Shard Knight (Echoes Across Time Book 1)

by Ballard, Matthew

  “She’s considered dangerous because of her husband?” Danielle said.

  Rika nodded. “They dragged her from this cell when they discovered her pregnant, but Ferris doesn’t know. I haven’t seen her since, and I’ve no idea where they’re holding her.”

  “Would the guards kill her outright?” Danielle said.

  Rika shrugged. “I doubt it. Pride considers that murder.”

  Danielle stared open-mouthed searching for the right words. “Does he believe women and children are choosing death?” She swept her arm around the room.

  “Justice. Elan’s judgment. You pick the phrase. He doesn’t count this as murder,” Rika said.

  “We can’t stay here. We’ll die.”

  “Do you have a plan?” Rika said.

  “Keely can fly through those window slits, find my belt pouch, and bring my staff.”

  “We’ll have to sneak past the shard knights and the camp guard,” Rika said.

  “You said the camp was still under construction,” Danielle said. “Keely can find breaches in the camp’s fortifications. She can scout the camp’s perimeter reporting locations and patrol patterns for the troops stationed there.”

  “We can’t leave these people to die,” Rika said.

  Danielle nodded. “We need to escape first, and then we’ll work on freeing the hostages. Right now, I’m going to follow Keely’s lead. If we’re planning to escape, we need sleep.”

  A New Blade

  Sparks sprayed beneath Devery’s hammer as he pounded and shaped a wavy molten blade against his anvil. Sweat beaded his flexed biceps while the occasional droplet traveled his arm and splattered onto his iron anvil.

  Ronan stepped through the open door of Devery’s forge.

  Heat waves radiated from the coal furnace distorting the sparks of molten steel giving the room a surreal presence.

  “I’ve never seen a coiled blade like that,” Ronan said.

  Before Devery answered, another voice spoke behind Ronan. “It’s called a kris. The Tyrell family believes it transfers good fortunes to its true owner.” Patron Tyrell entered the forge and stopped beside Ronan.

  “Its true owner?” Ronan said.

  Devery paused his hammer. “There’s a true owner for every blade created with a smith’s care. Battle knights bond their sword with blood. A craftsman’s blade not bound by blood seeks its owner.” He gripped the curved blade with iron tongs and plunged the red-hot steel into a nearby barrel of water.

  “When the kris bonds its true owner, it imbues the blade’s unique gift. That gift gives the owner a great advantage,” Tyrell said.

  Devery lifted the blade free of the water and inspected its edge using light from the forge’s orange glow. The blade coiled like a gleaming silver snake at the end of the blacksmiths tongs.

  “What alloy are you using?” Ronan said.

  “That’s ironbarrow steel. It’s used to forge shard blades and only shard blades under penalty of death.”

  “So you’re making a shard blade?” Ronan said.

  Devery shook his head. “I’m not creating a shard blade,” he said. “Ironbarrow steel is superior to any known alloy, and I’m creating a great blade.” He carried the warm blade to his workbench and placed it atop a thick slab of slate. “Ironbarrow steel’s superior hardness and flexibility make it the best. An ironbarrow blade won’t break. But, as I mentioned yesterday evening, shard blades are growing weaker.”

  “What makes you believe that?” Ronan said.

  “I don’t think the blade is the problem. Ironbarrow steel has changed little over the centuries. I believe the shards themselves are growing weaker. I don’t have proof, but Patron and I have shared a few theories,” Devery said.

  “Centuries of reuse have caused the shard’s power to become diluted,” Tyrell said. “Each time they’re absorbed the magic thins for the next bearer.”

  “Another theory holds that shard magic is fading. We don’t know how shard magic works, but after twenty centuries the fragments could be losing intensity,” Devery said.

  “Every shard is unique,” Ronan said. “Maybe you’ve experienced a string of weaker shards coming through your forge,” Ronan said.

  Devery shook his head. “I’ve crafted multiple weapons from the same shard. The blades grow weaker with each new forging. For thirty years I’ve made blades using the same method. The blades could’ve grown weaker for centuries before I started making them. I’ve heard stories of blades crafted a thousand years ago carving through solid stone like it was paper. In the past, I’ve discounted those stories as legend, but maybe there’s truth behind them.”

