Death Knight Box Set Books 1-5: A humorous power fantasy series

by Michael Chatfield

  Aila really didn’t know what the hell was going on. “S- sure.” She picked up his head.

  “So, Aila, right? What’s the reason for the trip?” Antho- ny asked.

  He had only been able to see her surface thoughts when her Mana had been low. He shouldn’t be able to read any more of her thoughts now.

  “I need to send a message.” Her message wasn’t secret, only important. Though she wouldn’t tell it to everyone, the circumstances felt a little different.

  “A message? What kind of message?” Anthony asked as she got to the skeleton body that was still trying to figure out its balance, moving around according to the move- ments of the head.

  “A message of aid,” she said, her tone serious. “Aid? Is someone hurt?”

  “No, but signs recorded in the ancient Books of Chaos have appeared again,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “It is said that when all of the signs appear, then war will rage across the world,” Aila said. “Could you keep your body still?” she asked, getting close to it.

  The body stopped moving. Aila grabbed Anthony’s head and was about to put him back in place as she noticed something hidden in his chest.

  Is that a heart? Why is there a heart in his chest? Why is it beating?

  “Who the hell are you?” She looked at Anthony with wide eyes.

  “Anthony!” the head said, excited. “I guess?” His skele- ton shrugged.

  She let out a sigh and put Anthony’s head back on his body.

  Anthony moved around a bit and adjusted his head so it was fully attached. “Thanks! So which direction are you heading in?”

  “Southwest.” Aila had scurried back as he had checked his head.

  “And which direction is that?” Anthony asked.

  Aila pulled out a compass, found southwest and pointed at it.

  “Okay, that seems close enough. Want to travel togeth- er? Been some time since I hung out with a gray elf !” Anthony went to where his sword had flown from.

  “You know the gray elves? We went into seclusion hun- dreds of years ago, though.”

  “Hmm? I think I do?” Anthony shrugged. “Was just something I said.”

  She was about to say something when he tapped on the suit of armor that had been holding the sword.

  Even in the limited light, her vision made it seem like day as she saw shapes on his bones.

  He had a golden snake-looking shape in his right arm, a green creature wrapped on his left arm, a black shadow on his left leg, a red blur on his right. His chest was cov- ered in designs that wrapped around across his back.

  Could these markings be from a soul binding between a fa- miliar and a human? Soul binding allows the familiars a much greater amount of power and freedom, although they lose a significant portion of their strength if their master dies and might even be killed themselves.

  She shook her head. He had to be incredibly powerful when he was alive, but now he was just a—

  That’s solid mage stone!

  He tapped at the stone armor as if it were plaster, clear- ing it off the real set of armor that was hidden under- neath.

  It wasn’t silver, but black as night. The helm covered all of one’s head.

  Anthony pulled it on, his movements easy as the armor floated over his bones.

  Her body shook as she saw him getting into the armor.

  Death knight.

  There were many categories of undead. Zombies were the weakest, barely functioning blobs of meat and bones pulled together quickly; then skeletons from cleaned bones that had been tended to and enhanced with spells, concoctions, and skills.

  Though there were a few, called death knights, that were able to wear armor. It was better to say that their armor

  was part of their strength. They were powerful fighters and were juggernauts on the battlefield.

  Though he can speak and understands what I’m saying and—wait, where is my connection to him? What about that heart? Is he really a dark knight? Is that heart his? She looked back at the two untouched sarcophaguses and the sarcophaguses that lay around the temple.

  If this is an undead temple, then there is someone who raised them. A powerful necromancer, or—Her eyes moved to Anthony as he affixed his helm, his calm blue eyes hidden in the shadows of the helm.

  “Or a lich, and liches need to have a phylactery.”

  As a necromancer, I have an ethical duty to make sure that there isn’t a rogue necromancer raising the dead and creat- ing a hidden army. I was just supposed to pass a message. She made herself stand tall.

  All mages especially those of the necromantic school of thought, must make sure that their fellows’ ethical back- ground is up to standard or else the world will only look down on all associated mages! I might be a necromancer but I am an ethical necromancer!

  “Thank you for waking me up,” Anthony said. Aila’s eye twitched as she winced at his words.

  “You okay? You got a tic? There was a kid in my town who had it. Punched Old Man Jenkins right in the junk

  accidentally one time.” Anthony laughed as he shook his head and sheathed his sword, moving for the door.

  “Do you still have your memories?” Aila’s question caused him to halt his steps. Necromancy was supposed to remove memories of the carrier they controlled.

  “Kind of hazy, but with certain things it kind of clicks into place, you know? I feel like if I see some more of the world then things might be able to click back in place and I’ll be able to remember everything.”

  “Why did you help me?” Aila asked. “We fight the strong and the armed.

