The Crooked Knight (The Path of Zaan Book 2)

by C. K. Rieke

  “You say you are a friend?” the old man asked.

  “Yes, we are friends. What happened here?” the Major asked, and Astor and Zelestiana walked up to join him.

  The old man walked out into the street, looking up into the sky, his eyes jutting back and forth in different directions. “They came, seven days ago. Serpents from the sky. The killed mercilessly. My boy, they killed my boy.” The man sunk to the ground, and sobbed softly. Astor went over and put his arm around the man. “And that eye. That eye of the dead man. It follows me into my sleep, and in my dreams.”

  “Dead man. What dead man do you speak of?” Astor asked him.

  The man’s face lifted and looked past Zelestiana and Gylem, “The eye of their master.”

  “Do you speak of Riverend?” the Major asked loudly of the old man.

  “The eye of their master. The eye of their master. The eye of their master,” the man said, trailing off.

  Zelestiana walked over to the Major to speak softly, so not as to cause dismay to the old man. “The smell of corpses is faint. They must have buried the bodies and fled.”

  “Ay, they probably went off to Dillengrad to hide behind their walls. Can’t say I blame them,” the Major said, running his hand down his long beard.

  Astor stood up and walked back over to his friends. “What do you think?”

  “I think we stay here,” the Major said. “The damned dragons think everyone is gone, we could just lay low for a while, to give the children a roof over their heads, until we find a more permanent solution.” He looked over at Zelestiana, who thought for a moment, and then nodded in affirmation.

  “Well, I don’t have a better idea. I sure as hell don’t want to take these kids any further south, to that where that hellish Black Cave is,” Astor said. “That’s a dreadful place.”

  Astor lit a small flame and waved it above his head in the direction of the others. Gar, Lily and Stave emerged from the sparse trees. Behind them were the rest: the soldiers, children, mothers and elders. In the plains before Holdenbrook, the large number of them were much more visible under the warm sun, and in the soft grass. Smiles were visible on the faces of the children, and even the soldiers. If only they knew the horror this place went through a week ago, none of them would have warm expressions, Astor thought.

  As Gar, Lily and Stave approached the gates, they looked at their friends and the old man, hunched over with his head to his knees. He softly repeated, “The eye of their master.” They looked at Astor with concern.

  “We will rest here, for at least a couple of days, until we find our new home,” Astor said to them.

  “What do we tell the children?” Lily asked.

  “Tell them how lucky they are to have a roof over their heads,” the Major said, but Zelestiana and Astor gave that response a sour expression.

  “Tell them the people who own these homes said that we are welcome to stay here until they get back,” Astor said.

  Lily looked at him. “Are we going to be safe here?”

  Astor, Zelestiana, and Gylem looked at each other, and looked at Lily.

  “No,” Zelestiana said sternly.

  “This is temporary, we are to stay out of the streets, and not burn lots of wood,” the Major said.

  “Zelestiana, what do you mean?” Lily asked. “What made the people of Holdenbrook leave their homes?”

  The old man stood up, without a word, and walked over to Lily. Astor put his hand on his sword, Gar did the same. “The devil, girl. The devil has come for us all.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  DARK, cloudy skies hovered low above the towers of Barrier Cliff. Sunlight had not reached the black stones of its courtyard since the day the dragons came. The air was thin and cold, it reminded Gogenanth of being high up in the mountains. His mouth was dry, his stomach ached and his wounds healed very slowly. He looked up in to the sky, and watched the slow swirling of the black clouds. Dragons hissed and roared as they flew overhead. Their torn, giant wings whistled slightly as they drew the thin air through them.

  Gogenanth looked over to his right, to Wollen, who was also bound, directly where the statue of Gildur once stood. He had his head down and appeared to be in a daze. In the courtyard before them was the great dragon who carried Xelex, the Crooked Knight. The dragon’s breath was icy cold, and blew dead leaves around in twirling motions in the air. The dead dragon did not sleep, it only stared. It stared constantly at Gogenanth. It drove Gogenanth into every emotion imaginable, the most intense of those was rage. He would use every ounce of his strength to try to break the chains that bound him.

