Knights Without Kings (Harmony of the Apostles Book 1)

by J. M. Topp

  ‘You did it, Ely!’

  She turned to the familiar voice to find a man standing in full silver plate armour. Robyn Segarus was not only her lieutenant, but also her truest friend.

  Elymiah screamed and shook her head as memories forced themselves into her mind.

  Robyn was dead.

  He is dead.

  He is dead.

  He is dead.

  And it was all my fault. I killed him.

  I fucked up.

  Darkness clung to her like a tar covered blanket, but Elymiah wasn’t about to give up. She crawled from the banks of the river, clinging to grass and damp roots. The brand on her neck burned as if it were on fire. Blood was seeping from it. Thick mud clung to her arms and legs like small hands tied to them, but she continued to crawl forward, pulling herself from the mire. Her bare head was covered in muck.

  They cut my hair. I am disgraced. I am cursed.

  I am hollow.

  Suddenly, something grabbed her leg. Elymiah’s head shot back in horror. Something was clutching at her leg, but she could only see mud. Fear pierced her like a blade, and she kicked at the mud, forcing herself onto the muddy banks of the turbid river. Mud turned to grass, and she tore at it with her hands. Elymiah looked back and saw a disfigured skull in the black mud. The mudded skeleton raised a thin and twisted arm at Elymiah, and with a high-pitched shriek, it dissolved into the black muck of the Kingsoul River.

  Elymiah clenched her teeth as tears fell from her eyes. She spat and screamed and beat the ground in anger. She swung her arms at the ground until they were bloodied and sore. She screamed until her throat stung and finally fell onto the ground. Her body had given up all strength and gone beyond the limits of fatigue. Her mind wandered, but this time it didn’t dull, and she had no control over it. Her thoughts stabbed her with abandon. She couldn’t shake them. Elymiah stared at the dark red skies. Her lips were blue, and her skin was cold to the touch. She tried to rub her arms, but her fingers were too numb and disobeyed her every command to move.

  Nothing left for me but to lay down and die.

  A soft growl startled Elymiah from her death. She closed her eyes, thinking it was another unwanted memory, but then she heard a voice. It was strange, yet familiar at the same time.

  ‘Let it never be said that humanity has no strength.’

  Elymiah opened her eyes and looked above her. A giant wolf with a rider clad in coal-black armour stared at her in silence. The wolf was coated in black and grey fur, with legs poised to attack. Two swords were stuck in its side, and blood was matted on its fur, but the wolf seemed to hardly notice. The wolf’s glowing white eyes pierced the darkness. A knight in fur armour sat atop the wolf and held a shield with a skull and thorns decorating the edges. The knight’s helm seemed to be a part of the man’s head. Thick, bloody veins were intertwined with the steel helm, and horns poked up into the skies. The knight’s faceplate was cone-shaped and crooked. The rider’s eyes were crimson and burned with a faint aura of a flame.

  Elymiah realized that it was the same daemon she had met on the road during their escape from Weserith. Without a weapon or armour, she could do nothing against a daemon. She didn’t panic, however. She simply stared at them, prepared for the end. Yet the rider and wolf didn’t attack.

  They only stared solemnly.

  Elymiah eyed the wolf and its rider in silence.

  ‘If you can manage, follow me.’ The voice was deep and made Elymiah shiver in horror. The rider patted the wolf on its blood-covered side, and the wolf turned its back on her and began to walk away. Elymiah stared in confusion but still tried to stand up. Her legs were devoid of all strength, and blood was seeping from the cuts along the length of her body. She could barely even crawl.

  ‘Wait,’ Elymiah rasped and held her hand out to the daemon. The wolf stopped and turned its head as if studying her. The voice seemed to come from the wolf this time. Its voice wasn’t as deep as the rider’s. It almost seemed like the voice of an old woman speaking to Elymiah.

  ‘You must struggle and continue to struggle on your own. To think that you, a human with no supernatural ability, have been chosen to hunt the Harmony of the Apostles.’

  ‘Hunt the Apostles?’ asked Elymiah, not understanding what the daemon meant. The wolf bared its teeth and growled again. It snapped its jaws at Elymiah.

  ‘Get up!’

