Death's Knight

by Jena Rey

  “Ugh, I do too.” Darian let the conversation drop as the pace picked up.

  By the early afternoon, the large outpost that was their first night’s stop was well in view, and they were ensconced within its walls before night fell. The next day was much the same, an early rise and a long ride to another outpost, their last before they would go their separate ways.

  The party rose on the third day to a dusky morning and a crisp breeze. As they rode, the riders’ and horses’ breaths left a trail in the air behind them. They’d nearly reached the foothills and the mild weather of the sea port was behind them. Darian had always marveled at the wonder of cold weather. As a child, he’d played with the steam that came out of his mouth in winter; now, watching a crowd of Knights and horses smoke like chimneys, he found the effect alarming.

  In the middle of the day, they crossed the invisible line between the Wildlands and the settled territories. Once the Wildlands had been a place of cities and towns and bustling industry, but all of that had been lost during the Fall of the Gods, and now only the desperate or the insane ventured into these places. Those that wandered into the Wildlands rarely returned, and it was here they parted ways.

  The Knights that rode with them handed off their excess supplies and wished them well. Darian knew they, to a man or woman, wanted to accompany the smaller party to their destination, but orders were orders. A full team of Knights would be too visible to roving undead as well as any other enemy in these lands. The undead weren’t the only creatures freed in the clash of magics and faith, just the most numerous. A team of three horses could move faster and quieter and escape with greater ease. So, with cautious optimism, the Knights bid the trio of their Brethren and the Daughter a fond farewell.

  Darian saluted the other Knights and watched as they rode off. He removed one of his waterskins from the saddle and held it over his shoulder for Ephema. “Thirsty?”

  She didn’t answer immediately, her gaze for the road – such as it was – ahead. A delicate shudder ran through her, one Darian knew about only because of the pressure of her body against his. She took the waterskin, murmuring. “Thank you. This place smells odd. I smell rot on the breeze.”

  “Not surprising.” Ianel motioned to a nearby bush, where a large congregation of flies buzzed about merrily. “Things, especially people, die out here without proper rites or even burials. Who is there to take care of such things? The days will be dangerous and the nights even more so.”

  Ephema shuddered and took a drink from the waterskin before handing it back to Darian.

  Tabor pulled on the reins of his horse and turned north. “I don’t want to look any closer at that, though my instinct says it’s animal not man. We have at least three days ahead of us before we arrive at Whilpow’s temple. Let’s move.”

  “Horses coming, Tabor.” Darian motioned to the movement he’d spotted, off to the east. “Looks like about a dozen.” Last night had been unexpectedly peaceful. Though the undead had roamed, their hunting cries had remained far away from their encampment, and Darian had entertained the thought that, perhaps, this trip wouldn’t be so bad. Now, with unknowns bearing down on them at a fast clip, that thought fled.

  Tabor followed Darian’s gesture and grimaced. “Coming fast, all right. Our horses are bred for battle, not evasion or a pitched chase. We won’t be able to outrun them, even if we were so inclined.” He lowered his visor and nodded to Ianel. “Take left. Darian, in the center. I have the right. We’ll wait right here for them, and hopefully they will pass on. If not, we will make them wish they had.”

  Ianel grinned as he pulled his shield free from Star’s saddle, strapping it into place on his arm. “I kind of hope they don’t. It’s been a while since I had a good scrap.”

  “Got fat and lazy cooling your heels at the brothel.” Tabor’s comments were off-handed, touched with humor, not vitriol. He shifted slightly, his gaze never leaving the approaching force. “They are lightly armored or not at all. Mostly mismatches. Their horses have been ridden hard and aren’t well fed. I do not think they’re riding for help.”

  “Bandits then, most likely.” Darian shook his head. “Desperate ones to live out here. They won’t find us easy prey.”

  “Indeed not.”

  The horses came upon them quickly, pulling up in a loose circle. Most of the twelve riders were weathered and thin, with sharp eyes and darting looks that filled with nervousness upon seeing the waiting Knights. Two of the men were thicker in girth and carried weapons of much higher quality than their fellows. Their weapons were ringed in bone, though what little armor the men bore showed no other sign of Osephetin’s grace.