  He wanted to take the thick, cold chains, wrap them tightly around the dragon’s neck, and squeeze them tight until the ‘life’ left the dragon with its head came clean off. But, looking down at his own body, he could see it weakening, atrophy was beginning to set in. He had been in one place for over a week, and with the bare minimum of food and water given to him, his muscles were beginning to diminish. He asked himself, why are they even giving me food and water? Evidently, they wanted to keep him and Wollen alive, but to what end?

  There they hung, both of them, wrists and ankles bound. When a strong gust of wind came through, they would sway slightly, and the chains seemed to pull harder at them, it was excruciating.

  The dragon before them perked its head up and roared loudly into the sky, and from around the corner the light of dark flames reflected off the black stone and Xelex appeared, this was the first time Gogenanth had seen him since their battle. The Crooked Knight walked out into the middle of the courtyard and put his back to Gogenanth, his black, leather cape caressed the ground, and then strong winds made it dance above the stones.

  A single dragon flapped its strong wings and lowered itself delicately to the center of the courtyard. Gogenanth squint his eyes to make out the form of a man astride the back of the dragon. The man in tattered brown and black robes dismounted the dragon, as if he had done it a thousand times, and walked over and bowed at the feet of Xelex.

  Xelex’s battle ax spurred its flames. “Riverend,” he said, in his hollow voice.

  “Xelex,” Riverend said as he half-bowed. Gogenanth could see that Riverend’s face was pale, with patches of hanging flesh. He had long brown hair that frayed and appeared to be slightly burned off. He had two eyes, yes, but one was stark black, and the other eye was haunting and terrifying. It was full of yellows, oranges, and ambers. It looked over into Gogenanth’s eyes, and he could feel the power in the man standing before him. It looked as if he were looking into the eye of a dragon itself.

  Riverend looked back over to Xelex, who looked back at Gogenanth, with no word nor expression, and then looked back to Riverend. “What have you brought me?”

  “My pets have just found the remnants of this city. They have moved to a town to the south, of which we just ransacked.”

  Xelex hissed, “Good. Show them how zealots are punished. What of the boy?”

  “There is no sign of the boy. He may be in the forest, or in one of the cities. We lost him in the night,” Riverend said, his tone was harsh, and had a slight wheezing sound, as if there were holes in his lungs.

  The flames of Xelex’s ax roared, as if showing the emotions of the devil himself. “Then burn the forests. Crush the cities. I want Zaan Talabard, and I want what he carries. I want that Adÿthyst stone.”

  Gogenanth twisted in his bindings, the chains clattered together. “You demons will never find Zaan.” He coughed under his breath. “He will find you, and put an end to your unholy siege. Go back from whence you came, and tell your master we will be slaves to none.”

  Xelex looked at Riverend, who drew out a dark grey, blood spattered sword from his side. He walked over quickly, and swung his sword in a long arch. Gogenanth didn’t flinch, and Riverend quickly halted the blades path, and held it at the base of Wollen’s neck.

  “Leave him alone, you monster,” Gogenanth spat.

 
Xelex began to creep over slowly, hunched at the side. “The flaws of man are many, but your compassion especially makes you weak. You fight for your friends, you fight for your gods. You fight for things you do not understand, and never will. In blindness, you fight with your eyes purged in the dark.” He walked over and put his face directly in front of Gogenanth’s, who was burning with rage. “Once I have the Adÿthyst stone, and the body of your friend digests in the belly of the beast, your world will know order. Then, your world will know what is power. I, Xelex, will show this world the true meaning of obedience. You, man of the Arr, will live to watch your world be thrown into the ashes of rebirth, and you will see then, the true face of destruction and death.”

  PART V

  Rekindling,

  Revealing

  and a Spider's

  Silk

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  THE creaking of a door woke Zaan from his deep sleep. The sun had sunk down beneath the windowsill, and he saw a set of three candles entering the room. He tried to sit up, but screamed in pain, and sunk back down. Tears welled up in his eyes from the pain and made his stomach turn and his muscles ache. The lights of the candles spread through the room as he saw them with his foggy vision.

