The Crooked Knight (The Path of Zaan Book 2)

by C. K. Rieke

  He went over and started to flip through the book Tilda began to read to him the night before. Looking from the book over to her, he found her still asleep on the bed. Tilda, she’s has been the greatest gift to me, even after all we’ve been through. I can’t help but feel for her. I know she rejected me because I remind her too much of her lost husband, but I’ve lost people too. Lily’s almost certainly lost too. What would I do if it was Lily here, and not Tilda? What if she’d died instead? Useless to think of, I guess. Tilda’s all I have now, and she’s my closest companion.

  He went to reading the book she’d read to him the night before, and picked up where she’d been when he drifted to sleep. He read a small portion aloud, “Queen Evíngeli fought for the love of her suitor, there was another who desired him, another queen. Later in life they became the greatest of all rulers, but over this suitor, they quarreled tooth and nail.”

  Tilda awoke as he read that, and rubbed her eyes. “Oh, you’re awake early.”

  “Yeah, my dreams woke me. I’m getting used to that feeling now.” Something occurred to him then, and thinking back to a conversation he had with the Major weeks before, he looked to her, wondering if she had the answer to a question the Major didn’t answer back then. “Can I ask you something, Tilda?”

  “Why not,” she said. “What’s on your mind?”

  “The Major told me to ask him about this later in the future, but with the future looking more and more uncertain, I may never be able to ask him this question.”

  “Okay,” she said uncertainly.

  “He said that he and Gildur fought over a girl when they first met. The story of queen Evíngeli reminded me of it-” He looked over and saw her sigh.

  “Such a tragedy,” she said. “It’s gut-wrenching for me to talk about, but I’ll tell you.” She stood up from the bed, stretched out her arms, and walked over to the window, and looked out to the dark, dirty stone walls of the city. “Do you have a guess who the girl was?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You’ve met her, once,” she said. “She used to be my friend, until . . .”

  “You don’t mean . . .?”

  “Yeah, she was simply known as Angela to us, Angela Dragus the Bloodlark. She was wise beyond her years, and as true a friend as they come.”

  “They fought over Angela Dragus the Righteous?” Zaan asked.

  “Yes, but that was before she turned.” Tilda looked remorseful, as if a loved one had passed.

  “What happened?”

  “She left Barrier Cliff on an errand, and a knight wielding an ax of flame took her from us,” she said.

  “Ax of flame? I’ve seen the knight in a nightmare.”

  “He took her to Armoz, who turned her . . . turned her into something . . . evil. My friend Angela Dragus the Bloodlark is dead, she’s been dead for some time now.”

  “I’m sorry I asked,” Zaan said. I remember her on the battlefield, standing with Reizenthrōgz the ogre. She had Lily bound and cowering in fear. She was going to take her to Armoz, the way Xelex had taken Angela. “Now she’s hunting us.”

  “Hopefully . . . she’s at peace now,” she said. “It tears me apart that she was the one who took Gildur from us. Especially with how close they were. You know she chose him over the Major?”

  “That’s why he didn’t want to talk about it?”

  “Probably, he and Gildur became friends, eventually, but it took some time.”

  “It is a curse to carry the Azulūz, isn’t it?” he asked.

  She gave him a look that was made him feel shameful asking that question. “It’s not a curse. It’s a bittersweet responsibility. But remember, it’s from the gods, who are themselves cursed, no?”

  “I can’t imagine anyone asking for this, the Azulūz. Even with all its power, we’re never going to stop being hunted until he’s gone. Until Xelex, the dragons, Angela Dragus, and the Devil King himself are all dead.”

  Tilda looked out at the city and the bustling street below. “You need to get some fresh air. You’re right, but you’ve been cooped up inside too long already.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  THE warmth of the rays of sunlight gave its last kiss as it disappeared over the high walls of the city. Dillengrad was beginning to feel like less of a safe haven, and more of a prison. They’d picked up some food from a worn-looking street vendor, and they went to a small garden area of Dillengrad that was lined with beds of many varietals of plants and flowers, the smells were exotic, sweet and pleasant.