  “Have you created a shard blade from the sixth enhancement shard? Ronan said.

  Devery nodded. “I used that shard during my first year smithing shard blades. It belonged to your father.”

  “Even if shard magic is dying, we can’t change the result with speculation. Time is short, and we need to start crafting the blade,” Tyrell said.

  Devery nodded and picked up his iron tongs. He lifted a cylindrical block of ironbarrow steel sitting next to the forge and nestled it atop the orange hot coals of the furnace. Flames burst to life around the cylinder, and reddish molten heat glowed from its surface. “A shard blade contains the essence of magic granted by the knight’s blood. The blades remain impressive, but dwindle with every new crafting. Modern day knights can’t produce blades as powerful as their predecessors.”

  “Who knows magic is fading besides us three?” Ronan said.

  “I’m sure Calder Pullman has to realize something’s wrong,” Devery said. “But, he’s so deep in Pride’s pocket, I doubt he’s told anybody. The last news he’d want to share with Merric Pride is that Elan’s magic is fading.”

  “He’s been crafting blades for fifteen years?” Ronan said. “Do you think he’s noticed yet?”

  “I think he knows,” Devery said. “Pride’s forced dozens of knights to release their shards or die, and I’ve not crafted the new blades.” He pulled free a second smaller block of red metal and slid it into the furnace next to the glowing chunk of Ironbarrow steel.

  Ronan tilted his head and squinted at the strange red metal. Its reddish color intensified as the hot coals softened its surface. “I’ve never seen that alloy. I thought you used ironbarrow steel to craft shard blades?”

  Devery met Tyrell’s gaze, and he nodded. “Go ahead. Tell him,” Tyrell said.

  “During my first year holding the shard, old Torr Latimer ordered me north to the village where Redkeep now stands. Instead of a real working village, I found a scattered hodgepodge of farms.” Devery lifted the red-hot block of ironbarrow steel with his tongs and turned it over. “The king ordered me to oversee Redkeep’s construction and secure the flow of ore out of Ironbarrow.”

  “After my first few weeks, I traveled from Redkeep to Ironbarrow through the back country. No roads joined Ironbarrow to Redkeep in those days.” Devery reached into the furnace and adjusted the smaller cylinder of red metal before continuing.

  “It came on a perfect cloudless night with a million stars twinkling overhead.” Devery’s eyes glazed over as he stared without focus into the orange heart of the coal furnace. “The pinpoint of light sat motionless on the distant horizon bobbing atop an ocean of stars. It started moving, and I watched it cross the sky growing bigger as it drew closer. I held my breath as I watched a giant ball of flame a half mile away flash across the midnight sky.” Devery’s blue eyes sparkled with amusement. “I thought I might need my spare underclothes stashed in my saddlebag. When it hit, I thought the whole world burned.

  “The star hit the ground?” Ronan said

  Devery nodded. “I’ve never seen anything move that fast. A few seconds later, the ground beneath my feet rippled. The tremors tossed me ten-feet backward, and if I hadn’t had my shield ready, I’d be dead. Rocks, branches, shrubs, and anything not entrenched in the ground hit my spirit shield harder than a knight’s shard blade.”

>   Ronan stared open-mouthed in disbelief. “That’s the Sheba Crater. You saw the Sheba Crater form? My mother told me she watched that fire cross the sky from the palace in Freehold.”

  Devery nodded. “As soon as the dust cleared, I waded through ankle high ash and a forest of charred trees. When I reached the impact site, the crater stretched a half mile wide and fifty feet deep.”

  Ronan’s gaze lingered over the hot coals, and he stared at the molten metal glowing like a cherry in its belly. “You’ve held the answer that’s eluded investigators for decades. I’ll assume that metal,” he pointed to the cylinder of ore heating in the furnace, “created the Sheba Crater. Am I right?”

  Devery nodded. “I had a larger chunk thirty years ago. That’s the last piece. I’ve experimented with the crater ore many times over the past thirty years. I believe the alloy you see in the furnace will work best. It’ll be the first shard blade ever created using it.”

