Knight and Shadow

by Flint Maxwell

  Kane did his best to ignore the decomposition, but it was no easy task.

  On the uniform’s belt, he found the key ring, as well as something he was quite familiar with: a pistol. He gripped the pistol and ripped it from the holster, but the iron sight caught on the strap, and Kane couldn’t get it free.

  His fingers betrayed him. His mind felt slow and as gummy as the wound on the guard’s neck. He didn’t possess his usual sharpness, and that didn’t feel good.

  For the first time in a long time, he felt scared, and worried that he might not get out of the predicament he had gotten himself into.

  Then the gun came free, and his mind worked on autopilot again. Cock, aim, and fire.

  That’s what he did, despite the gun feeling like it weighed a hundred pounds.

  And his aim wasn’t off.

  It never was.

  The second guard’s head erupted in a fountain of congealed blood and decayed brains. The wall behind him was painted red, oozing down like strawberry jam.

  For the moment, he was free, but that was the problem. In order to get out of Low Town, he had to make a lot of noise. A town like this didn’t have much noise of its own to disguise his. No doubt, everyone had heard the sound of the gunshot, even if they were all in the Proudpost, and a different piano player was hammering away at the keys.

  As much as he wanted to rest, to allow himself to come down from this adrenaline rush, he couldn’t. He had to move and he had to move fast.

  The keys.

  He grabbed them and stood up. Stuck his arm through the bars and curled his wrist at an odd, uncomfortable angle. The first key didn’t work. He tried a second, and then a third.

  The third proved to be the charm, and the lock clicked heavily as it gave. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  But outside, he thought he heard the sound of a crowd gathering, heading for the sheriff’s office…heading for him.

  He was right.

  Watts came bursting in through the door.

  “Kane!” he roared. “Kane!”

  No time to be stealthy. Best to just end this while he still could. He hobbled out of the cell, stepping over the downed guard, and turned left. There stood Watts, holding a high-powered rifle.

  Before Watts even aimed, Kane had raised the gun he took from the guard, palmed the hammer with his left hand, and pulled the trigger.

  No blast came, however.

  Watts’s face pale, he began laughing. Slowly, the color came back into his cheeks.

  Kane cursed himself; he should’ve known. His skills with iron were so attuned that he could tell how many rounds were loaded into a gun’s cylinder by the weight of the weapon in his hand. Except he was not in his right mind at the moment. He was weak, barely able to stand, and here stood Watts, the epitome of health and happiness.

  Still, Kane was not one to give up. The drills and mentality of the old way were ingrained in him, and he wouldn’t betray them now.

  To his right, perhaps just ten feet away, the other guard’s gun lay near his ruined body. If he was quick—which would be quite the challenge, given his current condition—he could grab it, fire on Watts, and end the son of a bitch’s happiness.

  “Look at you,” Watts said. “You look as bad as an infected beast out west. Wow. Even if I took you to the crown, they would certainly not recognize you.”

  Kane said nothing in return. Slowly, he turned his outside foot, the floor cold on his bare sole. He was preparing for the dive. The desk that the guard lay halfway behind might cover him enough when Watts started shooting…but then again, it might not.

  Now his knee bent, and that brought a ripple of pain up his leg and lower back. Getting old, Kane thought. Getting so old. His eyes never left Watts’s.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Watts said, grinning. “You’re thinking you are getting out of this alive. Thinking you’ll move on from Low Town and maybe shave your head and grow a big beard and hide for the rest of your life. Well, I’m here to tell you that is wrong, my friend. You are hanging. Tomorrow. You may have bested a few of my guards, but you can’t best me. You can’t best Zoroth, either.”

  “The old king is dead,” Kane replied.

  “Not quite. His shadow grows even as we speak, and soon the whole realm will be under his rule. The White Tree will fall, and his minions will claim their domain. Only those who pledge their fealty to him will be spared. And I think after I kill you, I’ll get a seat right next to him in his Hall of Shadows.”

