Knight and Shadow

by Flint Maxwell

  “I’m not lying,” Isaac interjected.

  Dolan shook his head. “I never said you were. Whether I believe you or not doesn’t matter. If it’s the truth, we will all know soon enough, I’m afraid.” He leaned closer, his words starting to slur slightly. “Between you and me, lad, I’ve heard strange reports myself. Your story is not the first I’ve been privy to, and it won’t be the last. Just last week, I was in the Battling Dragon—righteous place, that one is—and there was a lot playing dominoes in the corner, talking about strange creatures on the roads—vampires and ghouls and…shadows, too, I guess, by the description of ‘em. Young fellows talking about it, though. Sometimes they embellish a bit, you know, but if that don’t sound like a bad omen, I don’t know what is, lad.”

  Isaac tried swallowing. His throat clicked dryly as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He felt faint and scared and torn.

  Vampires? Ghouls? Shadow creatures? Things of legend, things of fiction. But he’d seen a shadowfiend with his own two eyes.

  Goosebumps prickled up his arms.

  Dolan didn’t look too much better. He hugged himself as if he was very cold, and he shivered.

  “Best we open another bottle. What do you say?”

  * * *

  So another bottle was opened. They did not finish this one, and the conversation between the two of them remained bleak, but it was an important conversation, one that needed to be had.

  Isaac pulled the wooden box from out of his burlap sack, which he learned was made of ash wood, and set it in front of Dolan.

  Dolan looked at it curiously until Isaac opened the lid. No longer did the velvet sheet cover it, as it had been ruined in the skirmish with the bandit, back in the forest.

  Staring at the revolver, Dolan’s lips parted and began moving, forming soundless words.

  “Dolan?”

  It took a few moments for the stable master to compose himself, but once he did, he said, “My Lord of Stars, I never believed I would lay my own eyes on such a weapon.” Tears gleamed and rolled down his cheeks. “It has been over thirty years since the Knights of the Gun fell, yet this revolver is in mint condition, and here I am. Oh, but I am not worthy.”

  “My mom must’ve taken good care of it,” Isaac said, trying his best to not let Dolan know he had noticed his tears.

  “No! Isaac, no! It is the magic within the weapon’s material. Such a fine magic is said to no longer exist. Yet, here we are, observing it ourselves.”

  “Magic?” Isaac said. “You really believe that?”

  But as soon as the words had escaped his mouth, he felt foolish. Belief was no longer a matter of debate. He had seen with his own two eyes the shadow creature and the forcefield that the dark being had conjured between the flames and his mother.

  “Believe it? I know it, lad. I am an old man, getting older. I walked the world the same time the gun knights did. I’ve lived and breathed in a time of magic.”

  “Where did it go? What happened?”

  “That I do not know for certain, my friend, but I believe it is reawakening.”

  * * *

  Neither one of them dared take the gun from the box. For the rest of that day and night, they drank and talked. Sometimes of simpler times; other times of the future, which Dolan didn’t believe would be simple.

  Then came the subject of the man called Ansen Kane.

  Dolan had not the slightest clue who he was. At the Order’s pinnacle, there had been a hundred gun knights. He said that a hundred gun knights and their special revolvers could easily topple an empire if they so chose, and if this Ansen Kane was indeed a gun knight, then he would have to be a mighty good one to avoid capture for thirty years. Dolan also said that, aside from being an excellent gunman, if Ansen Kane was truly living near the Infected Lands, he would also be insane.

  That didn’t make Isaac feel too good, but by this point in their conversation, he was already pretty drunk, so he wasn’t sure if the sickening feeling he was experiencing was from the conversation or the liquor.

  He tried standing and swayed, which prompted Dolan to say they’d talk more in the morning. Together, the two of them wobbled up the street, unhitched Carmen, and let her roam in the small pen outside of the stable.

  The next thing that Isaac remembered was passing out.

  He woke up on the floor, his head pounding, and his stomach roiling greasily. He vomited a couple times and felt better.