  The rider was silent and only stared at Elymiah. Elymiah summoned a bit more strength to push herself up and tuck her legs beneath her. She nearly fell back but was able to maintain her balance. She stood up, taking a step back. Elymiah’s head swam, but she shook it, forcing herself not to fall.

  ‘Now follow,’ the wolf growled again, shaking the fur on its neck. Blood seeped from its wounds onto the grassy banks, but again, the wolf didn’t even notice. Naked, Elymiah clutched her shoulders and shivered as a chilled wind blew against her.

  ‘You have a long way to go before you are worthy, you who struggle, if you will still be named Hunter of Apostles. For now, it’s time for you to heal. Yet in the wake of your pain, you must follow me.’

  The wolf turned once more, and Elymiah tried to follow as best as she could. She stumbled over tufts of mud and thick reeds of grass. Elymiah glanced at her surroundings and surmised that she was on the southern side of the Kingsoul River. Elymiah was now in the Khahadran. If the Hallowed Masters learned that she was still alive and well, they would surely send assassins to finish her off. Elymiah looked north into Eldervale. The Hallowed Masters would have a harder time of finding her there.

  Yet the wolf and its rider before Elymiah had commanded her to follow. It was taking her south. Elymiah stumbled over a small rock and almost fell over, but she gained her balance and walked beside the wounded wolf, holding her arms to her chest.

  ‘You are a daemon, aren’t you?’ Elymiah said finally. She was careful not to get too close to the beast.

  ‘Is that the name you give to the creatures and beasts that don’t fit in your world?’ This time the voice had come from the knight. He stared straight on without even looking at her. ‘Daemons have all died out since the Age of Fog. A few do roam here and there, but true daemons are unquestionable. You wouldn’t be asking if you really saw one.’

  ‘How could that be? I fought and killed them,’ said Elymiah.

  ‘You think them daemons simply because they exude horror and send shivers up your spine?’

  ‘What were they then?’

  ‘They were refugees, much like yourself,’ the rider said without hesitation. The answer caught Elymiah off guard.

  ‘How is that possible?’

  ‘They were driven out of their world. Some would call it Hell. The world is known as the Hunting Grounds.’ The wolf glanced at Elymiah as the rider spoke. ‘We cannot tarry. Time is very much against us. Come, you must hurry.’

  The wolf began to sprint away from her. Elymiah moved her legs as fast as she could behind the wolf, but she could not keep up.

  ‘Wait!’

  But the rider did not seem to hear Elymiah.

  ‘Wai—’ Elymiah’s legs gave way under her, and she fell onto the hard ground. The air escaped her lungs, and she curled into a ball. Pain surged through her body. The wolf and its rider disappeared into the morning fog. Elymiah could not move anymore. She cradled her legs to her chest. She was shivering, and she couldn’t control it anymore. Through clenched teeth, she began to scream and sob.

  Suddenly, she felt movement before her. Elymiah looked up, but there was no rider and no wolf. A man in a cloak stumbled up from the brush. He turned his head devoid of eyes.

  Robyn!

  Elymiah’s heart jumped into her throat. He turned his head to her. The holes that had once housed his eyes were bleeding, and blood trailed from his mouth. He must have heard Elymiah fall to the ground. His hands were spread out before him, and a raw guttural sound emerged from his throat.

  ‘Robyn,’ Elymiah whispered, barely able to form his name in he
r mouth. Robyn coughed and stumbled to her side. Elymiah wrapped her arms around his neck. Robyn embraced her and coughed again. The plague had severely eaten away at his muscles and bones. He was indeed a shell of whom he had been before. The plague must have slowed in his body, or else he would be dead already. Sadness wrapped itself around Elymiah’s body as she realized that he wasn’t coughing, but crying. Tears streamed down Elymiah’s cheeks as she squeezed Robyn.

  ‘I’m so very sorry.’

  ROBYN GAVE HIS cloak to warm Elymiah’s cold body. She fastened the bloodied cloak to her back and wrapped it over herself. It didn’t do much to curb the cold, but it was better than nothing. Elymiah didn’t know where to go. Any Aivaterran would kill them after seeing the brand on her neck. With Weserith destroyed and daemons roaming the burning ruins, Elymiah knew that they had no choice but to travel south.

  But where? Yorveth?