  Zaan put a last bite of bread with soft, sweet cheese into his mouth. Tilda swirled her glass, letting the wine breathe, she also found herself doing this as an anxious habit. They sat in the side of one of the gardens that were sporadically placed throughout the city. This one was laid out with long rows of soft, curled grass, and huge patches of roses. Roses of every color Zaan could imagine. The smell that arose when there was a light breeze was intoxicating. There were long rows of intricately-carved stone figures, most of lavishly draped women of ages old.

  They had been sitting for nearly an hour. Lounging around on the soft grass, swilling wine, and watching the people walk by. Zaan was especially keen to watch the elderly folk stroll through the gardens. He grew fascinated with the aging process. As quickly as he saw his own life flying by, and with his cursed wound inching him towards death, he wondered if time went as quickly for the aged. He watched a man casually stroll through the garden, as he would walk in slow spurts. Often times, stopping for minutes to look at a single rose, or to look up into the sky. The man glanced over at Zaan, and nodded. With a kind smile, he nodded back.

  Images and worry flowed through his mind like the ebb and flow of the tide frequently then. Seemingly out of nowhere, independent of what he was doing, a rush of thoughts streamed in about the safety of his friends, and about the coming war. He watched as a large number of troops ran past, heading to the front gate, or to the high towers. He could sense there was tension all around, even if veiled from sight. The world was changing, and the prophecy seemed to be coming true. With Zaan’s inheritance of the Azulūz, war seemed to be oncoming for the first time in a thousand years, since the great battle of Dürmant.

  He looked over at Tilda, sipping wine in the sunlight, and her normal glow had diminished. She sipped at the glass of dark, violet wine. He wondered what was going through her mind then. Was she thinking the same things? Probably.

  After some time, Zaan’s shoulder began to throb, and he fell off he stone he was sitting on. Tilda grabbed his hand as he fell, and he convulsed on the dirt-strewn stones.

  “Let’s get you back, apply some more of the salve from Annabella,” she said, holding onto him.

  He staggered, and let out a groan from the pain, she helped him up and he limped as she put his arm behind her neck to help. “You ever think about the life of a rose?” she asked.

  He shook his head, and stared at the ground as they walked.

  “I was just thinking they seem to come back every year. At least the wild ones do. Do you think they live for years? Or do they live, and die, and a new one comes to take its place?” Tilda asked, laying her fingers on a delicate rose the color of the sun as they walked past. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

  “Yes,” he said through the pain.

  “I like to think the rose comes out when the weather is warm and the sun shines bright, then hides when the darkness and cold comes. It doesn’t die when it wilts, it just hides,” she said. “All of these roses are out to inspire, show their beauty, and let others smell their sweet scents before they return to the ground.

  They walked a few blocks and returned to their room. They unlocked the door, and Tilda entered in. As she did, Zaan turned his head to glance behind them, as he had an inkling that eyes were watching him, from the alley in front of the house, but disregarded it as they closed the door behind them.

  The old woman wasn’t at the entrance, so they entered t
heir room and Tilda went and lay Zaan on the bed. She walked over and closed the drapes from the window, and grabbed the salve. She put her fingers in the thick, gelatinous, clear substance, removed his bandages, and applied it to his shoulder.

  He yelled out and moaned for minutes from the burning. The feeling was overwhelming, but eventually it soothed his pain. Zaan fell into a deep sleep again.

  ***

  A strong shiver ran up Zaan’s back as the room faded back into focus. The first thing he saw was Tilda asleep on her side in the bed next to him. He grabbed at his shoulder, the pain had subsided, but now he knew it was only temporarily.

  Looking at Tilda, peacefully sleeping, the images of his friends ran through his mind again. Gogenanth, Lily, Gar, Astor, Zelestiana all shot through his head. As much as he tried to suppress his feelings and fears for them, he knew he had every right to be worried for them.

