Shadow of the Knight

by Matt Heppe

  “He’d just promised to keep our secret,” Ayja said. “He stabbed me as I shook his hand.” She clenched her teeth against the pain.

  “He thought we’d kill him during the night in order to keep our secret,” Cam said. “Now he’s off to find his friends.”

  “What will we do, Cam?” She fought back the tears threatening to overcome her.

  “Bandage you up and leave.” He pressed another piece of linen to the long cut along her ribs.

  “Leave? How can I travel like this?”

  “Boat. It’s how we arrived and how we’ll leave.”

  “Cam, it’s bad. I don’t know….”

  “We’ll get you out of here, Ayja. You’re not going to die.”

  And then they heard a high, piercing wail from somewhere out in the forest. Cam jumped up and ran to the window. Ayja sat up, propping herself up with one arm. The movement made her wound blaze with pain. More keening cries came.

  “Are they out there?” Ayja asked.

  Cam shook his head. “Out in the woods. In the direction of town. I don’t see any, though.”

  “They got Yevin.”

  “I think it would be a good wager.” Cam sighed.

  Ayja lay back on the floor, still pressing her bandages against her side. The pain was awful. It hammered at her with every heartbeat. Her bandages had already started to soak through.

  “What about the river?” she asked.

  “That was before I knew the ghuls were back.”

  “Why did I trust him? You warned me so many times!”

  “It’s hard not to trust someone you’ve shared danger with. And you are innocent Ayja, like your mother in many ways. She grew up around people she trusted, and she trusted everyone. She was a good person, but naïve.”

  “I guess I don’t get a glorious death. I don’t get a warrior’s death.”

  “First of all, I don’t plan on letting you die. Secondly, if you were to die today, you’d die a hero for your deeds. Now, no more talk of your death. I’m going to carry you from here. I’ll take you to the Hunter’s Cave.”

  “Carry me? But even if we made it there, where would we go?” She grimaced as she touched her bandage. Blood covered her hand.

  Cam went to the chest and pulled out more linen clothes. He tore more bandages and then bound them tight around her waist. Ayja cried out at the pain.

  “We have to keep pressure on the wound. I don’t know what harm the blade has done.”

  “It went so deep.”

  “You don’t know, Ayja. It depends what the blade struck. It may not be as bad as you think.”

  She shuddered with a chill. “So much blood,” she said.

  “We’ll stop the blood.” Cam made a bundle out of an overtunic and put more clothes and the apple bag inside it. “I’ll carry you on my back. You’ll have to hang on.” He slung the water skin and bundle over his shoulder and picked up his spear.

  “Cam, it’s no good. I’m already too weak.”

  “Then I’ll carry you in my arms. I’ll take you out by the stairs. They’re mostly intact.”

  “There’s no use.”

  “I didn’t raise you to quit.” He knocked aside the door braces and pulled it open. Ayja half expected ghuls to leap through the door, but none did. She did see them lying in heaps on the floor, their skin black and burned.

  Cam came to her, but she waved him off. “I’ll try to walk.” She got to the door but had to brace herself on the wall. “Can I use the spear?” He gave it to her, and she used it as a walking staff but only made it two steps towards the stairs before she stumbled over the body of a dead ghul. She cried out in pain and horror as she landed on the yielding, burned body. The stench of burned flesh was overwhelming. I did this.

  Cam swept her up in his arms. “I have you.”

  She clenched her teeth as he hoisted her up. “This is crazy,” Ayja said. “You can’t carry me up the mountain like this.”

  “Watch me.” He stepped over the bodies to the top of the stairs.

  “I burned the stairs,” Ayja warned.

  “I know. I saw them when I got you. I’ll be careful.” He carried her down, taking one careful step at a time. The main room was ransacked and the ceiling charred by fire. The bodies of those they had killed in the initial attack still lay on the floor.

  They went out the front door. Ayja grimaced as Cam stumbled over some of the upstairs wreckage blocking the entrance. “Sorry,” Cam said.

  Ayja wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on as tightly as she could. “Thank you, Cam. For everything.”

