by Tammy Salyer
Knight Redeemed
The Shackled Verities (Book Two)
Tammy Salyer
Knight Redeemed
The Shackled Verities (Book Two)
Copyright © 2020 by Tammy Salyer
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Afterword
Also by Tammy Salyer
About the Author
Introduction
Hello, Dear Readers, and thank you for being here! This is the second part of an epic and, I hope, exciting journey following the Knights Corporealis and others as they embark on a saga to save themselves, their loved ones, their worlds, and ultimately the Great Cosmos. Should you enjoy the words on these pages, I encourage you to join my Reader Group, or follow me on Amazon or BookBub, to be notified of new releases. The next to come will be Knight Exiled in June 2020.
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Chapter One
Knight Corporealis Eisa Nazaria, known in the Empire of Dyrrakium as the Nazarian Most High, stepped out of her dragørfly ship docked next to the black waters of Himmingaze’s Never Sea onto the barren rocky shore of Isle Stonering. The glittering sheath of lights and glowing particles of dust and rock swirling endlessly overhead, from the sea to the chaotic sky beyond, caught her attention immediately.
“Well, Griggory,” she said aloud, speaking into the cold emptiness of the dying world, “if you’ve found a way to reverse this doom, it seems you haven’t done so. But I still have faith in you.” To herself she added, I have to, for Vinnr’s sake.
Abandoning the familiarity of her ship, she paced along the island toward the bereft temple in its center, surprised to find the structure still standing. The one-time shrine of Lífs had already been abandoned when last she’d set foot in this world seven hundred and fifteen turns ago. Before her arrival, the Himmingazian Mystae, servants of their Verity similar to the Knights, had blasphemed against their maker and forbidden any commoners of the realm from coming there anymore. The contemptible Mystae had made that choice—a poor one it turned out—just as she had made the choice to send Knight Evernal here through the starpath two days ago.
As Eisa looked around her, seeing how close to utter loss Himmingaze was, she wondered: Had her choice been as poor? Had she doomed Mylla as Himmingaze was doomed?
Her first task now was to learn if her fellow Knight, despite Mylla’s failings and faults, was still here.
She reasoned that if she hadn’t sent the novice, the fool would have gotten herself killed. Eisa had done what she did only to save her from herself. The rest of the Knights had been captured, and there was nothing noble about following them into the usurper’s warship, where all of them were certain to be killed—if not something worse. But Evernal was too dumb and too young to figure that out on her own. She’d fired an emberflare cannon at Eisa in the skies over Magdaster, probably thinking Eisa a traitor. True, perhaps Eisa had reacted a bit more…strongly than she’d needed to, resulting in Evernal’s exile to Himmingaze. But at least she’d had saved the novice’s life.
Or had she?
Before the temple’s entrance lay a mass of carcasses of what appeared to be giant sea worms. They littered the decrepit structure’s steps and the ground outside. Obviously a fight had occurred, recently by the looks of the still-seeping carnage, and it looked like the worms had taken the brunt of it. Yet the sight of them put her on edge. Whoever had done this may still be present. Probably Evernal, but if it wasn’t, who else might it have been?
One of the black worms wriggled, its great, alien head aiming toward her as if it smelled her. She reached for her curved Dyrrakium dagger and casually flung it, impaling the head. The worm fell with a heavy thump, and the creature lay still.
She retrieved the knife and with a twist of her wrist and a silent command, slipped her klinkí stones from her vambrace to create a shield of light around her. It might attract attention, but it would not be easily penetrated by any commoner weapon, and she knew no Mystae of Lífs existed in this world. She knew this because seven hundred and fifteen turns ago, she had killed the last one.
So where was Mylla now? As she paced along the outside walls of the crumbling shrine, Eisa called to her through her Mentalios lens but got no reply. Sending her klinkí stones darting out in intervals to light up what lay at the edges of her vision, she searched the island for signs of the novice or anyone else. When she’d nearly reached the rear of the structure, a reflection of the stones’ lights drew her focus sharply. Where the slick, craggy rocks met the unrelenting waves, something glinted. Upon reaching it, she needed barely a moment’s inspection to realize what it was: the ship Evernal had flown, now destroyed.
Hurrying to the wreckage, she found it empty. If the novice had escaped, she’d sought shelter from the unceasing rain that now drenched Eisa too in the temple. The cold feeling in her guts, though, told her she’d find it as empty as the wrecked scout.
