CONTENTS
LMBPN Publishing
Dedication
Legal
Knights of the Well
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Author Notes - P. J. Cherubino
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
Social Links
P. J. Cherubino
Michael Anderle Books
KNIGHT’S CREED
Tales of the Wellspring Knight: Book One
By P. J. Cherubino and Michael Anderle
A part of
The Kurtherian Gambit Universe
Written and Created
by Michael Anderle
The Kurtherian Gambit Universe
(and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are
Copyright (c) 2015 - 2018 by Michael Anderle and LMPBN Publishing.
DEDICATION
From P.J.
To family and friends: those who were born on the path with me and those who choose to walk together.
Thank you for helping me live this dream.
I hope you enjoy the book.
From Michael
To Family, Friends and
Those Who Love
To Read.
May We All Enjoy Grace
To Live The Life We Are
Called.
KNIGHT’S CREED Team
JIT Readers
Micky Cocker
Sarah Weir
Veronica Torres
James Caplan
Joshua Ahles
John Ashmore
Kelly O’Donnell
Kimberly Boyer
Larry Omans
Kelly Bowerman
Paul Westman
If we missed anyone, please let us know!
Editor
Candy Crum
KNIGHT’S CREED (this book) is a work of fiction.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
This book Copyright © 2018 P. J. Cherubino, Michael T. Anderle, CM Raymond, LE Barbant
Cover by Ryn Katryn Digital Art
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy
Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US edition, February 2018
The Kurtherian Gambit (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are copyright © 2015 - 2018 by Michael T. Anderle.
PROLOGUE
The future is not what we expected.
After our greatest heroes left Earth to carry their justice to the stars, war broke out between those who remained behind. Eventually, the alien technology that once enhanced a select few began to change, infecting the blood of all humans, bringing about an Age of Madness.
But that mutation allowed the survivors to access powers beyond their imaginations...
As society began to rebuild, those who could tame the powers within started calling it by another name.
Magic.
Years passed, and the true history of our world turned to legend. Strange societies formed, each with their own myths and methods to control the power.
But new abilities has led to new evil...and the need for new heroes.
CHAPTER ONE
The Village of Argan, Eastern Carpathian Mountains
Popova didn’t see the blow that blacked out her world. She heard someone close to her gasp with surprise as she fell. Was that Assessor Pleth? She wasn’t sure. It sounded like him, but why should he be surprised? It was his goons that knocked her down.
She woke to the sounds of wailing. Her grandchildren stood over her.
The last thing she remembered was spitting at the Assessor’s feet. He’d just told her that he and his goons would be taking a double tribute payment. That meant the village would starve over the winter that was just weeks away.
“Elder Popova!” her neighbors shouted. “Don’t leave us!”
“She’s alive!” someone shouted.
“I thought for sure they killed her,” another exclaimed.
“I’ve failed you,” the old woman wept. “I should have refused his request last spring. I should have found another way. I should have… ”
Last spring, Pleth had ordered them to produce sugar beets for the strong wine favored by Protector Lungu and the rest of the upper class. Because Argan grew less food, the double tribute would wipe out their reserves.
“No,” Tomescu hissed. “It’s not you. It’s him and all those like him. They take from us, and what do they give? Nothing! Protector, ha! Maybe a hundred years ago, but now… ” Tomescu spat into the dirt to complete his thought.
“Don’t talk like that,” Popova said, looking around to see if the authorities were within earshot.
“They’re gone,” Tomescu said. “Even if they were here, I’d say it in front of them. Enough is enough. They can’t keep doing this to us.”
“What can we do?” Popova asked.
In desperation, Tomescu looked to the early October sky. “The strangers,” Tomescu said, somehow inspired by the afternoon sun. “Those who wander down the Toll Road from the Eastern Lands. Some of them look strong and tough—like they can fight. I heard one of the guards say they’re seeing more strangers moving through the Protectorates. Some of them look like magic users.”
“No,” Popova said. “What are you saying…” she trailed off with the fear that consumed her. As angry as she was, defying the law was unthinkable.
“I’m saying we find some of the strangers and pay them to protect us,” Tomescu replied.
The crowd murmured its approval. “Yes,” she heard voices say. “We need protection.”
“Our own guard,” they said.
It was insane, but Popova could find no words. With tears streaking her bloodied face, she simply nodded her assent to the plan she knew was crazy.