  Tabor held his maul in a casual, wary guard, keeping it between himself and the largest of the men in the group. He frowned, his expression barely visible beneath his visor. “It would be best if you move on. Whatever you might seek, I doubt you’ll find it here.”

  One of the thinner men hissed, “Blood of the dead, Nararul, they’re blasted Knights. Blasted friggin’ Knights!”

  The largest of the bandits, kicked his companion high on his leg. “Shut your gob. I know exactly what they is.” He turned his greedy gaze on Tabor. “We’s not unreasonable, Knight. We’s seen you approach and knowed ya might need some protecting. These ain’t nice places. Not like your big cities and all. Someone could get hurt out here. ‘Specially a pretty little thing like that girly there.”

  “She is accompanied by Knights of Osephetin. I believe she has plenty of protection.” Darian crossed his arms over his chest and studied the men. Most of them looked nervous, shifting on their horses and exchanging uncertain glances. Only Nararul and the other bigger man of the group showed any ease. “I expect your ‘protection’ leaves a lot to be desired.”

  Nararul grinned, showing a gap on one side of his mouth and a gold glint on the remaining teeth. “Ain’t had no one complain yet. This don’t have to get ugly, boys. Jus’ pay up a bit so we can continue keeping these roads safe, and ya can wander on however ya like.”

  Tabor snorted. “None of us happened to remember to bring extra coin with us. Shame that.” Blue essence flickered to life along the edges of his bone maul, highlighting the menace in his tone.

  Nararul’s grin faltered, showing the snarl beneath. “We’ll take the flit in trade, then. She’s probably good fer a tumble or two.” His grip tightened on the thick flail he carried. “Shame if this has ta get ugly.”

  “It will be far uglier for you than it will for us.” Tabor murmured a soft chant and the head of the maul crackled with divine magic. “However, maybe we should make this more fair. Your other compatriots don’t seem nearly as enthralled by the idea of a fight.”

  “They’ll do what I tells them to.” Nararul didn’t even look at his scruffy band. “I ain’t afraid of you, and I gives them safety. You think yer so tough with your shiny weapons.” He patted the flail. “I gots me my own magic right here.”

  “I see that. So you stole some dead Knight’s flail. Congratulations, that’s so brave of you. That doesn’t mean Lord Osephetin answers your calls.” Tabor snarled under his visor. “But by all means, pull your magic up, friend. Take a swing. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Nararul’s face creased, the only hint that he thought he might be making a mistake. He gripped the flail tighter and hissed an unfamiliar word. A single red symbol on the haft of the weapon flared to life.

  Darian heard Ephema gasp, and she gripped his waist as though she might fall off without him. But there was no time to do anything for her before Nararul set his horse toward Tabor, screaming a battle cry. The horses around them made space, and steel hissed as the riders drew weapons, not content to let only their leader fight.

  Tabor pulled some dust out of a pouch at his belt. Blue essence flared to life on his maul, and he threw the powder into the air. Ianel and Darian both wheeled their horses away from Tabor as the powder floated lazily through the air, looking almost like snow before it burst into a crick crack pop
of explosions.

  The bandits’ untrained horses reached to the explosions with explosions of their own. All but a few panicked, bucking and rearing, trying to escape. Some managed to throw their riders, and others took off with their passengers clinging for dear life.

  Nararul’s horse was too committed to the charge to fully disengage, but it didn’t like the explosion and veered to one side of Tabor. Nararul snarled and swung his flail. He wasn’t anywhere close enough to be effective, and Tabor and Valor side stepped him. “Bastard!”

  “Just felt like I’d even the odds a bit.” Tabor glanced over his shoulder as the remaining bandits surged forward. “You two have them handled?”

  “On it!” Ianel flicked Star’s reins and clicked his tongue. The horse needed no other guidance, secure in his training. The bandits that had fallen were quick to learn that a Knight’s steed was just as dangerous as its rider. One fell to a vicious kick before he could regain his footing, and another rolled to safety only to be smashed by Ianel’s hammer as he tried to rise.