  When the Hallowed Masters arrived at their holy city, they would surely send couriers to other cities notifying them of Elymiah’s sin. If someone were to come across them and recognize her, she would surely be doomed. Without weapons to speak of, there would be no way to repel any kind of attack.

  Elymiah vomited the rest of the black waters in her stomach onto the ground. Robyn’s head was poised in her direction. Though he couldn’t see, she knew very well that he was listening intently. Elymiah had torn off a piece of the cloak and wrapped Robyn’s damaged face with it. Perhaps it would prevent the bleeding.

  With the small amount of energy she had left, Elymiah started a modest fire to warm herself and Robyn. The winds had calmed their fierceness and allowed the small flames to grow, but Elymiah made sure they didn’t grow too much.

  ‘Come close to the fire, Robyn.’ But as Elymiah spoke, she knew that it was foolish to even say that. She stood up and helped Robyn to the warmth of the flames. Robyn put his hands to the warmth, rubbing them together. Elymiah shuddered and clutched Robyn’s cloak to her shoulders. The warmth of the fire brought comfort—a comfort that Elymiah resented. I sinned. I do not deserve this silent respite. But she could not move away from the heat. Her eyes closed suddenly, and she could not open them. She must have fallen asleep, because her eyes fluttered open and the sun was high in the sky. Suddenly, Robyn fell on top of her. The weakened frame he wore as a body was no heavier than the armour Elymiah was used to. Elymiah was a little startled that he was on top of her. Perhaps he had just tripped. But then, his hand moved her cloak that covered her, and he touched Elymiah’s left breast and squeezed.

  Elymiah gasped.

  ‘Robyn? What are you doing?’ she said, turning her head away from his bandaged face. Robyn’s head fell onto her neck slowly. His lower body pushed against hers, but he was too weak. Elymiah’s eyes opened in surprise at his feeble attempts. Robyn let go of Elymiah’s breast, and his withered hand fell from her body. Elymiah turned to see Robyn’s finger dig into the dirt. Elymiah turned her head slightly to see what he was writing.

  YOU.

  Robyn’s arms trembled as he pushed himself from Elymiah’s body. He crawled to the pile of ash that had been a fire not too long before. He curled up into a ball. Elymiah glanced at the words he had written into the dust.

  You.

  Robyn knew it hadn’t been his fault. Robyn blamed her.

  The creaking of wooden wheels on a dirt path stirred Elymiah’s ears. She turned to look at a dirt path beside them. She glanced at Robyn, but he seemed to be asleep. She turned her gaze back to the path to see a large oxcart tread up the path. Wooden crates and bundles of unknown merchandise enclosed in white cloth were tied to the back of the oxcart. Two white bulls pulled a wooden cart, and an old man cracked a small stick over their backs. He had a thick, stringy white beard and a straw hat with holes in the top. His coffee-coloured body was built like a steel house. A dim yellow lantern brightened the path before him. Elymiah glanced at Robyn and noticed a thin line of smoke rising from the ashes.

  Elymiah’s heart froze. If this man were to spot it, he would certainly find her and Robyn. As if the man had heard her thoughts, he pulled the reigns of the oxen he was driving and stopped the cart. He stood up in his seat, squinting his eyes. Elymiah ducked beneath the reeds and prayed silently for Robyn to remain asleep and silent.

  ‘Halloo? Is anyone there?’ the man called out.

  Elymiah held her breath. She heard the ringing of a sword being unsheathed.

  ‘I said, is anyone there? I see the smoke of a dead fire. Come out now,’ ordered the man. Elymiah knew that they had no choice. Perhaps if he only just saw her, he would leave Robyn alone. He would have a chance—albeit a small one—to live. Elymiah pushed herself from the thick reeds and wrapped Robyn’s cloak tightly around her. The man tensed up as he saw her. His eyes widened, and he sat down in the oxcart. Elymiah made sure to cover the brand the Protector had left on her.

  ‘What are you doing this close to Poison Pool?’ the man asked, studying Elymiah.

  Poison Pool?

  The currents had taken her east to the LaFoyelle Sea. But Elymiah didn’t know if it was the cold or the waters that were preventing her from saying anything. The man stared at her in silence, until finally he chuckled and shook his head. ‘I don’t expect it would be the truth anyway. I am on my way to Yorveth, and there is room in my cart. It won’t be a fast trip, but I can promise you safe passage,’ the man said, pulling out a pipe and lighting it. The man’s black eyes sparkled in the light of dawn. His clothes were mostly made of leather. He had a long brown cloak and a goatskin half-cloak on top of that. A thin sheet of mist began to pour like a blanket over the land. The Kingsoul’s roar still could be heard in the distance.