  “Zaan!” he heard Tilda’s voice call out. “I’ve brought people to help, they’re going to help fix you.”

  He felt a set of hands pull his bandages away, and he yelled as the pain was overwhelming. “This is a wound of unnatural doing,” he heard a voice say. “It’ll take the unnatural to heal it.”

  Zaan tried to focus his vision, and wiped the tears from his eyes. He saw the cloudy vision of a motherly woman over him, with the soft, warm candle light lighting her face. She had tan, dark wrinkles and blond hair growing white. I know your face. You’ve come to help me. “Mother, you’ve come.”

  He tried to sit up again, as she examined the wound. Tilda’s hand gently pushed him back down. “Relax, she’s here to help.”

  Zaan wept like he hadn’t since the Black Cave. “Mother, save me. I can’t live through this pain much longer. My friends need help, and I can’t even move from this bed. Lily’s dead, Gogenanth’s dead. They’re all dead. Help me, so that I can avenge them.”

  “This isn’t going to cure him,” the woman in front of him said. “But it should stop it from spreading, and ease the pain. Zaan, listen to me, this is going to hurt, but you musn’t fight it. It’ll sting, but will sooth the pain soon.”

  “Are you ready, Zaan?” Tilda asked.

  Zaan nodded, desperately seeking relief from the unrelenting pain. It felt like hot molten iron was being poured on his shoulder, but he yelled out in pain as the liquid was pressed into his shoulder.

  “That’s it, Zaan. We’re done with that,” the woman’s voice said, as he breathed quick, short breaths. He looked over at Tilda, and his desperate breathing began to turn to subtle laughter.

  Tilda wiped the tears from his eyes, and the tears from her own. She couldn’t help but smile. “Why are you laughing?”

  “Beg your pardon—” He laughed. “—But you look terrible.”

  He heard other women’s laughter accompanying hers. “I suppose I do. I’ve been running around like a crazy lady trying to find the women to help.”

  His breathing slowed, and for the first time in many days, his shoulder relaxed and his whole body relaxed. He saw Tilda’s smile. “Thank you, I feel fantastic. Is there anything to eat? I’m famished.”

  ***

  They’d brought him a loaf of bread with fresh rosemary, olive oil, a pear and some cured pork. He ate it as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. They sat there and watched him eat, and once he was done, his shoulder ached in pain again.

  “What’d you do?” he asked the woman who’d applied the remedy.

  “Zaan, this is Stave’s mother, Annabella. I found her and brought her here to help,” Tilda said.

  “Stave’s mom? I’m sorry, I think I called you my mother.”

  “Completely understandable,” Annabella said with a warm smile. “I applied a salve that is quite potent, but it only staves off pain. This isn’t a cure.”

  Zaan sat up, swung his feet over to the side of the bed, and rubbed his shoulder, which began to throb again. Tilda lit a blue torch by the open windowsill. “Is there a cure?”

  The woman who gave them the room was at the open door at the rear of the room. Tilda looked over at her. Thank you for all of your help, but we may need some privacy . . . if you don’t mind.”

  The woman nodded. “Certainly. Let me know if you need anything. Glad the boy is feeling right,” she said as she left, and closed the door delicately behind her.

  “Zaan, I’ve told Annabella how your injury occurred— and who inflicted it,” Tilda said, and she looked over at Stave’s mother.

  “I’m sorry to say this Zaan, but there’s nothing more I can do. If there was ever a cure for something like this, it was lost when they burned all books on any such matter long ago, when they outlawed all religions,” she said. “I know many thing of tonics and remedies, but this is beyond me.

  Zaan sighed, and his shoulder ached again. “You don’t know of anything, then?” He looked at the blue torch flickering by the window, and the other two Tilda had lit behind her. “What about . . . what if I killed him— I mean the one who inflicted this in me?”

  Annabella looked puzzled. “I’m not sure, I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”

  Tilda smiled. “Glad you’re feeling better, Zaan.”

