The Crooked Knight (The Path of Zaan Book 2)

by C. K. Rieke

  Looking up at her, Zaan felt an anger and hatred he had not felt since that day on the Aurburn Plains, when he fought Reizenthrōgz out in the open snowy field. Zaan stood up and with a great yell held out his hands. As his body became engulfed in a bright-blue aura, he let out a shout that wiped away the image of his fallen comrades and that of the monster and the witch. They quickly vanished into blue fire being blown away by a strong squall.

  Catching his breath, Zaan stood there with his arms out, looking into the darkness. All that was visible now was the circle of white stones. He breathed deeply and tried to regain his composure. “This is all an illusion,” he told himself. “None of this is real, it’s just an illusion. It’s not real.”

  A shimmer of light caught Zaan’s eye by one of the stones, and a metallic glow began to outline the shape of an armored body. The figure didn’t stand straight but was slightly bent over to one side. Bright flames appeared on that same side, in the form of a large battle ax. In front of Zaan was a figure covered head to toe in silver armor, with a long, black leather cape, and dull eyes of blood-red flame. He tried to look away, but couldn’t, as he stared into the hate-filled eyes of the knight. A figure appeared in the background Zaan couldn’t focus on.

  Then a horrifyingly-loud shriek rang overhead and giant wings raced by. Zaan ducked and held his hands over his ears. The armored knight stared at Zaan. He let the ax of flame hang at his side, and said in his low, grizzled voice, “Armoz will have his prize.”

  The figures began to dissipate and wash away, and the thick black that hung in the air began to let in blue light from the sky again. He saw the circle of white stones, and then the circle of blue torches, still lit, and then he saw the trees.

  Zaan stood there with no sword, and his palms open outward. A pair of loving arms fell on his back, and he fought the urge to give in and cry. His lips curled in anger and he gritted his teeth.

  “You see, Zaan,” Elindrill said softly. “You see what we face, and the true horror of what happens if we lose. If you had been lost in the battle with Angela Dragus the Righteous and the Great Northern Ogre, your friends would be lost as well, and we all would be in grave danger.” She stepped around and stood in front of Zaan. “Zaan, the world needs you to be strong, but you have to realize the stakes. Now you see.” She looked into his eyes deeply and compassionately, and then turned and began to walk back to the fortress.

  “I saw something . . . Someone . . .” he said. “It was terrifying, I hope I never see it in the real world.”

  She stopped her steady pace, but didn’t turn around to meet his gaze, “Yes, that was the Xelex, the Knight of Armoz,” Elindrill said.

  “He spoke to me. I think he is coming after us . . .”

  Elindrill sighed, “Yes, he haunts me in my dreams.” She continued walking back towards the safety of Barrier Cliff. “The Devil King has twisted him into a weapon of war, full of hate, and a thirst for destruction.”

  Zaan turned and saw Zelestiana standing behind him. She had tears rolling down her cheeks. He walked slowly over to her and stood in front of her, not knowing what to do to or what to say. She had never appeared anything but strong in front of him.

  She wiped her cheeks dry, cleared her throat to regain her composure, and looked out into the forest. Reaching out, she put her hand on Zaan’s cheek, and looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SOFT, sun-faded white curtains drifted with the wind, as the oceanic breeze filled Zaan’s room with its salty breath. Fatigue fell over every part of Zaan, especially his mind. Sleep seemed the best solution, but it felt quite distant. Seeing his parents, albeit as part of an illusion, made Zaan homesick, and he felt alone.

  All of the other horrifying images crept back up on him suddenly, and frequently. He had to concentrate to force them out of his mind. Yet, just as he would be on the brink of sleep, an image of a slain friend would startle him back into alertness. It was enough that he even kept his sword within arm’s reach.

  He lay in his room, looking up at the water-worn oak ceiling boards, and at the clouds as they slowly rolled over. ‘You will see things that you cannot un-see.’ The words echoed over and over in his mind.