  ‘Well, does that sound good to you?’ the man asked finally. ‘Or you can stay here—though I wouldn’t recommend it. Daemons and evil creatures claim this land now.’

  Elymiah nodded and turned to Robyn.

  ‘And, yes, there is room for one more,’ he said with a short smile. Elymiah ran over to Robyn and picked him up from his sleep.

  ‘Come, Robyn, my love. There is still hope,’ Elymiah whispered into his ear, picking him up by his arm.

  ELYMIAH SAW THE thin, finger-like stones rise from the sea as they approached Yorveth. The stench of fish crashed against her like waves of the sea on Yorveth’s sandy beaches. The sea water itself looked black and oily as it frothed on the beach. Yorveth was a fishing village located along the western coast of the Khahadran. It was not only known for the bountiful fish the small village would produce and trade with the Khahadran and its cities, but also for the three massive stones piercing the salty sea like gigantic stone pyres reaching for the skies. Some said that Yorveth had been Oredmere’s landing spot from the heavens during the Age of Bright. Elymiah wondered if Oredmere was watching her at this very moment.

  Elymiah hoped not. She had disappointed him.

  The man, whom Elymiah later learned was named simply Pate of the Lumbermill, had given Elymiah a pair of pants too short for her and his own shirt to cover her nakedness. Elymiah had then unfastened her cloak and placed it over Robyn’s shoulders to warm him. Since he had been placed in the cart, he moved very little. His head was facing forward, and he barely moved it, even to listen. Robyn grunted every once in a while, but when Elymiah asked what was the matter, he simply remained silent.

  Elymiah stared at the blades of Pate’s saw. They looked sharpened. When the blades caught rays of sunlight, they shone in her face. She wondered what would happen if she placed her neck on the thin blades and allowed herself to slip. It would be quick and painless. It would be silent.

  Suddenly, a butterfly flew into the cart and landed on her leg. Its blue-and-yellow-coloured wings flapped beautifully in the rising sun. Elymiah stared at it, motionless. The butterfly crawled up to her knee and flapped its wings once more. Elymiah held her breath. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Its wings seemed to bring with them a sense of calm that Elymiah had never known before. Elymiah held her hand ope
n, and the butterfly crawled onto her palm. She held it close to her eyes and inspected the curled antennae of the insect. Then a strong gust of foul wind blew through the cart, carrying the butterfly away. It disappeared without a trace. Elymiah looked on, wishing to hold onto the moment as long as she could. The foul smell remained, however. The rushing of the ocean began to roar more loudly than the Kingsoul River.

  The oxcart rolled uneasily over the road beside the sea. Waves crashed without even noticing the travelers on the road. The waters brought wood and pieces of seaweed with the currents. Salty foam covered the beach as far as the eye could see. Elymiah simply stared at the waves as the oxcart passed them by.

  The oxcart reached Yorveth just as the moon was beginning to rise in the night sky. The dirt road turned to cobblestone, and Pate guided the oxen through the town, street after street. Rows of houses lay desolate and empty. Only shadows lived within the hollow wooden constructs. Where one house ended, another began right beside it. They looked like hollow ghosts, with no one to inhabit them except for dust and mice.

  ‘After the news of Weserith’s destruction hit Yorveth, everyone scrambled to leave as fast as they possibly could,’ Pate said, tightening his grip on the oxen’s reigns. The oxen swung their heads in defiance. ‘They packed their horses or oxcarts and took whatever they could carry as fast as they could carry it.’

  ‘Where did they all go?’ asked Elymiah, studying the dim light coming from the lantern.

  ‘Some to the East but most to the North. They think the land above Muldvale Pass is elven land. They think the elves will help them.’

  ‘That’s all just myth, right?’ Elymiah asked, careful to steady Robyn as the oxcart hit a bump in the road. Pate turned his head slightly and stared at Elymiah for a second. ‘Daemons were just myth too. As far as myths are concerned, you shouldn’t dismiss them so easily.’