  “Not done yet.” The late afternoon sun was low in the west, casting long shadows over the farmstead. Only the tops of the mountains were still brightly lit.

  They had almost reached the corner of the house when they heard the first keening cry. Ayja, looking over Cam’s shoulder, saw movement in the tree line. Her heart sank. She and Cam had taken too long getting out of the house, and the ghuls had returned. “They’re here,” she said.

  Without a word, Cam turned and ran for the door.

  The ghuls sprinted across the wide yard, coming from the track towards town. Cam leapt through the door. The ghuls—naked, skeletal ones—raced closer, some running on all fours.

  Cam ran across the house to the stairs. He reached the bottom step as the first ghoul leapt through the door. Roaring with the effort, Cam took the stairs two at a time. They’d almost cleared the trap door when Cam fell forward, tossing Ayja onto the landing. She cried out in pain as she landed.

  Ayja struggled to her knees and turned to see Cam fighting a ghul at the top of the stairs. He had the creature by the throat, holding it back as it clawed at his face. A second ghul struggled to climb over the first.

  Cam yanked his dagger from his belt and drove it into the first ghul’s skull. The creature jerked and twisted, but before Cam could pull his dagger free, the second ghul seized Cam’s arm and bit down on his aketon.

  Cam released the first ghul and punched the second in the head, but it held him fast. More ghuls tried to climb up from below.

  Ayja stood, supporting herself by leaning on the wall. Reaching into the aether, she plucked at the strands of magic. It was poorly done, and she had no strength to support it, but she threw everything she could into it. Flames poured from her outstretched hand, engulfing the top of the stairs.

  Ghuls screamed out as the fire washed over them. For a moment she lost sight of Cam, and feared she’d burned him as well. But as the flames lifted she saw him kick free of the ghul on top of him and scramble away. He threw the trap door down, but there were bodies in the way and it wouldn’t close.

  Ayja’s vision darkened. The world spun around her and she slumped heavily against the wall, her knees giving beneath her. Before she could fall, Cam threw his arm round her and dragged her into his room. There were cries from behind them as ghuls scrambled past the dead.

  Cam let Ayja go as soon as they cleared the door. She fell hard, unable to support herself. A ghul’s fingers were caught in the jamb as Cam slammed the door closed. Cam threw his weight against the door and bones shattered as he forced it closed. He threw the bolt, and then, before they could put much weight on it, he jammed it closed with a piece of his shattered bed.

  The fingers of the crushed hand writhed as ghul’s hammered on the door from outside. The door was heavy and wouldn’t fall quickly. Even then, Ayja knew it was just a matter of time.

  Cam knelt beside her. “Did I burn you?” she asked. “It wasn’t my best effort.”

  He gave her a quick smile. “Let’s say it’s a good thing I’m in armor.”

  There were shouts outside and Cam ran to the window.

  “What’s going on?” Ayja asked through clenched teeth. She writhed against the pain in her side.

  “They’re preparing to attack. They have their ladders again.” Cam went to the side window and closed and barred it. The front window’s shutters wouldn’t close—the hinge had been too ba
dly damaged.

  Cam took up the spear and stood by the window. “I thought we might have until dark.”

  Ayja got to her knees. “They must have had a reason for not attacking during the day.” Grimacing, she stood and leaned against a wall. Still the ghuls pounded at the door, just strides away.

  “Don’t stand, Ayja. Rest.”

  “I won’t die lying down.” She drew her sword. Her mother’s sword. The one she died with in her hands.

  Cam raised his spear to a high guard. “Here they come,” he said.

  Heavy blows struck both the barred windows. Cam stabbed out the window with his spear. She saw the top of a ladder, but Cam kept fending it off so that it couldn’t be placed. But then Cam jumped backwards just as two javelins flew through the window. In that moment, the ladder was placed and the first ghul appeared.

  Cam’s spear thrust took the ghul in the shoulder, and it toppled from the ladder. Another climbed up, and Cam’s spear cut it across the face. It made it to the sill when the second spear thrust took it in the chest. The monster clung to the window frame as Cam leaned into the spear, trying to drive the creature out.