  “The only thing you’re going to get is another hole in your head.”

  Watts laughed. Then, with amazing speed, he pulled the lever back on the rifle and shot to Kane’s right. He hardly aimed, but the whine of metal on metal was unmistakable.

  The guard’s pistol disappeared far out of Kane’s reach.

  “You’re not as slick as you once were, friend—if you were ever slick to begin with.” Watts pulled the lever again, and another round clicked into the chamber. A crazy look filled the new sheriff’s eye.

  Kane knew that look all too well… It was the look of a murderer, the craving of freshly spilled blood. He had worn it many times before.

  “I could end you now, you know that, right? You’re a weak cretin with no ammunition, a vulture of the land, and I am the lion, the king,” Watts said.

  “Then do it. Kill me where I stand. Kill me like the coward you are.”

  That grin again. Watts walked closer. “Where’s the fun in that? I want you to suffer. A bullet to that ugly face of yours is much too humane for a traitor of the crown.”

  He raised the rifle over his left ear and swung down with the stock. The pain exploded through Kane like a million burning daggers. He collapsed to the floor, dazed, his vision darkening. Before him, blood dripped in grayish-red splotches.

  “No, there’s no fun in that, Kane. When I was young, I worked on a ranch. We had a ton of dogs, and sometimes one would get ballsy and sneak into the chicken coop and kill a few, and you know what I had to do?”

  Watts paused for an answer, but none would come. Kane’s tongue was bloodied from the first blow; it had made him bite down hard, a tooth going through spongy flesh.

  “Naturally, I had to beat the son of a bitch. But it never learned, even after the countless beatings. So I told myself next time would be the last time. No more chickens will be harmed and I can get my boss off my back.”

  He kicked Kane in the side. His ribs shifted painfully, and a great glob of blood made its way up Kane’s throat. He hacked it out, spat it near the other grayish drops.

  “You know what happened? Do you know what happened to the dog, the mutt, that wouldn’t learn its lesson? I’ll tell you.”

  The stock of the rifle came down on Kane’s spine. He did not beg or fight back—mostly because he couldn’t, but had he been able to, he still wouldn’t have.

  His spine crackled beneath the blow, and he fell on his stomach. Where the stock of the rifle hit him, Watts stepped down, holding Kane to the floor.

  “What happened was I killed the little bastard. Strangled it and bashed its fucking head in. No other chickens died after that. By ending one life, I saved a hundred, maybe a thousand. Who knows how long that mutt would’ve gone on doing what he did? Kind of like you… You’re the mutt, aren’t you, Kane?”

  Kane remained silent. He wouldn’t give Watts the satisfaction, even when he wanted nothing more than to tell Watts to fuck off.

  Then the rifle stock crashed against the back of his head, and he snapped into the dark of unconsciousness.

  Chapter 21

  Vampires

  They rode hard throughout the night. They rode fast. The mountains were long behind them, and they could feel the weather starting to grow hot and muggy the farther west they got. Soon they would be upon the desert, the vast wasteland that separated the civilized from the uncivilized.

  The road had disappeared a long time ago. Not many people traveled this way.

  On their right was a
large canyon and a great river flowed through it. Once, many years ago, a bridge had been erected across the water.

  They approached the bridge now. Had it been daylight or a clearer night, they would’ve seen the state of disrepair the bridge was in. But they didn’t until they got close enough.

  Trees stretched out on their path, twisted branches full of dying leaves reaching for them.

  Swan dismounted from her horse and approached the bridge. She knelt, testing the wood with her sword. A great creaking noise came from the little pressure.

  “Don’t think it’s safe,” she said. “We’ll have to go around, through the woods.”

  “Which could prove less safe,” Isaac said.

  Swan nodded. “Keep the gun out.”

  But Isaac didn’t want to. He didn’t trust the weapon; it wasn’t his. It belonged to a gun knight, and he knew that, as crazy as it sounded, the gun had a mind of its own. At any moment, it could betray him, and Isaac could go the way of the bandit who’d tried killing him in the forest.

