Knights Without Kings

by J. M. Topp

  Elymiah smiled and bowed and was about to exit the shop, but she could no longer contain her curiosity. She walked to the cooling foreign blade and stood over it, eyeing it studiously.

  ‘What are you doing with this weapon, blacksmith?’ she asked, looking up at Andre inquisitively.

  ‘Ah.’ The blacksmith hobbled over to the table, wiping his hands on his white apron, and smiled down at it as if it were his dear child. ‘This is the Arkynbleidd. An elven sword of magic.’

  Elymiah’s eyes darted to the blacksmith’s smiling face in surprise. Suddenly, the odd, colourful hues made sense to her. Everything about elves was shrouded in mystery due to their disappearance ages past. According to the histories, the elves had appeared in the year 147 after the dispersal of the Age of Fog but then disappeared only twenty-three years later after a Weserithian king of old hunted them all down to extinction. Some even doubted their existence at all, merely chalking it up to ‘painted men with leaves in their ears’. Their culture, weapons, and armours were shrouded in mystery.

  ‘Why are you forging it?’ she wondered, leaning her weight on the halberd.

  ‘Well, for him, of course.’ Andre pointed into a dark corner of the shop. Elymiah turned but strained to see anyone. For a moment, she thought the blacksmith was jesting, until she saw a shadow move. A man stepped into the light from the open door. He stood a full foot taller than she was but somehow was much skinnier. His black eyes sparkled from the light of the bellows. He wore no armour but merely a long, black coat with black metal clasps down the middle. He removed his hood and stared at Elymiah. Andre studied Elymiah’s reaction intently.

  ‘And you are?’ she asked, eyeing the man from the shadows.

  ‘Emmyth, of the Quiet Valley,’ said the man.

  ‘The Quiet Valley?’ Elymiah asked. It was not a place Elymiah had ever heard of.

  ‘It is a secretive place, Knight-Captain. Far to the north,’ responded Emmyth.

  ‘Why are you having Andre forge you an elven sword?’

  ‘This sword is not for me. It is a gift for a half-blood. We, of the Quiet Valley, have a prophesy surrounding a little girl, half elf and half human,’ Emmyth said as he stood over the sword and gave it the same look of endearment that Andre gave it. ‘It is said that a sword like this one will unite and divide the earth with one movement—just as the blood of the child is.’

  Elymiah’s eyebrows shot up. ‘How is this possible?’

  ‘I am not certain, Knight-Captain. I do not have the foresight that the gods gave my ancestors. My own blood is muddled,’ Emmyth said and then glanced at Elymiah. ‘Meaning no offense, of course. But I pray that I will be instrumental in bringing about the will of the abandoned gods over your lands. I pray that I will help fulfill a prophecy.’

  Elymiah had never heard of such things. In fact, she had never heard of any religion other than her own. Weserith had abandoned all religion years ago, and Alder Isle believed whatever they wanted. Aivaterra had the only religion in the entirety of the continent. To hear of another religion took Elymiah aback.

  ‘I…I hope the will of your god is completed in you.’

  Emmyth looked up at Elymiah in surprise.

  ‘A reasonable reaction? Not something I expected from a member of such extreme religion you Aivaterrans hold so dear,’ Emmyth said.

  Elymiah stood straight, not knowing whether to take offense or not.

  Andre piped in as he cleared his throat. ‘You’ll have to forgive Emmyth, my lady,’ he coughed. ‘He is not entirely used to our customs. He has been away for a very long time.’

  Elymiah studied the man with utter curiosity. ‘Where have you been?’

  Emmyth glanced at Andre and then back to Elymiah.

  ‘I was traveling in Isles of Brume, the illusive Saltkire Hold, south of The Khahadran,’ he said, seemingly hesitant. Once again, shock covered Elymiah’s face, but she did a better job of hiding it this time. The hidden village of Saltkire Hold resided in the The Isles of Brume, which had once been called the origin cradle of man. They were where man had crossed the sea into the Khahadran, but, during the Age of Fog, the entire continent had been lost. Some legends claimed that Oredmere had raised the land from the sea, and now it floated in the sky amidst the clouds.

  ‘It’s not floating, as many people believed.’ Emmyth stared into Elymiah. ‘It’s extremely hard to get to, however. Krakens and violent tides permeate those seas.’