  “And the last,” Tyrell said.

  Ronan snapped his head toward Devery. “I can’t accept it. It’s too important.”

  Devery shook his head. “We need you well armed. Besides, there’s no guarantee it’ll work.”

  “What do you mean?” Ronan said.

  “I think this metal will hold more shard magic than ironbarrow steel alone, and it’ll improve the strength and flexibility of the sword. I’ll stretch the crater ore along the blade’s center. The sheba metal will spread shard magic through the steel faster and with greater intensity.”

  “Ronan, there’s no telling if it’ll work, but it could give us the advantage we need,” Tyrell said.

  Ronan nodded. “Thank you. I’ll do my best. What do I need to do?”

  Devery lifted the molten chunk of steel from the furnace. He gripped his smith’s hammer and placed it on his anvil. “Be ready when I call you.” Sparks flew as he beat on the glowing chunk of steel flattening and shaping it. “I make broadswords for the strongest battle knights, and that’s what I’ll make for you.”

  Devery’s hammer rang against the molten steel for a few minutes, quenched the blade in saltwater, and reheated the steel.

  As Devery cycled the steel from hot to cold, a blade took shape. The sword-smith concentrated on his task, and his attention never wavered.

  Devery pulled red-hot sheba ore from the furnace and placed it on the anvil atop the flat blade. He hammered the red metal molding it along the blade’s core. A shimmer of blue shard energy appeared around Devery’s body enveloping him in translucent light. The energy moved from his head and feet toward his shoulders and hammer arm. The energy twisted and ran along his arm before coalescing around his hand swinging the smith’s hammer. A bright ball of blinding light moved from his hand and floated to the face of his hammer. “Now Patron,” he said without breaking focus.

  “Ronan, fill yourself with as much spirit magic as you can hold, and give me your hand,” Tyrell said.

  Ronan pulled a massive amount of power from the vast reservoir of energy resting at his core, and his body sprang to life. He had a hard time believing knights from centuries ago held far more power. The magic flowed deep and vast within him, and his skin radiated a halo of yellow energy filling the room with a spectral aura.

  Tyrell’s eyes widened as he watched the light emanate from every pore and crevice of Ronan’s body. He pulled his shard blade from its sheath and sent his own energy surging into the steel. The sword sparked to life as yellow energy ran along the blade’s edge.

  Ronan held out the palm of his hand over the red-hot sheba alloy.

  Tyrell’s hand never wavered as he eased the glowing shard blade over Ronan’s outstretched palm.

  A thin line of blood formed under Tyrell’s blade as it moved along Ronan’s palm. Ronan turned his palm over and spread droplets of blood across the sheba alloy.

  As droplets fell, the enhancement magic they contained settled on the alloy’s surface hissing and steaming from the intense heat.

  Devery’s blue spirit magic spread across the face of his hammer as he continued to pound on the blade. The energy settled over the molten alloy and mingled with Ronan’s yellow enhancement energy.

  Ronan continued moving his palm across the blade’s surface until directed to stop. The energy stored in his blood combined with Devery’s blue shield energy, and the sheba alloy produced an effect unlike any he’d seen. Red light glowed from the sheba alloy, but Devery remained steady and calm. Ronan assumed it a part of the blades normal construction process.

  Devery spoke breaking the hypnotic pounding of his hammer. “The blade chooses the dominant attribute from the power present in your blood and fuses it lending added power during battle.” Ronan’s blood sizzled beneath the onslaught of the smith’s hammer sinking deep into the sheba alloy. “That’s enough Ronan. You may remove your hand.”

  Tyrell handed Ronan a clean towel. “I’ve never seen a knight display that much power. How did you do that?”

  Ronan wrapped his hand with the cloth. He worried that he’d disturbed the process. “Master Tyrell, I channeled my power as you directed.”

  “I’ve seen battle knights with decades of experience unable to summon a fraction of your power. Channeling that much magic lies beyond my ability,” Tyrell said.