  He did have his sword, however. Not as great in defense as the revolver, but it was better than nothing. Not to mention Swan was with him. He wasn’t traveling through the woods alone.

  You’re letting the dark get the best of you, Isaac, he thought. Nothing will happen. Everything is asleep.

  At least he hoped that was the case.

  They plunged into the tangle of dark trees, the ground steadily sloping downward. Five minutes in, they dismounted and led their horses slowly through the forest. Lightning whinnied and chuffed. At one point, Isaac thought the horse was going to bolt with all of his belongings on the saddle and leave Isaac to fend for himself.

  But that didn’t happen.

  Neither he nor Swan talked. Through the trees above, they could just make out the constellations, which guided them.

  Suddenly, Swan stopped.

  “What?” whispered Isaac.

  “I heard something. Did you?”

  Isaac looked around and saw not much of anything, nor had he heard anything, either. The darkness was too thick, and each tree was nondescript, but the trees seemed to be growing closer, as if they uprooted and tiptoed closer whenever they weren’t looking. A cold wind sliced through their branches.

  Isaac and Swan heard it rustling the leaves before it reached them, and when it did reach them, their blood froze.

  “What is that?” Isaac asked.

  Swan looked back at him. Her horse reared.

  “What is what?” Swan asked.

  Isaac pointed, but the dark was so thick he could hardly see his finger.

  “That.”

  A pale creature stood a distance away. It had long hair and wore a dark robe. Whether it was male or female, Isaac couldn’t tell yet.

  “Shit,” Swan said. She took an unconscious step back. Her horse reared higher and whinnied louder, almost a scream. “It’s a vampire.”

  “A vampire?”

  “A bloodsucker. We must be in their territory. I didn’t even think about them,” Swan said.

  Isaac tried to calm her horse down, petting its flank and whispering softly to it, which didn’t do much good. Lightning wasn’t doing much better.

  Then they heard a rustling above them, except there was no longer any wind. The noise had been made by something else.

  Dreading what he’d see, Isaac looked up.

  More glowing, pale faces. The vampires were perched above them in high places. Their teeth were long, but the upper canines were the longest. Easily three inches in length, stretching past the creatures’ lower lips. Their eyes glinted yellow, like gold in the sun. Even their hands glowed a milky white, each finger with a long, sharp nail protruding from the tip.

  Isaac counted three of the bloodsuckers, but he knew there was more; he could sense them, and worst of all, he could smell them. They radiated a sickening sweet smell, almost cloying. Like death.

  The one standing in front of them, down the twisting, natural path, floated closer. As it approached, moonlight shone through the canopy of trees, and this light seemed to burn away the mask the vampire wore. Its smooth skin changed into something haggard and monstrous. Deep wrinkles lined its face. It had no lips, and its eyes changed from the color of gold to the color of blood. Then the creature once again passed under shadow, and the mask came back.

  “Greetings,” the vampire said. It spoke in a voice that was neither masculine nor feminine; it just was.

  “We want no trouble,” Swan said, but her hand hovered over the hilt of the sword at her hip.

  Out of the corner of his eyes, Isaac saw the other three vampires drop from their place in the trees, landing silently.

  The horses went wild. Lightning reared back on his hind legs and knocked Isaac to the ground. At the last second, before the horse was about to take off, Isaac grabbed the reins and pulled himself back up, running his hand down Lightning’s snout, trying to calm him. It worked slightly, but not much.

  “We also do not want trouble,” the lead vampire said.

  It stepped closer still. Its hair was swept back from its brow, its cheekbones were sharp, its eyes were hungry.

  “You understand that what is about to happen is just nature, right?” it asked.

  “Nothing is about to happen,” Swan said. “You’re going to let us pass, and neither us nor you will be harmed.”

  The vampire smiled. The teeth of this one seemed longer, perhaps four inches in length. Looking upon them, Isaac’s heart filled with icy cold fear. What he saw was not natural.