“I will find us a champion,” Tomescu said.
Eastern Toll Road, Lungu Protectorate: By Chance, A Champion
Follow the stamped dirt road, Astrid thought as she stood, fists-to-hips in the center of the lane. A lopsided smile crossed her full lips as she looked around.
She had been following this particular sign of civilization for days. She had noticed the wide road fr
om the peak of the last mountain she had climbed over. In the thin air, more than a week ago, she saw what looked like a silver line winding through the deep cut of a narrow valley to the west.
After countless days living in nature, she was ready to join her fellow human beings again.
She knew it had been nearly three years, because she had survived two winters and the fall season had found her again.
After meditating on the question and drawing her answer from the Well, the Wellspring Energy had guided her feet to this very road. She took a deep breath, and the scent of pine tasted like destiny. The Well had kept her alive in the wilderness. But this was the first time since she left home that it spoke to her. That had to mean something, but it had been so long, she had no idea what it was trying to say.
She recalled the very first principle of her code: Trust in the Well, and observe its intention, as the Well sustains all life.
She had been walking along that particular path for many miles now and had met no one. She had plenty of time to admire its construction. To maintain a road like that took significant resources.
She saw where the surface had been patched and the ditches on either side which kept runoff from cutting through was mostly clear of debris. There were even clay pipes beneath the road here and there to drain the water.
She smiled as she tried to imagine the type of people who would maintain a road like that over such a great distance. She thought it was a sure sign they had their shit together.
Then, she met Assessor Pleth.
She noticed the fat man first from not far off. He sat on an upholstered wagon bench behind the driver, who sat on a bare wooden plank. The four horses hitched to the wagon clopped to a stop a few cautious paces away, and five of six guards hopped down. She could tell the vehicle was loaded down by the way the leaf springs barely moved when the men got off.
Overall, the scene told her many things. First, that the region was well-off. A cart that size, loaded with goods meant that, not only was there trade, but that there was a lot of it. The presence of armed and armored guards also told her of a strong military culture and the need to protect such goods. That last part caused some concern. It implied this might not be such a peaceful land.
Not that she was afraid of a little bloodshed here or there.
The guards didn’t seem particularly battle hardened. She had been in enough fights to know that just by the way the crew carried themselves.
“What are you doing here?” the largest guard asked, stepping forward with a billy club in his hand.
The last guard stayed on the wagon with a crossbow in his lap while the driver rested his hand on his club. The rest made a semicircle around the wagon and fanned out.
Astrid paused. She hadn't said a word to anyone, not even herself, in years. She was only accustomed to that idealized internal voice in her head. Usually, she told that voice to shut the hell up so she could meditate.
Now she needed to speak out loud.
Astrid cleared her throat and smiled. “I am Astrid Sala. A Knight from across the Eastern Range. I am looking to be of service in this fine place.” She bowed formally. Her voice, though strange to her ears, came easily, and that made her smile deeper. But that smile faded when she lifted her head again to jeers and laughter.
“Holy shite. It’s a woman!” the guard with the crossbow exclaimed. “A big one, too. She’s as tall as you,” he said to the biggest guard.
“Big as a horse,” one of the smaller guards said, standing to the right and just behind the obvious leader. “I wonder if she’s broken in yet.”
Astrid had always been self-conscious about her size. She had always been much larger than the other girls of her House and always just as strong as the boys. Growing up, she became just as strong as most men, if not stronger. She was the only female Knight of her former House, a fact that her proud father never let her forget.
She felt a pang of sorrow remembering how he introduced her always as, “My daughter, the Knight.” She missed the noble, dead fool desperately just then.
It wasn’t that women didn’t fight in her lost home. It was just that the Knight’s training favored size and physical strength. Most of the women warriors of her homeland gravitated to combat roles that required stealth, cunning and finesse. That wasn’t so with Astrid.
She knew she was meant to be a Knight the first time she saw her oldest brother train in the courtyard. When she was six, she stood up to an eight-year-old who was stealing toys from kids three years younger. She heard him tell his victims not to tell on him, or he’d hurt them twice as bad. Astrid confronted him and got a bloody nose for her trouble. She lost the fight, but the kid stopped his stealing. She’d made it too much trouble for him.