  Dolan came into the room a few minutes later holding two steaming cups. He handed one to Isaac.

  “Here, this’ll help the hangover.”

  Initially, Isaac thought it was coffee, from the steam, but one glance at it, and he knew he had assumed wrong. The liquid was a dark red, almost like blood, and smelled like vegetables.

  “No booze in that,” Dolan assured him. “Just tomato juice and some pepper. It’s a cure all. Trust me. Tastes like shit, but it will help you feel better.”

  “I’m never drinking again,” Isaac moaned.

  “That’s what they all say.”

  They both drank the hangover cure and went back to sleep.

  By the time Isaac woke up, he felt a lot better, not just physically, but mentally. The quest before him was daunting. The longer he could put it off, the better.

  He and Dolan shared a breakfast of eggs and toast well past noon. There was no more vomiting, just a constant headache.

  “So why did you come to me, lad?” Dolan asked.

  “I-I don’t know. You’re the only one I know in the city. I thought of going to Mr. Fednir’s, but something told me to head here. It was on the way…to the Infected Lands.”

  The stable master nodded.

  “You’ve always treated us right and fair,” Isaac continued. “And I just couldn’t stay near the farm. The smell of the fire and the forest, the loneliness.”

  Dolan reached across the table and gripped his shoulder. “I know, son. I know. Don’t worry.”

  “How can’t I?”

  For that, Dolan didn’t have an answer. The boy had a quest, perhaps a very important one.

  In Isaac’s heart, hope brewed.

  “Come with me, Dolan. We can go together.”

  “I can’t, son. You know I can’t. I’m far too old. I would only hold you back. If I was twenty years younger, I would.”

  Isaac lowered his head, looked at the yolk-stained surface of his plate. He had known the answer before asking the question, but it was worth a shot, wasn’t it?

  The fact of the matter was that he had a job to do; he had to find this Ansen Kane, Gun Knight of Old, and deliver the ancient revolver to him. It would be no easy task, but then again, when had Isaac’s life ever been easy?

  “I can help in more ways than one, I’m sure,” Dolan assured him. “You needn’t worry.”

  “How so?”

  “For starters, I can buy that cow from you. She is a good cow.”

  “The best. Her name is Carmen.”

  “Carmen,” Dolan said. “Such a pretty name. I shall take good care of her. She’ll be treated well. How much do you want for her?”

  Isaac thought about it. “Whatever you can spare.”

  “How about twenty?”

  “Twenty?” Isaac repeated incredulously.

  “Yes, twenty. I would give you more if I could.”

  “I can’t take that much from you. Don’t do this because you feel bad for me, Dolan.”

  “I’m not. I’m doing it because I like you. You are good company and I can sense that you possess a greatness within. It would be a crime for me not to help as much as I can.”

  Isaac smiled. It felt good to smile.

  Sticking out his hand, Dolan said, “So do we have a deal?”

  They shook. Isaac didn’t feel wholly good about it, but the time to feel good or bad about something such as this had passed. He had a mission that needed to be completed by any means necessary, just as his mother said with her last, dying words.

  “Come now,”
Dolan said. “If you are to head toward the Infected Lands, you will need provisions.” He looked Isaac up and down. “Well, let’s get you a proper shower first. Maybe some mint for your breath, as well.”

  * * *

  Isaac scrubbed the dirt and filth away. It was not easy. He scrubbed until his skin was raw and pink and his hair was free of mats and clumps. Then he drained the tub and filled it with fresh water and just soaked. After, he dressed in fresh clothes, leaving his old soiled garments for the trash.

  “Good as new!” Dolan said when Isaac stepped out of the small washroom. “Now let’s hit the town, my friend.”

  So they did. The sun had gone down a few hours before, but the lights within Track City made it seem like the middle of the day. Many people were out on the streets. Groups of drunks, wagons, horses with their hooves clop-clopping.