  ‘Why were you there?’ asked Elymiah, knowing full well that she was far beyond prying. But she could not help it. Emmyth, however, didn’t seem to mind. His face darkened, though. It seemed as if a shadow began to encroach around the shop.

  ‘The truth is I am running,’ said Emmyth, closing his eyes for a moment.

  Elymiah eyed the man curiously. ‘What are you running from?’

  ‘Can’t you hear it?’ Emmyth stepped close to her, and she could almost taste his sweet breath. ‘It screams and calls from the void. It yearns for blood in the howling darkness. I saw him, and he scared me.’

  Elymiah caught her breath. I saw him, and he scared me. Those were the exact words the wyvern had said to her in the castle.

  ‘Who did you see?’ Elymiah whispered slowly.

  Emmyth stepped back from her and walked to the door.

  ‘I was a wanderer until the gods called me on this mission. I cannot say what is calling, but I can hear its screams. You would be wise, Knight-Captain, to listen and beware.’

  With that, Emmyth gathered his cloak and left the shop. Andre chuckled as he grabbed the cooled sword and small hammer. He began hammering designs into the blade with delicacy.

  ‘He is a very brooding person, Knight-Captain. Pay no attention to him. Half the time he tells me of the strangest shite.’ Andre laughed heartily.

  ‘You know him well?’

  ‘Of course I do! He’s my son.’

  Elymiah stared at Andre in disbelief.

  ‘How have I never heard of such a strange man living in the city?’

  ‘He doesn’t stay in the city, my lady,’ answered the blacksmith, who continued tinkering with the elven weapon. ‘He likes to keep to himself, but every once in a while, he will visit me. He will ask me to forge this weapon or mend this chestplate. I help him out, of course. What kind of father would I be if I didn’t?’

  Elymiah chewed her lip in thought, unsure of what to say.

  ‘I only ask that you keep this meeting to yourself, Knight-Captain. I don’t want a city investigation to happen on me. Or even worse, the Hallowed Masters at my doorstep. Oredmere be praised, they have better things to do with their time.’ Andre laughed almost nervously.

  Elymiah stood for a moment lost in thought.

  ‘You are a curious one, aren’t you? If you ever want to visit, you are more than welcome, Knight-Captain. I’m sure you would enjoy my stories.’ Andre smiled at her and winked.

  ‘Thank you, Andre. I will surely be back.’

  She bowed, halberd in hand, and left the Iron Aegis.

  ‘…It yearns for blood.’

  The words echoed in Elymiah’s mind.

  What the hell had he been talking about?

  ELYMIAH LEANED ON her newly-repaired halberd as she observed her troops marching below her. Lightning struck the skies, outlining her armoured body. Rain pattered loudly on her silver shoulder plates. Elymiah licked the water collecting on her lips and stared intently at the moving mass of plated elites marching through the muddy marshes in the shadow of the gigantic city. Their heavy rectangular shields bobbed up and down as they splashed through puddles of water. The silver angels sparkled in the sudden flashes of light. She sighed with pride as she looked over her men. Even though she had been just formally assigned to the Holy Silver Angels Platoon, she had already begun training with them three years before she went on her final trial. She knew every single man well.

  Elymiah knew them by the way they held themselves in their armour or the way they pivoted in formation around
a gorge. Mourd typically slouched and preferred to keep in the rear of the squadron. Elymiah remembered Bertrand chastising Mourd on occasion for his lack of motivation. Now he was at the top of the formation, trudging through the thick mud. He clenched his teeth as the rain beat upon him, but he moved even faster this night, heavily invigourated. Trommen, her commander of the guard under Robyn, held his spear close to his body. He marched behind Mourd, keeping in line with him. Joan, who didn’t typically wear a helm, shouted something at the men beside her. She was the only other woman besides Elymiah in the entire platoon. Their first skirmish together had been met with some jealousy, but it had been put aside once Joan realized that Elymiah was to be named perfect. Even though she didn’t always agree with every order, Joan obeyed without question. That was all Elymiah expected from the men below her: obedience. One hundred men marched in unison with Robyn in the lead. He rode atop his steed, shouting directions at his men. John carried up the rear and kept the diamond shape of the platoon.