  Darian signaled Raven with his heels and the beast spun, lashing out with its back hooves in a wicked kick. The movement threw Ephema forward and she collided with him, a harsh reminder that though he was trained for this, she was not and his training wasn’t for two on a horse. Belatedly, he called out, “Hang on, Ephema!” as he loosed his mace, essence freely flowing out of the skull’s eye sockets.

  “I’m trying, but you are all edges.” He barely heard her over the crash of combat, but she clung close, trying to avoid being thrown and trampled like their enemies.

  Darian swung his mace at a bandit who’d managed to remain mounted. He lifted his sword to defend himself, but the blade flew from his hand under the impact of Darian’s mace. Without a word, the bandit turned his horse around and kicked it into a full gallop. “Tabor! Two dead, seven routed. Three left, including your friend there.”

  Tabor didn’t answer, though Darian was certain he’d heard the report. For all of his bluff, Nararul wasn’t only bluster, showing skill with his flail that kept Tabor and Valor on the move. As the two enchanted weapons collided, bright sparks shot into the air, the red aura of Nararul’s flail plucking at Tabor’s maul, searching for weakness in weapon or man. The thick, cloying scent of decay rent the air, intermingling with the smells of blood and dust.

  Distracted by the fight between Tabor and Nararul, Darian nearly lost his seat and his head as a horse plowed into his. Ephema pushed him in the back, forcing them both to duck, the bandit’s club whistling overhead by mere inches.

  The runes on Darian’s mace flared as he swung wildly, directing Raven with his legs and trying to create distance between the two mounts. He swung upward to deflect a second blow and nearly lost his mace as the glowing spikes cut cleanly through the thick wood of the club, sending shards scattering. There had been no resistance at all.

  Ephema yelped, throwing her weight counter to his. The intention was the right one, but their combined lack of experience threatened to over balance them, and as the next attack came, she simply dropped from Raven’s back and scrambled away. Darian had no free hand to reach for her, having no choice but to trust her to stay out from underfoot.

  He grimaced and directed Raven away from Ephema, pushing hard into the large bandit’s mount and shoving it back. “Care to finish this, friend? I’ve already shortened your club. Let’s see how much closer to your hand I can shave it.”

  The bandit snarled and reached to his waist, pulling a short sword and dropping the club stump. “Come dance, Death Lover. I make a new club from your leg.”

  He charged, and Darian prepared to meet him, hearing Ephema’s voice in the background of his awareness. There was no panic to it, but a sing-song quality he’d heard frequently enough in her prayers. The words didn’t make sense, but bright light wreathed him, adding strength to his arm and sharpness to his sight. That was new.

  When the bandit closed the distance, Darian blocked his sword high and then drove his mace down in a savage attack. The mace connected with the man’s leg, and the eyes of the skull flashed as the bandit’s leg went limp, the bone shattered. He shrieked in pain, a cry that was silenced when Darain pulled the mace free and swung it into the man’s chest, sending his lifeless body to the ground.

  Darian stared down at the body as it twitched. It was one thing to kill the undead, even the Sisters, but fighting the living was still a new concept to him. They were men, like him, often desperate, sometimes evil, but still men, which meant they had more in common than those risen by foul magic.

  From behind Darian, Ianel’s voice rang out in a curse. “You misbegotten son of a one-legged whore and a bastard goat!”

  Concerned, Darian pulled his horse around to offer aid, but while Ianel was shouting, it didn’t appear that he was in any need of help. He drove his enemies back with stroke after stroke of his hammer like a smith at a forge. Where his strokes landed man and animal broke before him, until only Ianel and Star stood tall.

  Tabor’s opponent fell only seconds later, the great flail missing a large chunk and sparking odd red magic until the moment its wielder ceased breathing. As Nararul fell, Ianel let out a victory whoop, but Tabor remained quiet, staring at the dead man and his enchanted weapon.