Eisa made for the temple doors, and as she pushed them open, another crack of purple-green lightning barraged the shore, strobing the shrine’s interior in ominous hues. She sent a salvo of wystic stones throughout the spacious chamber to confirm what she already sensed—the interior contained nothing moving, and nothing living. Evernal was not here.
And if the novice’s fate had been forever death in pieces inside the gullets of those giant sea worms, Eisa acknowledged, the fault lay in part with her.
How many lives would her rashness cost? Would saving Vinnr atone for them? The answers could only be had if she wasted no more time contemplating them.
She withdrew her Mentalios lens from inside her breastplate. It was time to call Griggory Dondrin, old Knight and old friend. Together they would save Vinnr. And if the Verities would smile o
n them just once, maybe the time had come to restore Himmingaze as well.
…ssssssaaaaa…
…sssssssssaaaaAAAAA…
The sound Eisa was hearing, buzzing sibilants and drones, had been filling her Mentalios link for some time before she finally recognized it as a voice. Griggory’s voice.
She stood inside the dim abandoned temple summoning the long-lost Knight through her wystic lens, amplifying her call through Vaka Aster’s Fenestros, and had been for long enough for the strange sky outside to dim, grow lighter, and dim again. Without a guide through this foreign world, it wasn’t as if she could go and look for him, and it didn’t seem as if there were many places left to look. This realm had become nothing but stormy skies and endless water, and it wasn’t hard to conceive that this single lone island might be the last remaining. All she could do was use the Fenestros to create a beacon of sorts and hope he found her. Fortunately, the Fenestros made a powerful beacon. She couldn’t be certain Griggory even still dwelled in Himmingaze, but something told her he did.
…eiiiiiiissssAAAAAA…
And this, finally, was him. His voice grew louder as he approached, nearly yelling her name now. He was close. Casting her klinkí stone shield around her, she left the shelter of the shrine to wait for him beneath the magnificent Glister Cloud. It’s a fitting name, she thought.
EeeeeeeiiiiiiiisssSSSSAAAAA!
The sky had again brightened a tiny bit, allowing her to see farther. Beyond the rocky shoreline at about the distance she could run in five breaths, the water seemed to be swelling. It looked as if a bubble at least as big as her dragørfly scout was rising from beneath, forcing seawater before it in a perfect sphere.
And it was coming fast.
Griggory? she tried. Is that you?
He responded at once. Sour child, bitter girl! It is you. It is EeeeiiiissSSAAAA!
She chuckled without glee. After all this time, he still thought of her as cold and bitter. And he still called her “girl.”
Briefly, she wondered if coming had been a mistake. Griggory was a force, and as unpredictable as he was uncontainable. In her years of training before he’d left Vinnr, no one had come as close to leveling her as her ancient tutor, mentor, and superior, Knight Griggory Dondrin. He was the eldest living Knight, already old when she’d taken her oath, even when Ulfric had taken his.
The hardships she’d endured as a fledgling, then a warrior, then a priest in Dyrrakium, which was still Lœdyrrak then, had prepared her for anything the Resplendolent Conservatum could subject her to, or even the Knights Corporealis—but Griggory Dondrin had always made her feel as if she barely grasped the enormity of the responsibilities and obligations she bore. Of all the Knights she’d known, most who’d come and gone, he was the only who had ever awed her. Not because of his strength, though he’d been dauntless as a Knight, and not because of his faith or his wisdom, both as unimpeachable as any Dyrrak’s. It was because of his compassion—for her, the cold, distant Knight who loved no one. Eisa had been taught since childhood she could only love one thing: her duty. Griggory had taught her that loving and being loved were more important than duty.
He had become more than just her teacher when she’d left her home and joined the Conservatum in Ivoryss. He’d been like a father, someone who often encouraged her, even after a failure, and believed in her inner strength, even when she felt weak. Not like her real father, a Dyrrakium descendant of the Sixth Line whom she’d long since forgotten. Like all Dyrrak fathers, hers had used Eisa’s weaknesses as lessons to make her stronger, make her faith deeper. But Griggory had never cared about her faith or her role as a Knight. He had simply cared for her.
As she watched from the foot of the shrine’s steps, the bubble suddenly breached the waves and rose from the water. For a moment, she caught sight of a man’s silhouette inside a clear globe astride what seemed to be an animal or water steed of some sort. The creature leaped onto the shore, something from depths unimagined. Then the globe was gone, and only Griggory and the creature he rode remained.