  In his frustration at his lack of ability to focus on thoughts other than those grizzly ones running through his head, he threw a copper candelabra at one of the walls in his room. He laid back into bed, put a pillow over his face, and sighed harshly. Then, he heard something faint and reached over and instinctively grabbed his sword. He heard it again. It was a subtle knocking. He got up slowly out of his bed and put his sword behind his back. Going over to the door, he tried to keep his footsteps quiet. His hand reached out toward the latch and popped it. Opening the door, a gust of wind came into the room and swept out the open window.

  “Hi,” Lily said.

  Zaan opened the door fully, casually placing the sword behind it. “Hi.”

  “I thought I’d come to tell you about my day with . . .” Lily paused, a look of concern on her face. “You okay? You look kind of sick.”

  “I’m okay, just couldn’t sleep.” He shook his hair out from in front of his eyes. He looked at Lily, who was looking up at the ceiling and down at the floor. He then noticed he was half-naked with no shirt on. He reached over and covered up with a spare one quickly. “So, you had a good day with Tilda?” The image of Tilda dead in the snow flashed in his mind. He squint his eyes to erase the thought.

  They went over and sat at his round, side table with a carving of two dragons swirling around each other. “Um, yeah it was great. We get along really well I think, and I think she likes me. We went up into the forest and she told me so much stuff: about the Azulūz, the Forgotten Names of the Gods, Ojiin, Gildur, and this place.” She sat at the edge of her chair as she spoke to Zaan. “We are going to start working to find what I can do soon.” She bobbed up and down as she spoke, and her light curls bounced with her.

  “That’s good,” he said, as his eyes shot around the room. He looked at the candelabra on the floor by the door, dried bits of wax littered the area. I wish I could tell her about what I saw, about seeing her dead under the ogre, looming over her. It affected me, and I can’t stop thinking about it.

  “Zaan, what’s wrong? You look terrible,” Lily asked.

  He swayed his head, dropped it into his hand, and grabbed at his black hair. The image of Lily dead shot into his mind again. “Ah!”

  Lily laid her hand on his hand on the tabletop. “Zaan, do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

  “Nothing. I just need some time to think,” he said coldly.

  “You can talk to me if something is on your mind,” she said with sincere concern. “You helped save me.”

  Then the words Zaan never imagined he would say, flew out of his mouth without any real thought. “Lily, I just need to be alone.” With that, she took her hand off his. At that moment, he realized what he had said, and what that probably meant; that she’d leave.

  “Okay, I’m sorry, let me know if you need anything.” And as quickly as she had appeared there, she was gone.

  A slew of thoughts ran into his mind. Why didn’t I just tell her what was wrong, and what I had seen? She might understand, she had lost so much. He went and lay back in his bed and tried to organize his thoughts so they would be more easily controlled. This did little to help, as he only tended to delve further into the nightmares.

  ***

  It took a few hours, but Zaan finally mustered the spirit to go seek out friendship. He had gone to find Gogenanth to no avail, apparently he was off in the wilderness. So he found himself at Astor’s. He knocked and Astor quickly opened. He was eating an apple and was dressed shabbily.

  “Zaan . . . I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

  “Hi Astor, are you busy?” Zaan asked.

  “Well,” Astor said as he gently pulled Zaan out of the entrance and outside. Zaan caught a glimpse of t
wo plates on the table inside and a woman’s pair of shoes.

  “I’m a little occupied at the moment, can I come find you later?” he asked with a friendly smile.

  “Yeah, that’s fine. It wasn’t anything important,” Zaan said, forcing a smile back.

  “Great, well, see you a little later. You okay?” Astor asked, and Zaan nodded. “Okay, later then,” he said, stepping back into his home.

  Minutes later he was at Gar’s house, knocking at the door. There was no response. Zaan sat and waited for a few minutes. The bright sun and warm air did little to make him feel better. Realizing he had nowhere to be until the following morning to see Zelestiana and presumably Elindrill again, he made his way to Folk’s Inn to look for Gar.

