. Ayja’s sword stroke cut it in half. Her back stroke opened his belly and he fell back clutching his guts.

  Ayja lunged forward and finished him with a two-handed thrust. She looked away but couldn’t remove the image of his spilled intestines from her mind.

  “…the portcullis at my command,” Morin was saying. Ayja turned and saw him directing two pyren into another room.

  Cam took her by the elbow. “Are you wounded?”

  She shook her head no even though she had a cut on her arm. Cam had a wound of his own. Blood ran down his face from under his helm. “What of you, Cam?”

  “I’ve had worse.” He looked up as Morin disappeared up the stairs. “We have to clear the tower, and then we might rest.”

  Ayja nodded and the two of them followed Morin to the roof. Six unluks lurked by the parapet, commanded by a varcolac in full armor. Before they realized what was happening, Morin cut down two unluks, while Ayja used a blast of wind to fling another from the parapets. Cam killed an unluk with a powerful blow from his axe and then went after another.

  The varcolac charged Morin but was stopped short by a violent gust of air. Morin leapt at the surprised varcolac and blocked an off-balance sword stroke with his dagger. Then Morin took the dagger in both hands and drove it through the varcolac’s coat of plates, killing it.

  Cam turned an unluk’s blow and drove it back with a strike from the haft of his axe. Before he could finish it off, a pyren tackled the unluk and drove it to the ground. Two more pyren grappled the last unluk.

  “New ghuls,” Cam said. He was breathing hard after the climb and fight. Ayja nodded, turning away from the writhing unluks. They screamed in fear and pain. Akinos’s monsters being turned into Morin’s monsters.

  “Are you tired?” Morin asked. Ayja jumped at his voice, close behind her.

  “No.” The unluks stopped their squealing cries and were dragged to the tower stairs by the pyren.

  “We’ll need all our strength to fight Cragor.” Morin went to the parapets and looked over the walls. Ayja and Cam joined him. Ghuls streamed into the city, but more fought out in the darkness, holding off the bulk of Cragor’s army.

  The ghuls knew no fear, throwing themselves on the unluks, clawing at their armor and clothes and searching for their necks with their teeth. But the ghuls knew nothing of defense either, and the unluks were brave and well armed. Their axes and spears cut at the unarmored flesh of the ghuls, and although they felt no pain, the blows took their toll. Slowly, inexorably, the ghuls were driven back.

  “Fall back, Lord Daimon,” Morin called, his voice amplified by his magic and carried to the lych by the wind. The lych and his pyren escorts turned and ran for the gatehouse, following the last of the retreating ghuls into the city. Beyond the bridge hundreds of ghuls fought on, not knowing, or caring, that they had been abandoned.

  “Drop the portcullis,” Morin ordered a pyren. The pyren saluted and ran for the tower stairs.

  There was a cheer from beyond the walls as the unluks broke through the ghul lines. Pockets of ghuls fought on, but they were surrounded and cut off. There’d be no rescue for them. Ayja watched them, some wore the remains of dresses or night shifts, others wore fine clothes or even armor, but all fought with equal ferocity.

  Hundreds of unluks streamed across the bridge, racing for the gates. Thousands more pressed forward, waiting for their chance. Finally, just as the first unluks reached the tunnel, there was a loud crash as the portcullis slammed down.

  Morin smiled, but to Ayja it looked more like a death-grimace on his lined, sunken face. He turned to the four pyren on the roof. “You will hold this tower against all comers.” He pointed to one of them. “Blade of Darra, this is your command. The unluks have no ladders, but they’ll find some soon enough. You must give me time—understand? When I defeat Cragor, this all ends.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Darra said. “I won’t fail you.”

  Morin walked to the back of the tower. Ghuls filled the square below. Three roads exited the square, and there was fighting on all of them.

  “It worked,” Cam said. “You’ve cut Cragor off from his army.”

  Morin nodded. “And when he returns to open the gate, I will kill him and take the Orb of Creation.”

  “How do you know he’ll come back?” Ayja asked.

  “He has to,” Morin said. “He’s trapped in a hostile city. Even with both the Orb of Creation and Forsvar, he cannot stand alone. He needs his army.”

  “He’ll have his best soldiers with him,” Cam said. “His eternals, his varcolac, and his capcaun.”

  “Let them come. Do you know how many of my pyren and lyches have died so far in the fighting? None.” Morin laughed. “We know our business. Let them waste themselves on ghuls. My lyches and pyren will cut Cragor’s soldiers to pieces and suck the life from their bodies.”

  Ayja shuddered as Morin placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. “There’s something else they don’t know,” Morin said. “They face two powerful elementars. Father and daughter. King and Princess of Salador. There will be no stopping us.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Telea took the small knife Escalan offered her. “Are you certain you want to do this?”

  “Yes.” He rolled up his sleeve. “Do it now. There’s no time to waste.”

  Her head felt fuzzy. The smoke had cleared from the room, but the fumes from the closed brazier were still having an effect on her. She took a deep breath.

  “Come here,” she said. “Kneel beside the bed.” He did as she ask
ed. She knelt beside him and placed the small eating knife on the bed. The bone hilt was inlaid with silver. It was as fine a knife as she had ever seen, and it was a simple eating knife. A knife fit for a king. This wasn’t Sulentis lying on the bed, this was King Handrin. If her mission had any hope for success, it rested in him.

  “Place your arm on the bed. I’ll begin a chant that will put you into a fugue. You won’t feel a thing.” She glanced over at the door. She knew she could do the healing chants quietly enough that someone in the next room wouldn’t hear. But if something went wrong and she had to sing… there’d be no hope of keeping that hidden.

  “I don’t care if there is pain. I want Handrin healed.”

  Telea placed her hand on his arm where she would make the cut and began her chant. She felt Escalan relax almost immediately. His breathing deepened and he slumped forwards…still sitting, but if she put him under any deeper, he would fall asleep.

  Still chanting, Telea took up the knife in her left hand.

  He is giving his blood to you, her demon said. He would make a powerful servant. There is no blood more powerful than that voluntarily granted.

  We must heal Handrin. I need him.

  After the healing. Take him. Bind him to you. Let him be the first of your followers.

  Telea shook her head. I won’t betray him. He’s my friend. He must live so that others might live.

  To live is not enough, the demon said. There must be more. To be satisfied with what you have is death. To live is to grow in power.

  That might be true in Dromost, but it isn’t true here. Now be silent so that I might heal Handrin.

  The demon laughed. You give up so much. Kindness is weakness.

  Silence. She pushed the demon from her mind.

  Telea waited a moment, but there was no reply. The demon was still there, but quiet. She had no doubt it would betray her one day. She had to be rid of it. Somehow. When this was all done.