  Devery’s pounding ceased, and energy flowed away from his hammer. He dunked the blade into the quenching barrel, and steam billowed from bubbling water near the hot sword. Devery left the sword to soak in freshwater. “I won’t need your assistance for the rest of the process. I’ll take another block of steel and meld it atop the first half. Then I’ll attach the guard, grip, and hilt, polish the surface mirror smooth, and the sword is yours. I’ll have it ready before we leave Redkeep.”

  “Thank you Devery,” Ronan said.

  Devery waved away the appreciation. “Don’t thank me yet, but I think the sheba alloy worked. I’ve never seen a blade react that way during the crafting.” He pulled off his heavy leather gloves. “But, I’ve never seen a knight channel that much power.”

  “I thought you said magic was waning from the shards?” Ronan said.

  Devery wore a puzzled expression and nodded. “Yes. And as I said, I’ve crafted that shard before, and he held half your power. I can’t explain it.”

  “What did you mean when you said the sword picks the knight’s best attribute?” Ronan said.

  “Yes. Every battle knight has greater aptitude enhancing one attribute. Some knights have proficiency increasing their quickness and reaction time.” Devery nodded toward Tyrell. “Patron’s gift is increased accuracy. Knights with great innate strength channel that attribute. Your blade will use characteristics of that defining attribute,” Devery said.

  Tyrell extended his blade. “This blade alters its course before striking an enemy finding the best angle. It moves by an inch or less seeking flesh rather than armor.”

  “Strength causes a blade to hit much harder than other shard blades,” Devery said.

  “When we saw Bryson in Winter Haven, infused speed caused his blade to move faster. A knight can already swing his blade fast, but a shard blade infused with speed moves with innate quickness,” Tyrell said.

  “Which attribute did my sword take?” Ronan said.

  Devery shrugged. “We won’t know until you send your power through it in battle.”

  “Until then, we need to prepare for departure,” Tyrell said.

  ***

  Merric Pride knelt before the life-size sculpture of Elan staring in resplendent glory toward the heavens. He lifted his white cowl over his gray hair and forced his gaze downward as a wave of deep inadequacy washed over him.

  He’d let down the great Lord. So many lost Ayralen souls in the colonies would never find His salvation. He’d given them every opportunity to find Elan’s guidance, but, instead, buried hundreds that refused to find the way. He clasped his hands together, closed his eyes, and prayed to Elan for spiritual aid.

  Save for the king, the Queen Mother’s Chapel
behind the royal palace stood empty. A candlelight’s glow flickered from the altar providing the sole source of illumination in the tiny worship hall. Twin stained glass windows behind a statue of Elan shone dark in the dead of night. When dawn arrived, golden sunlight would fill the chapel with a rainbow of colors, but dawn wouldn’t come for hours.

  Behind the prostrate king, double doors creaked open, and tentative footsteps shattered the blessed shroud of silence.

  Pride raged at the interruption, but he kept it contained. He focused on his prayers, and ignored the barbaric intrusion of the interloper. He would finish his genuflection before he dealt with the disruption. He needed all of Elan’s guidance for the obstacles ahead.

  The footsteps grew louder and stopped a few feet away. The intruder cleared his throat and waited for the king’s attention.

  Pride resisted the urge to strangle the intruder. Elan wouldn’t tolerate violence in his place of worship. He let go a heavy sigh without turning. “What do you want Niles?”

  “Pardon the interruption Your Majesty, but I felt this news couldn’t wait,” Lord Randal said.

  “Do your concerns somehow outweigh Elan’s need to guide me?” Pride stood and faced Lord Randal.

  Traces of fear rimmed the corners of Lord Randal’s eyes, and his grip tightened on an old wooden book. His shoulders stooped, and he shrunk from Pride’s wrath. “Of course not Your Majesty. I apologize for disturbing your reverie.” Lord Randal turned to leave.

  Pride held up a hand. “Wait. You’ve already destroyed my concentration. Speak your mind so I may return to my meditation.”

  Lord Randal’s shoulders eased, and a twinkle of excitement replaced the fear in his eyes. “I’ve news about the girl.” He said, voice peppered with energy.

  Pride sighed. “What girl Niles?”

  “Miss Deveaux Your Majesty. Danielle Deveaux.”

  “Ah, yes. The Ayralen creature holding my ring. What news do you bring?”