  He got up from the bed, it creaked slightly as he stood. He left the room, and the house itself, and he felt the cool air rush over his bald head. He stood on the front stoop with the twisting iron bars, watched the other people who sat on their front stoops, and those who traveled in and out of the alleys. Zaan reached into his pocket, and twirled the red stone around in his fingers. As he felt the sleek, smooth stone he looked out into the alley in front of him, and felt a strange urge to walk straight into the darkness.

  He could feel a poking in his mind, urging him to see what was hidden in the alley shadowed from the moonlight. Peering down the alley, which seemed to be inching closer to him. One foot crept in front of the other, closer, then the other foot inched forward, closer.

  Zaan had now crossed the length of the street, and timidly walked forward until he was at the mouth of the alley. He could then see that halfway down the stretch of the alley was a figure, standing in the middle of it, waiting for him to come. Closer, yes, you are almost there. He could feel the hooks in his mind, telling him to keep moving forward.

  His head ached, and felt foggy as he faded into the shadows of the alley, in the very back of his mind he could feel hesitation, but the urge to continue forward was too powerful to deny. Touching the stone walls to his side with his fingers, he walked down the alley, ever closer to the figure until he could see the dull reflections of the moonlight off a pair of eyes. Closer, yes, almost there.

  “Yes, there you are, it has been too long,” said the figure in a familiar voice. Zaan squint in the dark, trying to make out who the figure was, and why Zaan was standing in an alley to meet him.

  Zaan took another step forward and saw the reflection off spectacles that were all too familiar to him. “Is that . . . is that you headmaster, what are you doing here?”

  “I came to find you, and now, here you are,” the old Palanzal said. “Are you okay? Did you escape from the city well? It appears so.”

  “Yes, I made it out, but I’m injured, I need your help,” Zaan said, still curious why they were meeting there, and at night. “The others, do you know of the others?”

  Palanzal stepped forward, and he became more visible to Zaan. He held his hands out. “My boy, I don’t know much of the whereabouts of our friends . . . yet. If they are alive, they are too far for me to reach. All I know is that Xelex and the dragons of Riverend are still there, to what end, however, I do not know.”

  “Well, I’m glad to see that you escaped. Elindrill . . . What happened to Elindrill? Is she here?” Zaan asked, looking around the alley, trying to find another figure in the darkness.

  “Elindrill and I both escaped through some of the hidden pathways beneath the city. There we parted ways. She went off to locate the children, and I came here to find you.”

  “How long have you been here then?” Zaan asked. “And why are we meeting here?”

  “I have been here for a few days,” Palanzal said with wild, excited eyes. “I have good news, Zaan. I have found the way to defeat Xelex, and the dragons, and save our friends!” He walked over closer to Zaan, who finally felt some hope building inside of him.

  “How?”

  Palanzal looked deeply into Zaan’s eyes, and he could see the elation on Palanzal’s face. “The red stone. The red stone is the key!” Zaan’s shoulder pulsed with pain then, and Palanzal noticed. “You see, Zaan, I have been researching in the libraries of the king here, which is why I am just now finding you. The problem is that, before, I didn’t know what the red stone was, but Xelex made the mistake of telling us. I couldn’t find information on the stone because I didn’t know where to look, but now I do, and now I know what it is!”

  “And, what is it?” Zaan asked, curiously. Why has he been in the city for days and not found me until now. Why am I meeting him here, and why not with Tilda? This is all too confusing. Maybe the pain is getting to my head, but this doesn’t feel right.

  “Xelex called it an Adÿthyst stone.”

  “Yes, I heard that, what does that mean then?”

  “In a very old text here in Dillengrad, I found a mention of an Adÿthyst that was worth the equivalent of a mountain of gold centuries ago. It was so rare, and so sought after, kings built cities around where they thought it could be found. Their greed for it so ravenous, that they made any person who brought them any, wealthy for generations.”

  “What else did it say?” Zaan asked as he twirled the red stone around in his hand in his pocket. Palanzal’s eyes darted to that hand, with the red stone inside of it.

  “The text said that he who gained the powers of the stone, would be granted immortality, and powers beyond those of mortal men.” Palanzal’s eyes grew wide. “Do you see? This is the way to defeat Xelex!” Beads of sweat glistened off the old man’s forehead.