Twice the girth but easily ten times the length of a horse, the creature’s body resembled an eel, although one large enough to swallow a person in one gulp with room in its belly for seconds. Pure-black scales covered it, and at least a dozen gossamer beryl-colored fins of varying lengths and shapes trailed along its hide. Eisa struggled to take in its strangeness, but she had no trouble with its features. The beast’s leap from the water had put it directly in front of her, and its head now hovered just an arm’s-length before her own. Its skull seemed equal parts canine and salmon, with nose slits and a lower jaw that protruded beyond the upper. Many teeth, as silver as her armor and spiked like a game trap, protruded from the hooked lower jaw. Ridged horns that resembled ears swept back from the sides of the long skull far enough that Griggory could grasp them from where he sat on its back.
Its gray diaphanous eyes stared down on her with predator’s gaze, then it took a step forward and lowered its head closer. A feeling so unfamiliar she almost didn’t recognize it twisted in her—cold fear—and she suddenly doubted the strength of her own klinkí stone shield to hold the thing at bay.
“Come, Hither, don’t crowd the star-walker. She’s come so far, so far. She’s traveled too far to know what to make of a sight as pretty as you.”
Griggory slid from the creature’s back and closed the distance to Eisa in two long strides. She didn’t dare spare him a glance. The creature’s eyes hadn’t wavered from hers. From experience, she knew better than to blink first. Even if Griggory somehow controlled it, as it appeared he did, once a killer’s instincts were triggered, nothing could stop its natural inclinations. All one had to do was ask this world’s dead Mystae to know this was a fact.
Her ancient mentor stopped beside the beast’s head and reached up to scratch beneath its substantial lower jaw, which caused it to blink two sets of eyelids as if pleased with the affection. As he scratched, Griggory eyed her.
“Yes, it is Eisa, the girl turned doom-bringer. She brings the dark with the night, the blood with the knife, the death with the life. This is our girl, Hither. I knew she would come back, I knew she would. But now I must ask her why. Excuse me.”
As he approached her wystic shield, she took in the sight of him. He was completely dry. The glowing bubble he’d been ensconced in must have been some wystic barrier to hold the water out. But the clothing he wore was unlike anything she’d seen. Ragged and threadbare, to be sure, but made from a strange, form-hugging material that she could only compare to a glove that had been cut to fit him as close as skin. This showed how gaunt he’d become, almost nothing but bones. The suit’s collar rose to cover most of his chin, but she could still see how hollow his cheeks were, how his eyes seemed lost in their sockets, and his short, bulbous nose now looked like a mushroom cap sprouting from his skull.
“Griggory…” she began, then stopped, surprising herself at how meek her voice sounded.
He seemed not to notice. “Eisa Nazaria,” he said, “why have you come back to Himmingaze so long after sealing its fate and leaving redemption to time? Is now that time?” He placed one of his palms against that light of her shield and pushed his face as close to hers as he could. “Because, I warn you, time itself is about to end.”
He sounded as if he were…mad. It was impossible, she knew. A Knight Corporealis could not lose their wits. The Verity spark within them kept their minds as stalwart and constant as the eternity they inhabited. Yet, spark or not, he appeared to be, for lack of a better word, demented.
“What do you mean, time is about to end?” she asked, searching for the right footing to take with her long-exiled former teacher.
“Dark Eisa, daughter of Lœdyrrak,” he said, not breaking eye contact for a moment, “you must be hungry.”
She noted that the faded blue of his irises was still as clear and direct as the first day they’d met, some fifteen hundred turns ago. “No, I’m not hungry. Griggory—”
&nb
sp; But he’d already turned and scooted up close to the sea monster, and he now appeared to be whispering to it. A moment later, the great beast slipped back into the sea without seeming to displace or disturb a single drop of water. It was disconcerting to watch something so large move with such agility.
But with it gone, she was a bit more at ease. Beckoning with her fingertips, she pulled her klinkí stones back to her palm and released the light shield. The damp immediately pressed in again. Griggory turned back to her and grinned with his skull face in a way that made her wonder if she’d been too hasty with removing the shield.
Before she could speak again, he rattled, “Hither will be back soon. She prefers the chewy fleech for herself, naturally, being a slangarook—they all love fleeches, you know—but she’s the best at hunting down my favorite Never Sea delight. I’m sure you’ll love it too. Not as good as the syke drink of the Lœdyrraks, of course, but then, what is?”
She couldn’t be sure what all the words he said were, some being spoken in the Himmingaze tongue, but she caught the gist. “As I said, I’m not hungry. Griggory, I know it’s been a very long time since we last saw each other, but focus, please. I’m here on extremely urgent business. I’m sure you know why I’ve come.” Then, after taking another look at him, she had to ask, “How long has it been since you have eaten?”