  More ghuls crowded up the ladder behind the first. One tried to squeeze past but was knocked off in the struggle. A loud bang drew Ayja’s attention to the side window. Someone was hammering at it. The boards cracked and splintered with each blow.

  Cam’s ghul lost its grip on the frame and flew back from the window, taking the spear with it. Another ghul scrambled up in its place. Cam punched it in the face with his gauntleted fist. With no time to draw his sword, Cam drew his dagger, stabbing repeatedly at the head and neck of the howling creature.

  The side window splintered, and an axe head appeared in the gap. Ayja stumbled forward and thrust her sword at the unseen attacker. The sword struck something but then slid forward. As she drew it back for another strike, the axe shattered the shutter.

  A pyren in full armor stood on the tree-ladder at the window. Ayja stabbed the pyren, striking it in the chest, but her blow was too weak to penetrate its coat-of-plates. The pyren clutched at the precariously wobbling tree before taking an off-balance swing at Ayja. She parried the blow but fell back. Her vision darkened and she shook her head to clear it. Her own blood drenched her side and leg.

  With the window clear, the pyren lunged forward, but before it could make the sill, it lost its balance and had to grab a branch. Ayja ran forward and struck it in the head. Her sword rang on its helm, but she failed to dislodge it. Ayja staggered back, gasping in pain. The blow had done her wound more harm than it had done the pyren.

  She just didn’t have the strength. Where was the silver rage that had saved her before? She reached for it. Desperate for the strength that would course through her veins. Desperate to be done with pain and filled with prowess.

  There was only a flutter. Deep within her. She couldn’t get to the silver ember. The pain and weakness of her wound blocked her from the berserk power she craved.

  Cam shouted at the other window, but Ayja couldn’t even spare him a glance. There were screams outside as well. High, keening cries of rage.

  The pyren lunged forward, gripping the sill with both hands. Ayja was too weak to fight it. She raised her hand and reached into the aether, but the strands were fuzzy and unclear. She didn’t even know if she had the strength to manipulate them.

  What choice did she have? She poured what energy she had remaining to her into the strands, and a flash of fire engulfed the pyren’s head. She focused the fire as intensely as she could, and then, with a cry of fury, the pyren fell from the ladder.

  Ayja dropped to her knees. That was all she had. She glanced over to Cam. He had his sword out now and was engaged in a fierce fight with another of the pyren. She could do nothing to help.

  In front of her, the end of the tree-ladder was shoved deeper into the window. It shook as a ghul or pyren climbed it. In moments a head would appear. She got one foot under her. I’ll die standing.

  Fire erupted through the window. Ayja blinked at the intensity of it. The tree blazed, utterly engulfed in flames—a fire not of her doing.

  The door crashed open behind her. She feebly lifted her sword and tried to rise, but was tackled from behind and driven to the floor. She was powerless even to get her hands under her. The ghul, stinking of death tore at her aventail, lifting it from her neck.

  It would rip her throat open, just as they had done to the sheep.

  The weight was pulled from her, but the ghul clung to her so fiercely she was thrown to her back before it let go. A man in black armor and a long black cloak stood over her. His face was withered and creased with age, and deathly pale.

  The lych. But a different one. Not the one from the night before.

  The lych hurled the ghul against the wall. It struck hard and then fell to the floor whimpering like a beaten dog.

  “Stay your swords!” the lych commanded. “Stay your sword, Nidon!”

  Ayja could hardly breathe. Her vision was dim, but she could make out Cam and the pyren, standing almost toe-to-toe, their swords raised in mid combat.

  “Put them down!” the lych commanded, and both Cam and the pyren lowered their weapons.

  The lych knelt beside Ayja. His eyes were black and had a liquid metallic sheen to them. They transfixed her.

  “Where’s your wound?” It was more a command than a question.

  “Side,” she whispered. Or had she even spoken at all?

  The lych rolled her over and tore away her bandages. She felt hands like icy claws touching her.