She didn’t lose too many fights after that. Her father noticed right away how determined she was. When she turned thirteen and he sponsored her for the training, her stand against the bully was the first thing he mentioned to the Knights Council. She didn’t think he knew about that fight.
“I can tell she has strong legs, even under those… ” The crossbow guard sneered. “What are those? Ram-hide pants?”
“They’re wooly ram, for sure,” the other guard replied.
Astrid’s smile faded, and her hazel eyes grew cold. She had so hoped that when she had to speak out loud again, that she might do it with class. Instead, she found herself facing dipshits.
Rude dipshits at that.
“I’ve been traveling a long time, meditating in the forest,” she replied, adjusting the hundred feet of coiled climbing rope that draped her left shoulder and right hip. She carefully let drop a length of the rope so that it nearly dragged on the ground as she stepped forward.
“That’s close enough!” the lead guard barked.
“I’m here in peace. Even after you and your men insulted me,” Astrid replied, voice icy. Their rudeness did not speak well to her of how this might go. She wanted to be close to the crossbowman in case shit went down.
“You approach when and where we say you approach, stranger,” the leader barked.
It was then that the fat man spoke, chin to the afternoon sun. “The toll,” he said, “for traveling this road is twenty full-coins.”
“My apologies, sir,” Astrid grumbled. “I have no coin. As I said, I’m looking to be of service. I’m looking for work.”
“A vagrant, then?” the fat man sneered.
“No,” Astrid replied, struggling to keep her voice neutral. “I have been on a spiritual quest after taking,” she paused to massage the truth, “a vow of poverty.”
“But you have no home and no work now,” the fat man said. “Therefore, you are a vagrant.”
“I am a Knight of the Well—a woman of honor,” Astrid replied through clenched teeth. “I pay my debts, always. I promise on my word of honor that I will pay the tolls to the rightful authority of this land. I abide by the rule of law. That’s how I was raised. That is what I stand for.”
“You are in luck,” the fat man smiled. “For you happen to be addressing the rightful authority of this land. Since you have no coin and no job, I hereby place you under arrest and place you in the service of Protector Lungu, by his authority, vested in me, Assessor Julius Pleth.”
Astrid shook her head as if trying to wake from a bad dream or shuck off a bad joke. “I saw no notice of tolls on this road,” Astrid said. “I wouldn’t have walked this road, otherwise. I saw no territory markers.”
“Ignorance of the law is no excuse. All who have the privilege of standing in the Protector’s domain must pay tribute.”
“And I will pay,” Astrid said, losing her cool. “Just as soon as I work for the coin to do so. What part of that don’t you understand?”
“As you are a stranger,” Pleth said. “I’ve extended you the benefit of the doubt, but you don’t seem to understand. You will pay for your passage in jail and with hard labor.”
“This is not just,” Astrid replied, voice flat. “The law says I
have to pay, I’ll pay. But I’m not giving up my freedom for being broke.”
At that, the fat man jumped up from his seat, face instantly red. “Not just!” he raged. “Take this fool!”
Astrid let out a breath. Well, I tried to be nice. Time to break some bones.
With a deep breath, she called on the magical energy. Her skin tingled as her eyes turned black, then glowed aquamarine.
“She’s got magic!” someone shouted in fright.
She dropped back on her right heel and swung her arm with the rope far back. She came forward again as the large guard rushed her with his club. Her arm moved in a smooth, almost leisurely arc as she locked eyes on the large man’s neck. The supple rope looped once around the target neck. As soon as she saw the line cross itself, she jumped back and to the left, drawing her arm back again.
The rope cinched briefly and she backed off just enough to grab the man, but not snap his neck like she could have. It was best not to slaughter assholes immediately in an unfamiliar land. She wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt just to say she tried.
The burly guard tumbled down into a shoulder roll that impressed Astrid even as she kicked him in the face.
Again, she spared him the worst of it. She could have used the ball of her foot to drive the cartilage of his nose into his brain. Instead, she gave him a firm love tap in the forehead. His head snapped back and pinched the nerves at the base of his skull, knocking him out.
“Have a nap,” she shouted.
Astrid loved a good fight, but this was not one. This was a petty disagreement with ill-trained, weak-willed men with no discipline. They were obviously used to beating on people far less capable than her. She was rusty. In her anger at realizing all this, she let the crossbowman take a shot.
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