  Isaac thought, when all was said and done, that he could get used to this kind of living. The city, the atmosphere, the people—it was nice not to be surrounded by trees and silence.

  “Few blocks ahead,” Dolan said. He wore a hat atop his head, and as they strolled by a city guard sitting on his horse at the corner of the street, he tipped it. The guard nodded. “Righteous place called Son of Steven’s. Heard of it?”

  “No. I don’t get to the city much, Dolan. And when I’m here, Mom doesn’t—” he caught himself, “didn’t, I mean—didn’t let us stay long.”

  Dolan nodded with a somber look upon his face.

  They walked on for a while, neither talking, but the sounds of the bustling city drowned out Isaac’s thoughts of his mother, and after a few moments, he was able to drink it all in. No worrying about his quest or this Ansen Kane, no more worrying of evil forces and shadow creatures.

  Son of Steven’s was tucked into what the locals called the Dark District. Isaac had heard of it before, from his mother, but she had often told him to stay far, far away if they ever got separated during one of their excursions to the city.

  Once they crossed into the Dark District, the merry sounds of the city began to fade, almost as if they’d passed some invisible threshold.

  “Just up ahead,” Dolan said. “Stay close, lad.”

  From the shadows, eyes watched them. In the distance, the red glow of a cigarette brightened and faded. As they walked up the street, maneuvering around trash—discarded beer and liquor bottles and bloody garments among the litter—a man approached them, moving with a limp. His nose was half gone, taken by some disease. It was a shiny, red mess, the exposed yellow-white of cartilage flashing beneath it. He was either very old or had lived a very difficult existence.

  “I’ll take ya both!” he said. “Any holes you like! Even me ear! Just a bronze piece! Just a bronze!”

  “No, thank you, sir,” Dolan said, pushing past him.

  “Ah, ya queers! I’d blow your tiny minds as well as your limp dicks!”

  “It’s a very enticing offer, really, but I’m afraid we’ll have to pass,” Dolan replied.

  They kept walking, and the man kept shouting after them, his voice shrill and terrifying, and from the shadows around them came deep laughter.

  Isaac tried keeping his head down, but he found it nearly impossible. As frightened as he had become since entering the Dark District, he was also enamored by it. This was the least populated part of the city he’d seen. All the businesses had blackened windows, no signs hung above the doors, and the doors themselves looked heavy and unbreakable.

  They stepped over a man facedown in the gutter. He was either dead or passed out drunk.

  The little place before them was squeezed in between two larger buildings. It rose three stories. On the second floor there was a balcony, and a man wearing a black rag over his head watched them with hard eyes. Isaac quickly looked away.

  Dolan approached the door and knocked in a sequence that was almost melodious. After a few seconds, a bar slid sideways at eye level. Isaac couldn’t see the person within. Dolan raised a hand, and the door opened after a series of turned locks on the other side.

  The smell of pipe weed wafted out from within, heavy and brain numbing. Laughter rolled over them. In the back room, the sound of clinking swords rang out.

  “Welcome to Son of Steven’s, lad,” Dolan said.

  Chapter 13

  Son of Steven’s

  The walls were lined with weapons. A large man, muscles rippling with each movement beneath his plain roughspun shirt, stood behind the counter.

  “What did I say about bringing more people here, Dolan?” the man said, glaring at Isaac.

  “This is different, Steven.”

  “How so?”

  Dolan glanced at the boy, but Isaac was barely aware of it. He was too busy looking at the many weapons on the wall.

  “It’s just different, Steve. Trust me.”

  Steven shook his head. “You got the coin? I’m not doing layaway anymore. Been burned too many times.”

  “We got the coin,” Dolan replied. “The lad here needs something good. He’s going on a journey.”

  “A journey, you say?” Steven raised his eyebrows. “Looks a little young to be going on a journey.”

  Isaac said nothing.

  “Well, let’s see what we got here,” Steven said, turning.

