Shadow of the Knight

by Matt Heppe

  There were more bodies here. Some were capcaun and others varcolac. The stench of burnt flesh and hair filled the air—many of the bodies lay under the wall of fire.

  “Which way do we turn?” he asked as he approached the wall.

  “It is magical fire,” Telea said. “I can see the music in it. Look, it doesn’t burn the houses on either side.”

  “What’s behind it?” Orlos asked. Forsvar still told him of vague, distant dangers. “Did Cragor use the Orb to hold us off?”

  Soldiers crowded around. “What should we do, Champion?” one asked.

  “We can go around,” Telea said.

  “If it’s a magical fire,” Orlos said, “Forsvar should put it out, right?” He looked into the flames. The heat felt real enough. He took a deep breath. “Follow me,” he said.

  Orlos strode towards the wall of fire, leaning on his spear for support. Orlos kept his mind on the flames and on the power of Forsvar. He willed the fire to go out, but it burned on.

  Twenty strides. Fifteen strides. The heat grew in intensity, but not as much as he feared. Forsvar’s magic was with him. Then, ten strides away, the fire suddenly vanished.

  Behind him, soldiers cheered.

  Through the haze of smoke he saw a street strewn with the bodies of the dead. There seemed not to be a place where you could put a foot without standing on a corpse. The bodies here were of capcaun and varcolac, but also of armored men with faces twisted and ravaged by time. There were men with skin black as iron, with black blood pooling under them.

  In the middle of the horror a young woman sat in the street. A man lay with his head in her lap. Beyond them another wall of fire blocked the far end of the street.

  The woman shifted position, and he caught his breath at the bright silver-gold light streaming from between the fingers of her right hand. The Orb of Creation rested here.

  Orlos pulled Forsvar closer to him. For a moment he thought something must be wrong—that the shield was no longer warning him of danger. But he still felt the faint aura of more distant threats, as well as the much closer danger of Telea’s demon.

  Slowly, Orlos walked closer to the woman. Telea and the soldiers followed.

  The woman looked up. Blood matted her long, dark hair and covered half her face. “Please, help me,” she said. “He’s dying.”

  More soldiers crowded around Orlos, shields held high and weapons ready. “Take it, Champion Orlos!”

  “No. Wait,” Orlos said, lowering his spear as a barrier so that the men wouldn’t rush past. “Where’s Cragor?” Orlos asked the girl. She wore armor, he noticed. Was she one of his soldiers? “Is that him?” Orlos asked, pointing towards the man in her lap.

  She shook her head, and lifting the Orb, pointed to a dead varcolac. He lay splayed across the body of a fallen capcaun, the chest piece of his ornate gold and silver armor rent open and blackened by fire.

  “Please help me,” she said again. “Cam is dying.”

  Before he could say anything, Telea rushed past him and knelt next to the girl.

  “Telea! Stop!” Orlos shouted, afraid of what might happen to her.

  Telea put her hand on the wounded man’s throat. “I can heal him,” she said, “but it won’t be easy.”

  “The Orb, Champion. It’s right there!” a soldier said.

  Orlos turned away from Telea and faced the soldiers. “Go down the side streets,” he command. “Circle around and seize the city gates.”

  “But—”

  “I will handle this,” Orlos said. “Go now! Your city needs you.”

  He had no idea what he was saying or if his orders even made any sense. All he knew was that he wanted the soldiers gone.

  As the soldiers reluctantly retreated, Orlos approached Telea and the girl. The Godshield told him that the girl was no threat, but Orlos couldn’t believe it. Here she sat, in the middle of a bloody battlefield with the Orb of Creation in her hand and Cragor dead a few strides from her. It made no sense. How could Forsvar see no danger here?

  He knew as well, though, that Forsvar had the power to protect him from magical harm. The knowledge made him bolder, and he stepped up closer to them.

  Telea worked hurriedly to staunch the wounded man’s bleeding. “He’s near death,” she said. “I must do a healing to save him.”

  “Who is he? Who are you?” Orlos asked.

  “This is my father, Cam,” she said. “My name is Ayja.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Please, just help Cam and I’ll tell you all I know.”

