The Shadow Knight (A Shadow Knight Novel Book 1)

by Jason L. McWhirter

  They were all outfitted for war. Even Peron wore armor, made by Dynin, the royal armorer, when he had turned eighteen just a few days ago. There had been no celebration, or formal gifting of the armor. Dynin simply brought it to him, knowing that the time was coming that he may need it. It was beautifully crafted, and Peron felt unworthy of it. His sword hung from his side and his small crossbow was sheathed in a unique leather holder of his own design, buckled nicely to his thigh. A quiver of bolts, each laced with the oil of sharpness, was strapped to his other leg. He knew he would be of little help in a battle, but he also knew that he needed his men to see him lead. Peron was no battle king, and perhaps the fact that he led the army to face a demon, complete with his lack of martial skill, would instill a sense of courage within his men. He certainly didn’t feel heroic. If anything, he was scared beyond belief, but the presence of his friends, Jonas, and Atticus, disseminated in him a sense of courage, and perhaps it was enough to shed some to his men.

  Kylin was there as well. She would not be persuaded to stay behind, and despite Peron’s misgivings at leading her to battle, he finally gave in. There was a part of him that understood her desire to be a part what was to come. Perhaps she felt she needed to prove to everyone that she had no part in her father’s betrayal. Or maybe she felt she needed to help, knowing that if Maltheil were to win then there would be no stopping the beast from razing more cities to the ground. And now, after what Atticus had done, she wanted to find out what had happened to her father. Had he been killed by the enraged demon? It was likely. They would find out soon enough. But despite Peron’s allowance at agreeing to her accompaniment, he made it clear that when the fighting started she was to remain at the rear of the column. She had frowned at that, but relented, knowing she was not going to win that battle.

  Jonas rode next to Atticus and he glanced over at the warrior. The druid seemed preoccupied, and Jonas questioned him about it. “Are you rested?” Jonas asked. Atticus had informed them all of what he had done last night, bringing a needed boost to their morale. But while others had slept, Atticus worked throughout the night. There was much of the plan that weighed heavily on the druid, and Jonas was worried about him.

  Atticus smiled wanly. “I’m fine actually. Last night, after I completed my tasks, I went into the forest and lay in the grass. The Sanga brought me strength and energy, like I have slept for a week.”

  “That is good,” Jonas responded. “I’m afraid you will need it. What seems to be troubling you then?”

  Atticus reached into a pocked on the inside of his tunic and withdrew two blue stones. “I do not know if these will work,” he said. “And if they do not, then we will all perish in that evil place.”

  “We know the risks.”

  “Yes, I know. It’s just that bravery should not be rewarded by a death such as that.”

  Jonas smiled. “I agree, but it often does. If not, then those actions would not be considered brave.”

  “Just the same,” Atticus continued. “I wish it was just my life I was risking.” Atticus had worked magic on the stones all night, drawing from the Sanga to bind the two stones together. One stone would accompany Atticus through the gate while the other remained with Peron on the other side. If successful, then once the stone on the other side was shattered, the magic contained inside would automatically open the gate, drawn to its partner stone. They would not have long, but the gate should remain open long enough for them all to enter. The druid had used the various spells before, but never in this application. He believed he bound them to the stones correctly, and they would work, but regardless, the unknown provided him much consternation.

  “We have, and will, do our best,” Jonas said. “It is all we can do.”

  Atticus pursed his lips, the edges tight with worry. His typical flippant attitude was nowhere to be seen. “Let us hope it will be enough.”

  Tulari found them four hours into their march. She was sweating and her fur was in tangles, branches and leaves sticking to her in a disheveled mess. She had run hard, and fast. She informed Jonas that they would reach the bridge by mid-day, well before Maltheil. From what Tulari could tell, and pass on to Jonas, Maltheil and his servants killed many Tur’el soldiers, scattering the rest. It was hard for her to know the exact size of his force, but it made sense that the demon’s ranks had likely swelled. What she did not know was what had happened to the King and Prince of Tur’el. They were likely dead or turned. Jonas figured they would find out soon enough.