  Once there, he sat at the dark-stained bar that smelled faintly of hay, and ordered a cool mead. He purchased a small pouch of tobacco and pinched it into his pipe. The barkeep with bushy eyebrows and rosy cheeks came over and lit the pipe with a short candle. “Can I get you anything else, Zaan?”

  “No, thanks,” he said, letting out a breath of smoke. The barkeep turned to check on another patron. “Actually, have you seen Gar around today?”

  “Humph.” The barkeep put his hands in his apron. “Yeah, he was here, left a bit ago with that new friend of his.”

  “Stave, or . . . Lily?” Zaan asked, his voice cracked lightly as he said her name.

  “Yeah, Stave, that’s the one,” the barkeep said. “Anything else?”

  Zaan shook his head, “No, thanks.”

  He took another swill of his mead, and a puff of the sweet-smelling tobacco leaf.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE following morning, Zaan met with Zelestiana for lessons, and indeed Elindrill was there again. Seeing her made him remember the lesson he’d had with them before, and he felt a pit in his stomach from it. Zelestiana was dressed in her normal, hardened, black leather attire, and Elindrill wore long, flowing patterned robes and carried two books.

  They told him that he would be training with Elindrill separately for a while. So now Zaan was to meet with Zelestiana in the morning for three hours every day, with one day off per week, Sunday. After that he was to meet with Elindrill in the library two hours after having a quick lunch. Then he was to go off to meet with Major Gylem, wherever he wished to practice.

  At their meeting that day, Elindrill discussed how Zelestiana would continue to train him in the ways of the Azulūz and that it would be Elindrill’s responsibility to teach him about, not only, the lesser-known history of Essill but the known world.

  The idea of learning more about the world, excited Zaan. It was the idea of now having three ‘classes’ every day that wasn't. The truth was, Zaan wanted to be a great warrior and a wise man. Yet, he still wanted to enjoy life. He had graduated from higher education classes in Fur-lol and hadn’t planned on taking more classes after that. Granted, the difference between education in Fur-lol and Barrier Cliff was laughable. He would be learning things he could not feasibly learn anywhere else in the world. So, Zaan was torn, although he had no choice in the matter. That was another thing that bothered him: he had no choice if he wanted to take all of these classes or not.

  In a moment of clarity later while sitting at Folk’s with Gar and Stave, Zaan realized that he may be in a spell of depression after the events he experienced in the woods with Zelestiana and Elindrill. Who in their right mind would turn down the chance to take lessons from these teachers, and about these subjects? Months ago, he was carrying heavy metals in an armory, now he had the knowledge of the world at his fingertips.

  He looked around the tavern at his friends, smiling and enjoying the libations. A group of friends were hollering and bustling at the bar and the bartender even had a wry smile as he counted stacked coins behind the bar. Zaan sat back in his seat, put his arms behind his head, took in a deep breath, and tried to enjoy the nice atmosphere. It was a brief moment.

  “Sorry, what did you ask?” Zaan asked, trying to recall what Stave had just asked him.

  Stave laughed and pulled his collar up. “Lily . . . have you seen Lily lately.”

  “Why do you ask?” Zaan said.

  “Oh, we just haven’t seen her in a couple of days. I know she started training with Tilda,” Stave said, “but it’s not normally this long between sightings of her.”

  Gar continued, “Yeah, she usually comes around every day at least once. Maybe she disappeared off into the woods again. It’s like she was made to live out there,” he joked, and Stave laughed.

  “I saw her briefly, and she did seem pretty excited about her first day with Tilda,” Zaan said.

  “What’d she say about it, did it go well?” Gar asked.

  “Not sure, we didn’t make it that far,” Zaan said, and took a sip of mead.

  “Well, tell us if you see her again. I’m worried about her. I feel like something's different around the city lately, it feels like the city itself is afraid, like everything is going too well right now, but it senses something we don’t,” Gar said, looking around at the patrons of Folk’s. “You two ever feel that way?”

  “Not really. Things seem pretty normal to me,” Stave said, and looked over at Zaan.