  “Why can’t the Orb heal him?” Orlos asked. “It healed Hadde from the very gates of death.”

  An odd look crossed Ayja’s face at the mention of Hadde. She shook her head. “The Orb can’t heal anymore. I…unlocked it. I released its power. It isn’t the same as it once was.”

  “I can heal him, though,” Telea said. “I just need a source of life. I could do a summoning, but with the battle and that fire,” she nodded towards the flames still burning at the far end of the street, “I don’t know if any might come.”

  “I don’t know what you mean by summoning,” the woman said. “But I can stop the fire.” With the flick of her hand the second wall of fire fell.

  “You’re an elementar,” Orlos said.

  Ayja nodded before turning to Telea. “How can you heal him?”

  “I’m a healer from Belen. I can summon an animal and use it’s life energy to heal others. I’m just afraid that, even with the fire gone, I might not be able to find a suitable donor. He’s gravely wounded and will need a lot of healing.”

  “Can you use this?” Ayja held up the Orb of Creation and proffered it to Telea. “It’s still a source of magic, even if it isn’t what it once was.”

  “You’re offering it to me?” Telea asked. She tentatively held out her hand, not quite touching the Orb.

  “I only want Cam healed.”

  “I suppose…I suppose I can try it,” Telea said. She touched the Orb and a shudder went through her body. “Yes, this will work,” she said, a smile crossing her face. “And there’s no danger to it.”

  The woman gave the Orb to Telea, but instead of smiling, Telea cried out in pain as her back twisted. “No! No!” she cried out.

  Forsvar’s rim blazed with argent fire as a sudden, terrible threat blossomed from within Telea. Orlos clenched his teeth. The demon! The demon is taking her. He saw it through his own eyes—the demonic spirit rising in Telea, battling her for control. Tendrils of the demon’s form flowed down her arms towards the Orb.

  Orlos slammed Forsvar’s magical wards down on the Orb. The bright light within it dimmed but didn’t go out. Telea grasped the Orb with both hands and curled her body around it, her face wracked with pain.

  Ayja lunged forward, reaching for the Orb, but the body of the man she held impeded her. Orlos threw himself forward, but Telea’s leg lashed out, driving him off.

  Ayja finally managed to touch the Orb at the same moment as the demon’s tendrils. There was a flash of light, but it came from Ayja and not the Orb. Telea cried out as the demon recoiled. Then she grimaced as if with some great effort.

  Both Telea and Ayja had a hand on the Orb and neither moved. They stared at each other, their faces both softened and became peaceful. The demon receded deep within Telea, still there, but now as weak as it had been before.

  “Release the Orb,” Ayja said to Orlos, finally taking her eyes from Telea. “We’re safe now and still need the Orb’s ethereal power.”

  Telea sagged forward. “I’m all right,” she said, tears in her eyes. Orlos lifted Forsvar’s wards and the Orb of Creation glowed brightly again.

  “Telea?” Orlos asked. “What happened?”

  She glanced around as if to make certain no one was near. There were still soldiers in the street behind them—not all had obeyed Orlos’s command to leave. “It took me by surprise,” she said. “Ayja fought it off.”

  Ayja shook her head. “I felt
another presence in the Orb with you. It is in you?”

  Telea nodded. “I’ll explain later. I can’t speak of it right now. We are safe now.”

  “Can you…can you still heal Cam?” Ayja asked.

  “If you hold the Orb with me, and if Orlos stands ready with Forsvar, we will be safe.”

  Ayja held out the Orb again, and slowly, tentatively, Telea reached out and touched it. Orlos braced himself, but the demon remained hidden.

  Telea shifted positions so that she now knelt next to the injured man, the Orb on his chest, and her free hand on his forehead. He was a big man of middle age with a scarred face that belied many battles. Telea cleared her voice and began chanting. The Orb flared and then silver veins flowed up Telea’s arm, disappearing beneath her sleeve, only to reappear on her other arm. The silver light ran down her hand and into Cam until he glowed with a faint aura.

  For a dozen heartbeats nothing happened, but then a smile crossed Cam’s face. Soon his eyes blinked open, and he licked his lips. He didn’t jerk or start, but simply glanced up at the figures surrounding him.