  As it turned out Tulari’s estimation of distance was accurate. Once they made it to the bridge they began the preparations with earnest, each person knowing exactly what to do. The army rested and ate a meal, their fighting role not to be fulfilled until Maltheil arrived. It was Atticus that had the most to do. Firstly, he found the location of the gateway. As luck would have it, the gateway was directly in the middle of the bridge, the door located on the stone pavers of the ancient structure. That would help them immensely. Atticus was the only one who knew that luck had had nothing to do with it location. The bridge was actually built long ago at that location precisely because of the waypoint. Doors don’t always take into consideration the layout of the world around them. Sometimes they can be floating in the air, or on the bottom of a lake. This one however, was located in a position that would benefit them. Once he knew where the gateway was, he went to work creating the demon trap just behind the waypoint. If the door didn’t work, then they would fall back to their secondary plan, and that was to trap the demon and banish him to his own plane. Peron’s role in the creation of the demon trap was not so pleasant. For the trap to be its strongest, it needed to be created from Peron’s blood.

  “I’m sorry to have to do this,” Atticus said. “But worry not, I will heal you when I’m done.”

  Peron held his arm out to the druid, looking up he glanced at Kylin, who was standing nearby. He took a deep breath and smiled weakly at her. “Get it over with.”

  Atticus took his knife and drew it across his flesh, opening up a shallow wound. He would need a lot of blood. Peron cringed but didn’t cry out. He looked up into the sky, blinking away the pain as he tried to push it away, his mind concentrating on all that would be sacrificed that evening. His pain was paltry compared to the horrors that were likely to occur. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked down to see Kylin next to him, her face showing her concern. Blood poured from the wound into a large gold chalice. Once the cup was full, Atticus handed the cup to Kylin, putting both hands on Peron’s injured arm. Then he whispered the magical words, drawing from the Sanga around him. Moments later the cut sealed up, leaving behind a barely perceptible scar, smeared with blood that no longer welled up from the wound

  As he worked diligently and methodically drawing the intricate trap, many others collected piles of dried leaves, scattering them all over the bridge. The idea was to hide the trap using dirt and leaves, but they couldn’t very well just have leaves covering one part of the bridge. It would be too obvious that something was hidden there. So they opted to cover the entire expanse.

  Peron had brought along his Stopper, and had it placed just behind the demon trap, loaded with bolts all soaked in the magical oil. Cavalry and footman spread out behind the bridge, filling any open areas further down the road. The bridge was narrow, and only three could fight side by side across its width. Behind the trap sat Captain Engle, with thirty of the finest Red Guard cavalry, their heavily armored horses taking up the entire span of the bridge behind the demon trap. Captain Engle had seen thirty-eight winters, and most of those were spent astride a horse with a sword in his hand. Besides Captain Korrin and Baylock Reen, there were no others in all of Lanard who were more experienced, or skilled. Peron and Lord Caynon, sitting on their horses, were behind them just off the bridge, the entire Red Guard cavalry occupying the road behind, the footman further still. Peron knew he would be of no use when the immediate fighting started, but he did not want to seem like a coward to his men. So he
stayed off the bridge, but remained near the front, still visible to his soldiers. Under the direction of Lord Caynon, who was once a Red Guard officer, Peron had sent soldiers into the woods forming two perimeter lines angling towards the river bed. Luckily the river in this particular section was fast moving, deep, and filled with precarious rapids. It was unlikely that Maltheil and his demon army would be able to cross the river and flank them. But he wanted to be ready in case they found a way to do just that. Kylin was next to Peron, and as soon as violence broke out she was to ride to the rear of the column. If they succeeded in tricking Maltheil into the gateway, then it would be up to Peron and his army to fight off the demon-spawn until Maltheil was killed. The army behind them would act as a wall of steel if Maltheil’s minions broke through the cavalry. They didn’t know how long they could hold off the unworldly force, but since the bridge was too narrow for an all-out assault, they hoped that the Lanard military would be able to hold off Maltheil’s minions until they succeeded in killing the demon.