  Elymiah stood with pride over her platoon. The Weserithians wouldn’t stand a chance against such well-trained and armoured knights. Not only this, but the regular army had been expanded to 30,000 men. At the Queen Gwendylyyn’s command, the induction age of boys into the military had been lowered to fifteen. Robyn wasn’t quite sure of such a move, but Elymiah was certain that the queen knew what she was doing.

  Elymiah was ready. She eyed her halberd as lightning flashed over the marshland.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Bloodshield

  WINTER WAS UPON Weserith. Winds began to bite with an icy maw as lakes and rivers began to freeze. It would be a while before the snows would fall heavily, but it was clear that this winter would be a fierce one. Bendrick hoped to complete his mission before roads became terribly difficult to travel on. It had been more than two years since Bendrick had set foot outside Weserith city. Pouring time and effort into scrolls, parchments, and books was the one thing that made sense to him. It was the one thing that gave him comfort—that, and the joy in sharing the knowledge with Sieglinde, who was always eager to learn and improve her skills. Even then, this was a trip he was looking forward to taking. The mission was a risky one, yet feeling the wind on his face and the rhythm of a horse beneath him was strikingly refreshing.

  The threat of war loomed over him, however, and it gave a bitter taste to the sweet wind. Bendrick had tried to dissuade Korhas again and again from joining them on the journey. They didn’t need any more reasons for people to give them attention. But the Lord of the Greenwood had not taken no for an answer.

  Korhas sat stoically on his horse. Now that Bendrick was seeing him in the sunlight, his features and clothing were more easily distinguished. His wiry brown beard was very much unkempt. Bits of the morning’s bread were visible in the hairy mess, but Korhas didn’t seem to notice. His beard was twisted into two braids at the edge of his mouth. He would often sniff the air, as if looking for the scent of any true enemy. His gaze was fixed on the road ahead.

  Sieglinde rode her horse behind Bendrick and Korhas. She had her hood over her eyes, and she would glance at the passing travelers occasionally. Sieglinde hadn’t spent that much time outside Weserith, so this was a feeling that she wasn’t used to either. Bendrick was certain it would be a good experience for her.

  If all went well, that is.

  It would have been foolish to leave the city in armour, flying Weserith banners, and in a royal carriage. Instead, they had departed upon horseback, clad in peasant clothing. Save for their longswords, there was no indication that they were not farmers or simple travelers. Bendrick kept his cloak over his weapon but would occasionally touch the hilt. It gave him comfort to know it was there. They were travelers going from Weserith into the Khahadran as far as anyone else was concerned. The less attention they gained, the better.

  The Thalasar Roads didn’t have that many peasants now that winter had come. Some of them prodded their prized cow or pig along the roads to sell at Weserith markets, and others were merely trying to get home. Bendrick found it comical as Korhas sniffed at them with curiosity. Most of them never even looked up at the three travelers. They didn’t want any problems with anyone on the road.

  Better for us.

  Their horses raised dirt and mud as they trotted along the road. Brush grew on both sides, forming thick forests beside them. They rode in silence for three leagues, following a rigid pace. The sun was beginning to rise in the west, and birds whipped back and forth through the trees.

  ‘Korhas, tell me, when was the last time you were on the Thalasar Road?’ asked Bendrick, leaning forward on his horse to speak to the grizzled lord.

  ‘Nigh four years ago, Bendrick. I didn’t have the pleasure of entering Weserith at the time, but it was bandits we were hunting,’ Korhas responded with a grin. ‘Oh, you would have loved a hunt like that, old man.’

  Korhas wore a broadsword on his hip and an iron chest plate made of black raw titanite. Even through his thick bear cloak and robes, it was evident that he was armoured.

  ‘My Lord Korhas?’ Sieglinde said, glancing at Korhas.

  ‘Yes, milady?’ asked Korhas without turning to Sieglinde.

  ‘Did you serve with my father in the war?’

  ‘Which one?’ Korhas turned his head slightly and smiled at Sieglinde.

  ‘You served in both?’ Sieglinde turned to look at Bendrick in disbelief.

  ‘Korhas was the one to convince me to join the foot soldiers,’ said Bendrick.