  “Well, I’ll take my leave, and leave some of the salve for you. Apply it sparingly, I’m sure you remember its sting,” Annabella said.

  “Thank you, I’m indebted to you,” Zaan said.

  “You owe me no debt, but if you’d help find my boy and keep him safe, I’d be indebted to you. Farewell, I’ll return in a few days with more of the salve. Rest up, and get some fresh air every once in awhile.”

  She left the room, and Tilda thanked her as she did so. “So Zaan, what’d you want to do?”

  He thought for a moment, “You know what sounds good now? Wine.”

  She laughed. “I think I could use some too, after all of this. I’ll go out and get us some.”

  ***

  Thirty minutes later, she was back with two bottles, one a dark red, and another, a bubbly white. She opened the first with a pop from the cork and poured them both glasses. He took a sip and gave a sigh as it lifted his spirits. He enjoyed the soothing feeling that came from the salve.

  She drank and smiled, and looked around the room. Her eyes drifted over to a collection of dusty books in the corner, beneath a flowering plant. “How about a story?” she asked, and Zaan agreed.

  She pulled out a thin book from the pile, and lit the second candle next to her on the table. Pouring another glass of red wine for herself, she asked Zaan if he wanted another. He shrugged his shoulders and she poured him one. He reached out and grabbed the glass from her hand, his fingertips touched hers as he grasped it.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “It’s called The Queen of Frostfeldon,” she said.

  “What’s it about? Have you read it before?” he asked, and took a sip of wine.

  “Yes, it’s about the Queen of an old city. It’s about royalty, and its themes of greed and power, and her struggle to find a king.”

  “Oh, sounds interesting. I’ve never heard of Frostfeldon,” Zaan said.

  “It was supposedly buried in a snow storm ages ago, but it was a massive, marvelous castle made of ivory. They say it was invisible in the winter’s snow. The Queen’s name was Evíngeli, and she lived for one thousand years,” she said, putting the book down on her lap. Zaan snickered. “What?”

  “Nothing, it’s just silly. Is the book supposed to be a story, or based on a real person?”

  “Evíngeli was a real Queen, and Frostfeldon was a real city, an ancient city,” Tilda said. “The conflict she had was that she was a great r
uler, and loved by her people, but she couldn’t find a worthy suitor to rule with.” Zaan looked up. “She found one once when she was young, and they were in deep love— and he would have made a worthy king.”

  “What happened?” Zaan asked.

  “He died,” she said sadly. “He died on their wedding day, just after they said their vows and kissed, he died right there on the alter. For the rest of her thousand-year life, she searched the world for a suitor as good as him, which she never found.”

  “That’s a sad story.”

  “Yes, but when you think about it, even a great story has to be sad. It’s like life. That is what makes people read these things.” She waved the book in front of her. “I have read this book more times than I care to admit.

  Zaan sat there for a few moments, and then asked, “Well, even though you ruined the story, you care to read it for me?”

  Tilda smiled. “Do you want me to start from the beginning?”

  “If it’s all the same to you,” Zaan said, and lay back on the bed.

  Tilda opened to the first page and began to read. She read to him in a soft voice that soothed his mind, and all his worries and stresses faded away. He drifted in and out of focus and fell into a warm, soft sleep.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  THE next day, not only brought Zaan to his feet again, yet the deep sleep he’d gotten brought with it powerful dreams. They had been of the battle with Xelex, and the dragons on the black stone of Barrier Cliff. He watched Gogenanth and Zelestiana battle them, and he watched the Major lose many men and women.

  A sharp pain returned to his wound, and he unwrapped it to see it was still black, but the fluids weren’t oozing from it. How am I going to save myself from this? What would the headmaster say? Would Elindrill know a cure? I wish Zelestiana was here with us, or Astor, Gar maybe. Are they alive? How could they be? We only barely escaped. How can anything defeat the knight of Armoz? Armoz, he’s the reason for all of this. So much death. It’s the only certainty in life after all, isn’t it?