  Jonas, Bearit, Atticus, Tyril, and Korrin, stood before the trap, at the front, just behind the location of the gateway. They were silent as they waited for Maltheil to arrive. Tulari was ahead scouting and she would return with news of Maltheil’s approach. The nervous tension around them was palpable. Tyril was swinging his sword from side to side, warming up his muscles. Bearit was standing tall, his fingers gripping his axe handle over and over again. Peron had given Tyril, Bearit, and Korrin, his three masks in case the demon attacked with its breath. He told them he was unsure if they would work, but they saw the wisdom in their design and accepted them with gratitude. Peron had tried to give the masks to Jonas and Atticus, knowing they were the two most valuable fighters. But they both refused. Jonas, if need be, hoped that he would be able to use his cognivant powers to protect him, and maybe the others, from Maltheil’s dangerous breath. Atticus refused with admission that he had spells that should protect him.

  Bearit glanced over at Tyril. The young warrior’s face was set in stone, focused, and taciturn. “Do you think these will protect us?” he asked, holding the mask that Peron had given him.

  “If anyone could design a mask to protect its wearer from the beast’s breath, it would be Peron,” Tyril said.

  “If the beast breathes,” Atticus said, opening his eyes from his deep meditation, “then do not stay before it for long, despite the mask. If the mask does work, it will likely only protect you for a short period of time.”

  “Wise advise,” Jonas added.

  Atticus stood up from the edge of the bridge. Looking back he saw the cavalry behind them, the big warhorses shifting their shod hooves on the stone bridge, the clacking noise the only sound. No one was talking, the seriousness of the task at hand silencing them. “Remember,” Atticus said, looking at them all. “The demon hates me the most. Maltheil will want to kill me, to exact its revenge on me for its two thousand year prison. Stay behind me. When I open the gate the beast will feel the magic, but will not see it.” Atticus had already cast a shielding over the gateway. “My hopes are that the beast will feel the magic, but not know its source. If we can get it to charge us, then it will fall through the gate. Then we jump in behind it.”

  “When you appear on the other side, you may be nauseas,” Jonas warned. “You need to fight through that quickly. Your life may depend on it.”

  “If I’m to be honest,” Korrin, the veteran Red Guard Captain, said, “it’s not dying that scares me, it’s being left behind in that horrible place.”

  “We will make it,” Jonas said with steel in his voice.

  “Let me go first,” Atticus said. “I have the return stone. Without it, you will not be able to get back home.”

  Everyone nodded, too nervous to say anything, except Korrin. The dark haired warrior casually held his sword at the side, his blue eyes scanning each man. “I’m honored to fight with you all. Your courage gives me hope, and despite what happens to us, our bravery will be a blow to the darkness.”

  “Well said,” Jonas added. Jonas’s mind had been occupied with the plan for the last day and a half. And now that it was upon them, it seemed surreal, like they were trapped in a nightmare. He had fought demons before, but the idea of following one to the hellish sixth plane made even him hesitant. But what choice did they have? He glanced over at Bearit, his concern for the young man evident. He had tried to dissuade him from joining the group, but he wouldn’t listen. Jonas tried to argue that it was not his fight, but the young logger flipped his argument around on him and told him that it was more his fight than Jonas’s. After all, the demon was in his homeland, not Jonas’s. He felt a strong desire to protect it, and although his decision seemed foolish to Jonas, he had to admit that he was proud of him. His choice in saving the young man had been justified several times now, the young logger’s actions testament to backing Jonas’s decision. All we can do is our best, Jonas thought.

  Tulari suddenly appeared from the edge of the shadowy forest, her massive size startling them, snapping them from their nervous tension. She ran towards them, her massive head held low. They come, she said in Jonas’s mind.

  Jonas nocked an arrow, the movement freezing the others in place. “Prepare yourselves,” Jonas said, his voice low, his unblinking gaze finding each one. “They are near.”