  ‘It feels like a lifetime has passed since. Don’t you think, Ben?’ Korhas’ voice trailed off, and he slowed his horse down. He then held his fist in the air. They had turned a bend in the road and before them, no travelers walked. Sieglinde and Bendrick stopped their horses behind Korhas. Bendrick looked around but saw nothing except for the thick undergrowth.

  Korhas dropped from his horse and knelt on the ground, sniffing. Bendrick then noticed what Korhas had seen: deep track marks cut into the dirt road, like wheel tracks left by a carriage. They led to the edge of the road and off of it.

  ‘Someone was run off the road,’ said Korhas, pointing to the marks in the muddy morning ground. ‘There are horse tracks on the other side of the road as well.’ Bendrick slid off his horse and joined Korhas in the dirt.

  ‘It must be in that ditch,’ whispered Bendrick, pointing to where the wheel tracks lead.

  ‘Bandits?’ asked Korhas, standing and loosening the sword in his sheath.

  ‘Or simply lost control?’

  ‘Mph, not likely,’ puffed Korhas.

  ‘Let’s find out.’ Bendrick turned and nodded to Sieglinde. She, too, loosened the sword in her sheath. Sieglinde guarded the horses as the two men walked to the edge of the road.

  What had made those tracks was not a carriage, but a large cart. It lay empty a little further from the side of the road, with a slain horse and rider. Bendrick and Korhas unsheathed their weapons in unison. The cart must have been carrying something heavy in its bed to create such track marks. They approached the blood-splattered cart. Korhas neared the rider and inspected him.

  ‘This man is dead but still bleeding from his wounds, Bendrick. Whoever killed him must be around here some—’

  An arrow buzzed from out of the brush and hit Korhas in the chest. He went down in a heap. Bendrick turned in one motion. A small knife zipped at Bendrick, but he swung his sword in an upward motion, sending the blade careening into the forest. He scanned the tree line carefully, controlling his breath so he could listen.

  ‘I’ve been hit. Bendrick, find cover,’ Korhas gasped as he sat up, looking around frantically.

  ‘No need to worry, Korhas.’ Bendrick looked down at him as he sheathed his sword. A figure clothed in a green cloak stepped from the underbrush, her bow slung across her back. Her face was covered, and only her eyes could be seen.

  ‘Forgive me, Bendrick.’

  Korhas looked down at his chest to see a small dent in his armour but no bloo
d or broken bones.

  ‘You could have killed me!’ Korhas shouted and glared at the assassin.

  ‘Rebecca, I didn’t expect to meet you here.’ Bendrick bowed curtly.

  ‘I didn’t expect to be here, Bendrick. There were reports of Aivaterran spies in the area. I found one, but he was not alone.’ She motioned to the dead rider. ‘I am hunting his friends.’

  ‘The bloody hell is wrong with you, elf?’ Korhas stood up rapidly, brushing the dirt and mud from his cloak and chestplate. Rebecca ignored Korhas’ question and uncovered her face. ‘You will travel through Flodden, will you not?’ she asked.

  ‘Our path leads through there, yes,’ said Bendrick.

  ‘There is a man there you must meet. He is known as Theyllyn. You must greet him on my behalf, Bendrick. He is an old friend to me, and he will hasten your crossing.’ Rebecca’s eyes glistened in the sunlight. Her smile, dangerous as it was beautiful, made Bendrick lose his voice momentarily. All he could do was nod in silence.

  Korhas, on the other hand, didn’t have such difficulty.

  ‘You could have killed us, damn elf!’ Korhas emphasized once more. ‘Next time, at least take care to find out who you are shooting before you loose an arrow.’

  ‘I expect you won’t forgive me, Korhas, Lord of the Greenwood. Maybe I should have been aiming at your face instead of the titanite chestplate you wear,’ whispered Rebecca as she stepped in front of him. Suavely, she ran her hand down his neck and onto his chest. She licked her lips as she spoke. ‘It’s not as if this material is impenetrable to arrows, is it?’

  Korhas’ eyes widened, and he turned bright red.

  ‘It’s folly to—’

  ‘Folly? Pipe down, Lord; it wasn’t you I was testing.’ Rebecca grinned as she glanced at Bendrick. She tied the cloth over her face once more.

  Korhas opened his mouth in shock.

  ‘You knew it was us! You could have—’