  “So we survived?” Cam said.

  Ayja laughed. “We did. Some of us better than others.”

  Telea continued her chant for another twenty heartbeats or more and then stopped, “Come here, Orlos,” she said as Cam raised himself up. Telea touched Orlos’s ankle and chanted again. He gave a startled shout as healing energy coursed into him. In only moments he was made whole.

  “Are you injured?” Telea asked Ayja.

  Ayja shook her head. “Not any longer.” Ayja gave Cam a hug which he returned with enthusiasm.

  “That’s a nice trick,” he said to Telea in a deep voice. “Thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure. The Orb is a powerful source of magic, although I felt it diminished as I used it.”

  Ayja looked into the Orb. “It isn’t a limitless source, but I think it will restore itself in time.”

  “It can still heal many more soldiers, and there are many that need it,” Telea said.

  “Maybe you should do it together,” Orlos said.

  Telea nodded. “Of course.”

  Orlos met her eyes. She knew she couldn’t be trusted with it. He glanced at the still, dead form of Cragor. “How is this possible?” he asked. “How do you have the Orb?”

  Ayja and Cam shared a look. Slowly, as if uncertain of his healing Cam got to his feet. Ayja stood beside him.

  “How do you have Forsvar?” Cam asked. “Are you Queen Ilana’s Champion?”

  Despite the fact that he was unarmed, Orlos was nervous in the presence of the big stranger. Still, Forsvar gave him no warnings.

  Ayja touched Cam’s arm. “The healer, Telea, called him Orlos, Cam.”

  “King Handrin gave me Forsvar,” Orlos said. “He asked me to drive Cragor’s army from Sal-Oras and to return the Orb to him.”

  “King Handrin?” Ayja asked. “What about Queen Ilana.”

  “King Handrin took the throne from her,” Telea said. “She’s no longer in power.”

  “Where is the king?” Cam asked. “I must speak with him.”

  “Sir Rayne and his faithful men guard him,” Orlos said.

  Cam laughed. “Sir Rayne? Not the Rayne who was page to Champion Nidon?”

  “The same,” Orlos said.

  “Your name is Orlos?” Ayja asked him. “Are you Landomeri?”

  “Yes,” Orlos said, his brows knitting together. “Who are you?” he asked, exasperated. “You stand there with the Orb of Creation in your hand, and Cragor dead at your feet. And you seem to know—”

  “It’s happened, Cam,” Ayja said, wrapping her arms around the big warrior. “We are free!”

  “Finally,” Cam said. “It’s been a long fifteen years.” He put his arm around Ayja and faced Orlos. “I am Sir Nidon, six times Champion of Salador. This is Enna, daughter of Prince Morin and Hadde of Landomere, Elementar Princess of Salador.”

  Orlos’s jaw dropped and his world spun for a moment. “I know you,” he sputtered. “I mean…we were children together. I’m Orlos. My mother is Maret. She was your mother’s close friend.” He glanced at Nidon. “Did you tell her?”

  “Cam’s told me all about my mother,” Ayja said, smiling, “and of your mother as well. At least all he knows.”

  “And what about—”

  “Champion Orlos!” Orlos turned at his shouted name. “Champion Orlos, you’re needed. We’ve secured the Ost-Oras Gate, but there are still Cragor’s men in the city. And other…terrible creatures. We need Forsvar.”

  Orlos drew a deep breath. “I was hoping it was over.”

  Nidon released Ayja from his embrace and drew his sword. She nodded at him as he did so.

  “We’re with you, Champion Orlos,” he said.

  Orlos lifted Forsvar high over his head. “To arms,” he said.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Ayja had never been more exhausted in her entire life. Physically, emotionally, even magically. She had nothing left to give. And yet, one step after another, she made her way up to the top of the Ost-Oras Gate Tower. The only thing driving her was a desire to escape the blood and death that filled the squares and streets of the city.

  Telea and Orlos were with her, as were the Saladoran soldiers Cam had sent to protect them. He was off seeing to the defense of the city, taking on the role of Champion Nidon once again.