  “I am afraid, dear, that is not going to be the case. You will be harmed. You will be drained of your blood. You will die,” the vampire said.

  This proclamation sparked something in Isaac’s mind.

  He had read about vampires before, but the passage in the book had just been a fleeting one, a small paragraph, and he had read it long ago. So long ago, that the words and the gruesome description of the monsters had scared him enough to make him hide the book under his bed. He had never removed it, and it had most likely perished in the fire along with the rest of his texts.

  Growing up on the farm, there wasn’t much else to do but read. It was how he had learned about the world at large.

  But the words on the vampires in the book, the ones he had hoped were fiction, were still buried deep in his mind, hidden. His brain had tried to protect him from the realities of the wide world, but now, sensing danger, it lifted the veil it had draped over this information.

  The words floated up to him, as clear as if they were right in front of him.

  Weakness: Direct sunlight, fire, decapitation, stake through the heart, and…

  “Garlic,” he whispered to himself.

  Isaac had garlic, because the bandit who tried to rob him had garlic, and that made sense, didn’t it? The bandit would have to travel through woods just like these, woods full of all sorts of monsters, vampires among them. He had carried garlic strung together like a necklace, fat cloves, reeking of their distinct scent. Isaac had almost pitched it when he got to Track City, for the smell was almost too great, but it had eventually slipped his mind, and he never did so.

  He was now grateful he hadn’t.

  He was also grateful he had prevented Lightning from bolting out of the forest and had calmed him down slightly, because the bag containing the garlic was currently hanging from the saddle, within arm’s reach.

  Like the trees, the vampires seemed to encroach on them, but Isaac ignored it the best he could, burying those feelings of fear he had felt as a child upon first reading about the monsters.

  “No sudden moves, boy,” the leader said.

  He stepped into the moonlight again. The facade covering his undesirable features vanished, and Isaac saw the jaggedness of his teeth, which seemed to grow longer still, all curved and serrated.

  Then, moving as fast as a bullet, the lead vampire blurred toward him, an aura of coldness following and passing over Isaac’s flesh.

  But his
hand was already in the bag, and his fingers closed around the garlic. With a thrust, he pulled it out and brandished it in front of him. The four vampires hissed collectively, the sound carrying on the still forest air.

  “That’s right!” he shouted. “Get back, or I’ll shove this garlic down your throat. And there’s plenty more where that came from.”

  “Blasted fool!” the lead vampire said. “Do you know who you’re messing with?”

  “Do you know who you’re messing with? I am Isaac Bleake, slayer of ghouls and vampires.” He thrust the garlic forward again, and the lead vampire retreated. The moonlight hid itself again. No more were the vampires’ rough, monstrous features visible. Thankfully. “You will let us pass. If you do not, I will stun you with this garlic and stake you all to hell!”

  Two of the vampires sprang upward into the trees, hissing. The other one cowered behind the leader as he stared at Isaac with his beady, golden eyes.

  “All right, Isaac Bleake. We will not waste our strength on the likes of you. You may pass, but know we will not forget your face,” the lead vampire said. “Your time will come. Sooner than you think.”

  Isaac feigned a throw with the garlic, and the remaining vampires hissed like teakettles, throwing up their hands in defense. Then, a few seconds later, they jumped after their brethren and hid among the trees.

  Isaac draped the stinking garlic around his neck the way it was intended, and he and Swan walked on, leading their mounts into the darkness.

  As they got deeper into the forest, they could feel the eyes of the vampires on them, watching, their fangs bared, their mouths watering, but Isaac ignored it the best he could, and soon they heard other noises amongst the trees—belonging to terrible, unholy creatures of the night—and the vampires became the least of their worries.

  But no other creature bothered them. If it wasn’t the garlic that had repelled evil, it was surely Isaac’s newfound confidence.

  Near daybreak, when the sun was purplish on the horizon, they came to an opening in the woods. Their pace sped up, the horses’ too, all of them glad to be clear of the forest.