  “What are you doing?” Cam shouted at the lych.

  “I’m saving my daughter, Nidon.” He turned to the pyren. “Lord Darra, bring that ghul to me!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  They had outridden all pursuit. Ahead of them, the Great Forest of Landomere stood dark and ominous. Telea shivered at the sight of it. The giant oaks loomed taller than any trees she had ever seen. Under them all was dark shadow.

  “We made it,” Sulentis said, a weary smile on his face. “How do you feel?”

  “I’m as sore as I’ve ever been,” Telea said. “I could do without seeing a horse for a long time.”

  “I’m sorry, but we have two more days in the saddle.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Let’s not wait,” Escalan said. “I want to be under the oaks rather than out here. It would be a shame if an inquisitor’s bolt were to take us now.”

  “You’re right.” Sulentis led them through the shallow river and under the shadow of the trees.

  “It’s so ominous,” Telea said.

  “Ominous?” Sulentis laughed. “ It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen.”

  A strong gust of wind raised a wave of dead leaves that washed over them.

  Defiler. Death bringer.

  Telea nearly jumped out of her saddle at the words. “Did you hear that?” The voice had been filled with hate.

  Sulentis picked a leaf from where it stuck to his face. “Hear what?”

  “I thought I heard something. Words.”

  “The Great Spirit sometimes speaks. She even appears as a silver bird or an ethereal lady clothed in light. What did she say to you?”

  “Nothing. I… ah, couldn’t understand.”

  “The Great Spirit is mysterious. Come, there’s still plenty of daylight left.” Sulentis led them at a trot deeper into the shadows.

  She hates us, the voice in Telea said.

  Telea stared into the gloom of the forest. She swore she could see eyes staring back at her. Something was watching. She doesn’t hate us. She hates you, Telea thought.

  She’s a powerful demon.

  Telea frowned. Demon? She’s the Great Spirit of Landomere. Helna’s firstborn. She’s no demon.

  A demon still. Be careful of her. She’s weak now, but there’s power still.

  You’ll bring her wrath on me, Telea thought. You’ve angered her already.

  Go away! The
Great Spirit’s anger struck Telea like a physical blow. Leave this place! Another gust struck them but just as quickly died. Telea braced herself for another attack, but none came. For a time she rode, fearful of the voice, but for some reason the Great Spirit left her in peace.

  They rode just as hard that day as they had when they had feared Saladoran pursuit. Sulentis wouldn’t say why, but he was clearly intent on reaching Belavil as quickly as possible. It was a difficult, gloomy day but that evening they reached a Landomeri village.

  Telea liked the Landomeri as soon as she met them. They knew Sulentis and Escalan and treated all three visitors like long-lost family. Telea had a chance to wash in a tub and feel truly clean for the first time since she’d arrived in Salador. The Landomeri gave her a white linen shirt, a light green tunic with short sleeves, and close fitting brown hose. Telea offered to launder her own clothing, but they insisted on doing it for her.

  The Landomeri clothing was comfortable, although she wasn’t used to such close fitting pants. Telea noticed that unlike the Saladorans, the Landomeri men and women dressed alike. It wasn’t that way in Belen, although women in the empire had much more freedom than they seemingly did in Salador.

  Almost as nice as being clean, Telea got to eat a real meal of fish, venison, and fresh vegetables. It was a delicious, wonderful change from jerked beef, boiled beans, and hard biscuits.

  The Landomeri were curious about Telea and asked very frank questions about her dark skin and braids. But unlike the Saladorans, the Landomeri were open and curious, not suspicious and judgmental. And nobody called her demon-possessed, which almost made her laugh, as that is what she was.

  Telea fell asleep to Landomeri laughter as she nodded off right in front of them. Her dreams didn’t treat her as kindly, though. She dreamt of demons and sacrifice and of a massacre and a cave filled with blood.

  She woke with a start deep in the night. She was asleep in the open, in the center of the village. Someone had covered her with a blanket and had placed another under her head as a pillow. Several Landomeri, men and women alike, lay asleep nearby. It seemed perfectly ordinary for them.