  It had taken much of the day to clear the eastern half of the city of the remaining unluk, varcolac, and ghuls. They’d seen no lyches or pyren, or the giant capcaun. They’ve escaped into the East Teren. They and hundreds or even thousands of their followers. She didn’t want to think about it. It was a battle for another day.

  Finally on the roof—the same roof she and Cam and Prince Morin had stood upon hours before—she found a clear place and let herself sag to the ground, her back against the thick stone crenellations.

  Dark clouds shrouded the late afternoon sun, and it seemed rain was imminent, but Ayja felt no desire to leave the roof. Here she was free from both the dead and the living. The dead—piles of them—being gathered for the pyres.

  Telea and Orlos sat as well. Both, like her, were covered in blood and dirt and soot. How many fires had Ayja put out with her magic? How many people had Telea healed? It had been a never ending race. All the while Orlos had run from fight to fight, lending Forsvar’s strength to the city’s defenders.

  A knight, Sir Danalon, approached and offered Ayja a large wineskin. “Your Highness, I’ve brought you some water.” He’d been with them all day, fighting and helping Cam command the defenses. Never once had he faltered.

  “You first, Sir Danalon,” she said. “You haven’t stopped moving all day.”

  “But—”

  She held up her hand. “You first.”

  He smiled in resignation and squeezed a long stream of water into his mouth. “Your Highness,” he said, offering it back to her. He’d been calling her “Highness” all day, and she’d finally given up objecting to it. Ayja took the skin, thanking him and then handed it to Telea.

  “Don’t you want it?” Telea asked.

  “There’s plenty. I’ll have some after you and Orlos have had your fill.” She caught Danalon’s nodding approval. She didn’t do it to impress him, it was what Cam had always taught her to do.

  “I’ll have some food brought up for you, Your Highness,” Danalon said.

  “Only after—”

  “I’ve fed my men,” he finished for her. “Your Highness thinks like an officer.”

  Ayja shrugged. “When Sir Nidon is your father, how can you not?”

  “My father fought under Champion Nidon,” Danalon said. “He was one of the few to survive the Garden Massacre. He had to beg the queen’s forgiveness for a crime he and the others never committed.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Ayja said. “Cam—Champion Nidon told me all about it. It was the worst day of his life.” That and the day he’d found her mother dead, but A
yja saw no reason to mention that.

  “My father never forgave her. And he never gave up hope that Champion Nidon might return. I wish he’d lived to see this day.”

  Ayja got to her feet and clasped Danalon’s arm. “Your father would be proud of you today. You fought like a hero.”

  Danalon took a knee in front of her. “I’d be proud to call you my queen,” he said. “Many of us would. You and your friends saved many people today. You saved our city. You saved the Orb of Creation.”

  Ayja stared down at him, not knowing what to say. Finally she said, “I won’t be your queen, Sir Danalon.” She offered him her hand and helped him rise. “I will be honored to call you my friend, though.”

  He bowed over her hand. “You do me too much honor, Your Highness.”

  “Ayja.”

  He smiled. “I must see to my men. Thank you.” With a polite nod he turned and departed the roof.

  There were other soldiers on the tower roof, but they kept their distance. From time to time she caught them sneaking peeks at her and her companions. She wasn’t surprised. Two of the three Gifts of the Gods sat in plain sight. Ayja went to them and thanked them for their service before returning to Telea and Orlos.

  “We’re friends now,” Orlos said with a smile. “Danalon said so.”

  Ayja gave him a tired smile. “I suppose so.”

  She glanced down at the Orb of Creation. The light within it barely flickered. What had once been a blazing torch was now a dim candle.

  “What happened to the Orb?” Orlos asked from where he sat, his back propped against the stone parapets. “It’s… diminished.”

  Ayja took another sip of water before handing the skin back to Telea. “It is,” Ayja said. “When I fought Morin for it, it was as if great rivers of ethereal power flowed into the Orb from…well, from everywhere. And power flowed out from the Orb as well, going mostly to the eternals. Far less went out than came in.

  “I knew when I touched it that it wasn’t meant to be used that way—the way Akinos had used it to sustain himself and his Eternal Knights. So I…I unlocked it. I released the magic of the Orb into the world, the way the Goddess Helna intended.”