  Darian maneuvered Raven up alongside Ephema and offered his hand to help her up. “Come on. Let’s get you back up here before their companions think to return.”

  Ephema shivered, rubbing her hands along her arms. She stared at the fallen bodies for a long time then took Darian’s hand and mounted behind him. “So much waste. I don’t understand.”

  “They believe they can be stronger than the world, I guess. Just like some of us feel like we can change things with kindness and passion, some people think they can change it with cruelty, selfishness, and violence. To give them credit, they managed to stay alive in the wilds for this long, so they weren’t utter fools.” Darian waited until Ephema had settled then turned to Tabor. He raised an eyebrow when he found the big man still staring at the body of the bandit leader. “Tabor? Everything all right?”

  Tabor shook his head and pushed back his visor. His expression was troubled. He nudged the fallen flail with his maul. As the glow died, the weapon went from looking nearly new to ruined, covered in rust, dents, and dings. “Nothing so wrong as to stop us, but a lot to be wary of. That wasn’t just some enchanted weapon left in the wild lands. It tugged at my faith, at my very connection to the Dark Lord. That thing is the weapon of a Corrupted.”

  “What do we do with it?” Ianel spit off to the side as he rode up, glaring at the weapon as though he could melt it with his stare. “If it is a Corrupted weapon, the Dark Lord knows none of us should touch it.”

  “We leave it with the corpses.” Tabor flicked Valor’s reins, directing the tall warhorse back to the battered path. “It holds no power now, unless an actual Corrupted were to find it again. How that bandit knew to draw on it, even in such a small way, I don’t know, but I doubt he shared the secret with any of his companions. If the survivors want it that badly they can try to return before the corpses rise. We’ve not the time or resources to put them to final rest. In the meantime, we need to make some distance before nightfall.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Ephema jerked in her bedroll, coming again into wakefulness. She shivered, a reaction that was only partially due to the cold. The night had passed badly for all of them, and Ephema regretted not being allowed to take a turn on watch. She was awake most of the time anyway, and when she slept, she dreamed horrible dreams. Not that she remembered exactly what the dreams were about, only that they disturbed her sleep and made her restless and uneasy. She was anxious to get away from this place, and they were still several hours ride from their final destination.

  The eastern sky had only just begun to lighten to a pale grey. Usually pinks and golds would follow the dawn, but not here. Here in the wildlands the sky was always various shades of grey, greater and lesser. The lack of co
lor was another thing in a long list of things she hated about this place.

  Deciding that she wasn’t doing anything but getting colder, Ephema slipped to her feet and wrapped her new cloak around her. It was heavy and thick, something Knight Proctor Lauret had insisted on, even if she’d lost the argument about getting Ephema into boots. Ephema didn’t know why her clothing choices were of such interest to everyone but her.

  Tabor glanced at her from his position on watch, but he didn’t speak, his brows furrowed and his thoughts turned inward. Not in the mood to initiate conversation if the Knight didn’t, Ephema walked over to the horses instead. She didn’t understand them the way the Knights did, but she found it soothing to take care of the horses, especially to brush their tangled manes. She’d taken to doing so each morning. The first morning they’d looked at her with uncertain eyes, but now there was eagerness when she took up the brush. It probably helped that she carried wilted carrots or apple cores in her pockets to offer as treats.

  Ianel’s horse, Star, shared his rider’s exuberant personality, and he was always the first to greet her when she came near. Today was no different, and he pressed his nose up against her shoulder, whickering lightly before sniffing her, searching for a snack.

  Ephema shook her head, fishing out a carrot for him before rubbing her fingers into his forelock. “I think you are the only one who is calm out here. A life of searching for carrots, and being brushed sounds nice.” She chuckled very softly. “Though carrying a Knight in full armor is probably a lot of work.”

  Star took the carrot and munched happily, his nose and whiskers soft against her hand as he chewed. She moved to Star’s side, running her fingers over the thick muscle that supported the saddle and his Knight, making sure he didn’t show any soreness. She didn’t know much about horses, but her senses that told her when a person was hurt seemed to work just as well on the large beasts.