  “We stand beside those who would stand beside us. “We stand for those who can’t stand for themselves. “We teach justice, not war.

  “We strive for peace, not destruction.

  “We will not look away from the world, whether it’s darkness or it’s light.

  “We are the harbingers, the peace seekers, the blood let- ters, the god killers and the farmers.

  “To those who know these words, they know our oath. “You have heard a warrior’s words.

  “A Guardian’s word is their law.

  “We do not give it freely and do not accept it without understanding.”

  Anthony’s voice was deep and powerful; his eyes glowed as a thin breeze passed over the tunnel.

  Aila felt as if her heart would burst from her chest. A warmth filled her body, power waiting to be grasped even as she felt a cold on her skin and goosebumps run- ning down her arms.

  “We are warriors, our causes are our own, but our oath is shared with many. Isn’t that right, my brothers and sis- ters?” Anthony asked. Silence fell for some time.

  “I wonder what that is all about.” Anthony shrugged and walked forward as Aila watched him, rooted to the spot.

  Her eyes widened as she saw the back of his armor. Its front was blackened with signs of battle. But on the back, there was a fine carving in the metal. A tree rose up, blossoming on his back. The brown wooden trunk made one unconsciously think they could feel it, to reach out and see whether the texture was the same as the real thing. The trunk led into branches filled with leaves, that seemed to bring a cool breeze with them.

  Aila closed her eyes, thinking of the dark trees in the moonlight—the way they moved, the colors of the leaves lit up in its light.

  I wonder if that is what a tree looks like on the perfect sum- mer day?

  Seeing that back, she felt reassured, his words sinking in- to her mind.

  Anthony looked back, his blue eyes filled with laughter looking back at her. “Well, Aila Wranoris, are you up for an adventure?”

  Aila looked into those blue eyes. He was an undead, but instead of finding him scary, she found him funny and entertaining. She felt safe with him. There were too many mysteries around him.

  I won’t find out just what they are by hiding in here!

  “A small one.” She stepped forward.

  “That’s how they all sta
rt.” Anthony laughed as he led the way out of the crypt.

  They reached the corridor Aila had entered the crypt through.

  “I’ll see you all later.” Anthony put his hand up in the air solemnly for a few moments before he turned.

  Aila was looking at the sarcophaguses. She felt there was something she was seeing but she just wasn’t making the final connection to the answer she was seeking.

  “Blocks.” She realized that they were arranged in blocks. With less people grouped together as they got closer to the tomb.

  Does it not look like the human battle formations where they move their troops, with the leaders standing in front?

  Her eyes moved to the temple and the statues that cov- ered it, remembering how Anthony’s armor had come from a “statue.”

  “You coming?” Anthony asked.

  “Coming!” she yelled, running after him. I need to find that lich!

  Chapter: Through a Skeleton’s Eyes

  “So, where are we? What’s going on? Kind of don’t re- member much on that point?” Anthony asked. They were walking through the ruins that Aila had been chased into. It was a series of caves, most of them in bad condition. Thankfully, the devil hunters had cleared them a path through all of the busted caves.

  Aila pulled out a map from the bag on her belt. She turned it over and found a small image of the overall map.

  There was one large continent with massive lakes and rivers cutting through it, mountain ranges and lines for the different areas controlled by different races and em- pires. Then there was a gray continent to the north east of the continent. Then, to the south of the gray conti- nent and more easterly, there were two large islands: a large one to the northeast and a smaller, skinnier one to the southwest. The two of them were separated from each other by a big channel while being an ocean away from the eastern edge of the large continent

  “This is Dena. We are on the continent Eljir. It is the largest continent on Dena. To the northwest is Radal, controlled by the humans. There is the Stoha Mountain Range that separates them from Selenus to the east, which is controlled by the beast men. To the south from Sranum Bay in the west to the shivering ocean in the east is the Deepwood taking up the southern lands of Eljir, the land of the elves and a few gnomes, or people

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  accepted by the elves. The grayed-out continent—that’s the barren lands. It’s cold up there all the time and few things grow there. It’s called Cheon. These two is- lands—the big one is called Ilsal and its smaller sister to the west is Epan. Epan is filled with explorers and traders; got people from all over. Ilsal has people from all of the races living in it too: beast men, humans, elves, gnomes, and goblins. Now that’s not saying there aren’t these groups in the other countries. I’m a dark elf and I live in the Stoha Mountain Range, but that’s how most of the groups break down.” Aila shrugged.

  “The humans and the beast men are fighting all the time—they’re in a war. I chose to try to cross the moun- tain range to get away from the human groups. Then I could work my way down to the Deepwood. I was giv- en a place to go to into the Deepwood. No one knows where their capital is.”