  “How do we use it?” Zaan asked. “Tell me how to defeat Xelex, Riverend, and the dragons!”

  “That, my boy, I don’t know. But that is why I need it. I need to inspect it and examine it,” Palanzal said, holding out his opened, sweaty palm to Zaan.

  Zaan looked down at the outstretched hand, and felt the smooth red stone between his fingers. He frowned slightly. “What are you going to do with it?”

  “My research has revealed its capabilities, but I have found nothing of the method of gaining its potential, therefore, I need the stone itself to discover this.” He continued holding his hand outstretched towards Zaan.

  Zaan paused for a moment, still holding the stone in his hand, then he pulled the stone from his pocket, and held it in his open hand. Both sets of eyes fell on the stone. “All that power in this little stone?”

  “Yes, we could end the war before it fully begins with that little stone. Give it here, Zaan.” Palanzal moved his hand closer to Zaan’s. Zaan pulled back slightly.

  “Well, what is the plan once you discover its power?” he asked, closing his hand, and hiding the stone from their eyes.

  “I will decide who will take the power of the stone to fight and defeat the armies of Armoz,” Palanzal said with narrowed eyes.

  Palanzal wants the stone to decide who will become immortal? Why is he pressing so hard for me to give it to him? Does he just want the stone for himself? “Xelex seems to want the stone for himself. Would you be able to keep it safe from him?”

  “Yes, give me the stone. I will keep it safe from his reach.” Palanzal took a step toward Zaan, who took a step back. He is becoming obsessed with the stone. “Let’s meet again in the morning, headmaster. This is a lot to take in. We need to save our friends, if they’re still alive. But let’s talk with Tilda, and figure this all out.”

  “Give me the stone,” Palanzal said again, taking another step forward. Zaan took another step back, and put the stone back in his pocket. “Give me the stone, Zaan. I need it.” Zaan continued walking backwards, and Palanzal continued following him, shaking his outstretched palm at Zaan impatiently. “Give me the stone. I need it. Give me the stone. I can save us all!”

  He had walked back so far, that Zaan was now out of the alley and into the street, an
d he tripped over a loose rock, and fell onto his back, clutching his injury. Eyes had fallen on him from the street and from the other alleyways. Laying in the middle of the road lit from torches, he saw Palanzal still standing in the alley, in the dark. His eyes and spectacles were illuminated from the torchlight, but he wouldn’t walk into the streetlight.

  “You’re injured Zaan, the stone needs to be in the hands of someone how can wield it, and turn the tide. Think of your friends, I have the strength to fight all that oppose us.”

  “I’ve got to be heading back,” Zaan said, as he turned and stumbled back to the door to their building. He unlatched the lock, and as he walked into the front room, he looked back to see the glowing eyes of Palanzal, still standing in the alley, watching him.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  “TILDA, I saw the headmaster!” Zaan yelled, as he entered their room in the middle of the night. She sat up quickly, seeing him framed by the hazy light behind him, standing in the doorway.

  “What? You saw the headmaster you say?” she asked softly, barely able to open her eyes.

  “Yes, Palanzal, he was right outside,” Zaan said. “He came to me, he was in the alley, waiting for me,” he said, breathing hard.

  Tilda lit the candle again on the red, oak nightstand watching Zaan as he paced back and forth at the foot of the bed.

  “You need to rest, here, come sit,” Tilda said, placing her hand on the mattress next to her. He hesitated, and then went and sat down not so delicately on the bed and gave a sigh of frustration.

  “What’d he say?” Tilda took his cloak off, and tossed it onto a chair.

  “He said-” Zaan tried to scan through the sequence of events again in his mind. “He found how to end the war. It was the stone. He wanted the red stone!” Tilda gave him a curious look.

  “Did you give it to him?”

  Zaan reached into his pocket, pulled his hand out, and opened his palm to reveal the stone to Tilda. The red stone sparkled white in the candle light. “Can I see it?” she asked. He held the stone up closer to her, and she lightly plucked it from his hand and held it in the candlelight. “How could something so small do something so significant as ending all of our suffering?”