  Chapter Nine

  They heard the demon horde before they saw it. The terrifying sounds of screeches and howls found them first, followed by the cracking and crunching of broken branches as thousands of demon-spawn moved towards them, some occupying the road, while most pushed their way through the forest. Hundreds of pale lithe bodies leapt from tree to tree, their sharp claws carrying them quickly through the canopy, branches swaying, while others, wearing armor and swords, cut their way through the dense forest below, never tiring, their only goal to serve their master.

  Maltheil was easy to spot, its wolf-like head cresting the gentle hill before the road flattened out to the east side of the bridge, its colossal body following in long strides. The evening shadows veiled the tree lined road, but still the demon’s dark form was somehow discernable, its evil radiating from it, impossible to miss, red eyes intense with rage. Beside it marched armored Red Guard soldiers and Tur’el warriors alike, oblivious of how just hours before their standards were at odds, but now their uniforms mattered little. They were all of one body and mind, and that was to serve Maltheil. Baylock Reen, wearing his Battle Lord helm and carrying a steel war shield, walked just behind the demon, not capable of matching the beast’s huge strides.

  As Maltheil neared, tree branches hanging over the road shrunk away, green leaves dying and turning to dust as the beast passed. The closer they got, the clearer Maltheil’s power and size became. If Atticus got on Jonas’s shoulder, the demon would still be a few heads taller. One long muscular arm hung past its knee, the other carried a sizable bone club, resting the sapling sized weapon over its shoulder.

  Thousands of demon-spawn busted through the thick brush along the river’s edge spanning both sides for as far as they could see. The demon spawn screeched hauntingly, the bald headed servants standing eerily still, weapons held low. They would have to cross the river to pass, impossible in the turbulent current, so now they waited on their master’s call.

  Maltheil stopped before the entrance of the bridge, lowering its massive club to the side. Baylock Reen stopped beside the beast as the rest of its army filled the road behind them until their numbers vanished beyond the hill.

  “In Toolm’s name,” Bearit whispered, his steadfastness faltering.

  “That’s my father,” Tyril said, his voice strained with grief.

  “He is no longer,” Atticus warned. “Focus your mind. That is just your father’s shell, nothing more.” His good hearted attitude was gone, replaced with a sternness backed by an indomitable will.

  “Calm your nerves,” Jonas said. “I’ve killed powerful demons before, rest assured, they can die.” Jonas matched Atticus’s intensenes
s, his own jaw set to the task at hand. Any thought of defeat was squashed, his focus on the steps necessary to achieve their victory.

  “Remember,” Atticus warned. “Follow my lead.”

  Maltheil’s powerful voice suddenly rocked them back on their heels, like a focused gust of wind had struck them. But there was no wind, the demon’s power propelled by its words. “Druid,” Maltheil boomed. “I’ve been waiting a long time to make you suffer.”

  Back down the line the horses pranced nervously, the sound of Maltheil’s voice nearly shattering their ardent will. Captain Engle had never seen anything like the demon before, and his heart pounded in his chest. He knew his men felt the same fear, and he wanted desperately to ease their angst, to lift their morale, but no words came to mind as he wrestled with the overwhelming fear evoked by the creature.

  Peron looked on from the other side, his position near the edge of the bridge allowing him a decent view of the demon. “How will they kill that thing?” he said softly to himself, panic making it hard for him to breath. Kylin was next to him, her hand to her mouth in shock. She had frozen with fear when the lesser demons had attacked them the other night, but now, despite the distance from Maltheil, she felt inadequate in its presence, and that impotent feeling could not be shaken.

  Atticus stepped forward, an arrow nocked to his bow. Jonas stood just to his side, the others flanking him further. He had already cast the shielding spell, and once cast, required no further concentration. The question was when to open the gate. It would not take him long, but he didn’t want to complete the task too early, as it did require some concentration on his part to keep the gate open. “Maltheil!” Atticus yelled. “You do not belong here! Your very presence offends me and this land! Go back home, or die, those are your choices!”

  “How can we defeat it?” Korrin whispered, shaking his head, his sword arm trembling.