  “Humans and beasts are fighting?” Anthony asked. An image flashed in his mind, a memory.

  He was in a training grounds in the vision. A large man with black, leathery skin was being worked on by a shaman, grunting on a piece of wood as several others held him down while he was given his power tattoos.

  “I think you’re going to need a damn tree there, buddy.” Anthony squatted down in front of the ox beast man.

  He snorted, creating some smoky rings as he glared dag- gers right through Anthony, who only smiled wider.

  “Little twig like that—what were you guys thinking?” Anthony complained. The other grunted as the ox twitched and they had to keep him still.

  “Come on, you think that a little tattoo is going to hurt! Just think of all the trees you’ll snap with your teeth. You want to see a tattoo that hurt!” Anthony looked around and then rolled up his sleeve.

  A golden tattoo wrapped up his arm starting above his wrist; above his hand, two golden eyes looked out on the world. It was exquisitely detailed. A long dragon, it didn’t have wings, but it had a proud expression, looking down on those dragons that needed wings to feel pow- erful.

  “Right down to the bone! Permanent too,” Anthony said.

  The tattoo moved: a golden head appeared out of his arm and turned to Anthony, looking rather annoyed.

  “I didn’t mean anything—ow!”

  The little dragon was too fast for him, nipping his nose, just hard enough to draw blood before it indignantly re- turned back to his arm.

  “See, hurts like hell!” Anthony said, his voice muffled as he held his nose.

  The ox beast man, instead of glaring at Anthony, started to shake. The wood in his mouth broke as he was laugh- ing, causing the table he was on to shake.

  The shaman kept on working, but the ox showed no signs of pain, instead, entertained by this human.

  “You are an amusing man. What’s your name?” “Anthony. You?”

  “Troga Kagan,” the ox said.

  “You certainly gave them a lot of skin to work with on your power tattoos.” Anthony grinned, his nose starting to heal.

  “You certainly picked a good familiar.” Troga’s grin twitched as the shaman found a nerve.

  Anthony laughed as the memory was covered with an- other scene: Troga wielding a greatsword as they clashed with a group of ugly creatures. Then the two of them drinking in a cave and sharing food.

  Them meeting up again after many years.

  Troga was now older as they looked out over a plains, an enemy covering it from horizon to horizon as they stood with others, warriors all.

  Rushing into the creatures, black and red, mixed with purple as the warriors fought together, not like a ma- chine, but an organic singular entity.

  Covering one another with spells, using the cover to cut down the enemy, moving on without pausing as they needed but a word, an action to understand the other’s intentions.

  Anthony was in the middle of the fight, Troga with him; their blades cut through the enemy. Then a flash of pur- ple and Troga was gone. Anthony killed more creatures and turned, seeing Troga on the ground; he had been hit in the side. He roared as his eyes went red, his body starting to regenerate as Troga killed three of the beasts closest to him and charged forward.

  Anthony yelling, but the berserker had taken over as Troga rushed forward.

  Then Troga, his body broken, his armor torn; around him were dozens of bodies, but Anthony only saw Tro- ga, only saw those tattoos on his shoulders.

  “Should have got a tree.” Anthony laughed, tears falling down his face, sadness mixed with joy: sadness with los- ing a friend; joy, that he had come to know Troga Kagan, the ox beast man, a warrior, a friend.

  “Are you okay?” Aila asked warily as Anthony was stand- ing still in the middle of the cave.

  “Uh, yeah,” Anthony said, his voice sounding dull. He walked forward, thankful that, as a skeleton, he didn’t need to clear his throat.

  “Well, most of the races are fighting one another in one way or another. Everyone wants more of something so there are constant fights, even in towns and such. I heard that there was a time that the races worked together but it’s long past,” Aila said.

  Anthony saw armies of humans mixed with beast men with dwarven weapons, goblins and gnomes working on odd-looking machines. Shamans and mages kept a healthy distance away from them. Elven archers stood between the mages and the melee fighters while mount- ed elves, humans, and beast men moved between differ- ent formations. The memory appeared and disappeared quickly.

  “We’re stronger together than apart,” Anthony said, feel- ing like the current people of Dena had lost something, fighting one another for a little instead of capturing the future together.

  “Just to recap, elves are great mages and good with ranged weapons. The dw
arves are big burly smiths, but they’re scared of fighting. Old race—they hate getting into fights. Gnomes are either insane or genius, make technology and pursue increasing their knowledge. Many of them are hidden away from the world, focusing on their own pursuits. Goblins are terrible little pests if not accompanied by a hobgoblin to control them. The hobgoblins missed fire and went right to explosives, like making anything that goes boom, and replace most of the words in their dictionary with the word boom. The more excited, the more booms you’ll hear. It’s really frus- trating.