  He pulled a sword off the wall. It was short and stubby. He handed it to Isaac with both hands. Isaac picked it up easily, though the fit wasn’t right. He raised it, ran his finger down the length of the blade.

  “That there is genuine smithiron,” Steven said. “Light but sturdy and compact.”

  “Don’t waste our time, Stevey. Give us something better.”

  “Better costs more. You know that, Dolan.”

  “Aye, I do, but better is what we need. This journey is…important.”

  “Ah, care to divulge?”

  “I don’t. We aren’t here to give you stories; we are here for weaponry, friend.”

  “Wouldn’t have to do with a certain Dark Lord rising in the north, would it?”

  Isaac and Dolan’s silence was answer enough.

  “Oh yes, I hear a lot of strange tales coming from that way. Creatures, unseen for nearly three decades, reappearing; villages pillaged and ruined; above all, the oily whispers of a long-dead king.” Steven put his hands up in defense. “Whatever, whatever. Not my business.” He looked at Isaac. “But if our fate comes down to the likes of this scrawny kid, Dolan, I don’t like our chances.”

  “Give me that one,” Isaac said, trying to dampen the anger he felt toward this weapons master.

  He was pointing to a broadsword mounted horizontally near the top of the wall.

  Steven followed his pointing finger, and then looked at Isaac and burst out laughing. His laughter was surprisingly high, considering how built and macho he seemed.

  Isaac leaned across the counter. He didn’t know what had suddenly come over him, but he grabbed the weapons master’s apron and pulled him close to his face with surprising strength.

  Steven’s laughter ceased almost instantly, but he was too confused and surprised to show any anger.

  “I want to see that one, Steven,” Isaac said confidently.

  Dolan chuckled to his right.

  “Unhand me!” Steven said. He slapped Isaac’s grip away. “And get out of my store. I don’t need some snot-nosed kid fresh off his mother’s teat bossing me around. Don’t you know who I am?”

  From behind them, came a different voice, a woman’s.

  “Steven,” she said, “the customer is always right, are they not?”

  Fear rippled through Steven’s face. He seemed to shrink six inches and shed all his muscles at once.

  Isaac turned around, and his breath was zapped right from his lungs.

  Before him, dressed in scuffed, silver armor, holding a greatsword in her left hand and a helm under her right arm, stood the most beautiful woman Isaac had ever laid eyes on. She did not look like a queen or a princess. Her hair was tousled, and her skin was roughened by battle
scars. Her body was lithe yet powerful, and she stood taller than Isaac by a few inches.

  He found it hard to meet her eyes, not because of her height, but because of her aura.

  “Madam Swan,” Steven said. “Are you done sparring so soon?”

  Just then, a man limped out of the back room. He held a cracked shield and a bent sword. Blood rolled down his forehead. He was one of the largest men Isaac had ever seen in person, bigger even than the weapons master before him.

  This man said, “I’ll be in a coma, Steven. Don’t wake me.”

  Steven chuckled uncomfortably. “Yes, brother.”

  Isaac saw the one known as Madam Swan smirk. Her eyes fell on him, and he quickly looked away, scared he might end up like the large man who had limped out of the sparring room.

  “Madam Swan,” Dolan said, bowing. “I thought you were on your trek west.”

  “Not yet. I set out tomorrow at first light,” Madam Swan answered.

  “Ah, I see.” Dolan fidgeted. “Oh, where are my manners? Isaac, this is Madam Swan of the Swordborn. Madam Swan, this is Isaac Bleake.”

  “Pleasure,” she said and shook his hand with a bone-crushing grip. Then she looked at Steven. “Is Steven giving you a hard time?”

  Isaac found it difficult to speak. The woman before him practically radiated beauty and strength.

  He said, “Yes. I-I wanted to see that sword up there, but—”

  “He’s too weak for such a weapon, Madam Swan. I’m only trying to save him from embarrassment,” Steven said, much to the displeasure of Dolan, who rolled his eyes comically.