  “I . . . I don’t know. Life’s sort of like a whirlwind to me right now, so I guess I’m the wrong person to ask,” Zaan said.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  BITTER, icy winds swept down from the jagged mountaintops. The ice storm had gotten worse over the last hour, sheets of sleet and hail pelted the rocky surface. The trail began to disappear in front of him. Walking had become laborious and treacherous. One wrong step and an unwelcoming sheer drop awaited Gogenanth.

  “Damn blizzard,” came from his mouth with a large burst of warm mist. He hugged the mountain-side with his back, trying to keep as close as he could to the safety of stone, the storm bearing down on him. He decided he wouldn’t be able to climb further along, so he looked around, up and down, to find something, anything, that might help him create shelter. Or better yet, a fire to dry his wet clothes.

  Gogenanth squint, and put two hands above his brow to look at the white world all around him. Something perked his interest a few yards above, and he examined the rocky cliff to check for climbable areas. Rubbing his fingers on exposed areas of rocks, he checked to see if he could get a good grip on the mountain in the snowstorm.

  Giving a quick nod, he gave a grunt in mental preparation for his ascent. Taking his climbing ice ax in hand, he took the strap from the handle, and wrapped it tightly around his wrist. He took a couple of swings with it to embed it in the rock, and tested its sturdiness. He seemed pleased enough, and took one last moment with a free hand to wipe the ice from his eyebrows. His hand followed up and found a suitable place to grip, and his climb began.

  He made slow and hard progress up the sheer cliff, and made a mental note not to look down behind him. His destination lay just up to the edge of the next cliff. Best case scenario, it would be a nice place to sit out the storm.

  As he climbed and grew nearer to his destination, the storm appeared to get worse. He could hardly keep his eyes open, and he had little use of a hand to wipe his eyes free of snow. He focused on the places to rest his fingers and boots. He was fatigued but pushed himself up the rock and finally put his forearms onto a ledge, heaved his legs over, and laid on his back to regain his strength.

  His eyes, now covered by his hands, were closed, and relaxed. The bright-white snow and ice made them grow strained from the climb. Something was different now, though, he sensed a presence. He wasn’t alone. Gogenanth reached down slowly to unsheathe his scimitar.

  “Not so fast, big guy,” came a voice from directly above him. He felt cold steel directly under his chin. His hand moved away from the hilt of his scimitar, and placed it above his head.

  “Get it,” the same voice said again. “Yes, go. I got him.”

  Gogenanth felt his large scimitar ring as it glided slowly from
its sheath. He was now fully alert and ready to attack when the moment seemed right.

  “Alright, while you are still on your back, and you being such a large guy, I’ll just say it. I’m not going to hurt you. But, if you try anything with us— I promise you, you will fly like a bird off the mountain, but you won’t land like one.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  IN the midst of the ongoing snow storm, Gogenanth walked a narrow, icy path. He was unbound, yet unarmed, and he’d assessed the danger from his two captors. At first impression, one was a lumbering man almost his size, the other was concealed in tattered skins, and was half the other’s size. The tall one had his scimitar, and it would be little challenge to pry it from his fingers, as tightly clutched as it was. Yet, he was still trying to size up the one who had spoken to him. The fact that they didn’t try to bind his hands left him confused. He decided to see where they were taking him, if anything it might be warm.

  “It’s right up around the corner, watch your footing,” yelled out the smaller one right behind Gogenanth.

  He made his way around the winding trail, and he did lose his footing once, sending swaths of ice down the side of the sheer cliff. With a quick adjustment, he regained his footing and moved forward.

  The faint smell of smoke hit Gogenanth’s nostrils. Peering around a corner into a dry cavern, he soon saw the low smoldering embers of a fire. He quickened his pace and was soon sitting by it throwing dry logs on to warm his hands. He looked up to see the smaller captor enter the cave. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the cave, he saw she’d removed her thick brown furs, and was dressed head to toe in white furs, with a long, slender golden sword. He sat up at attention.