The Shadow Knight (A Shadow Knight Novel Book 1)

by Jason L. McWhirter

  Bearit gave Jonas a forced smile. “I was afraid.”

  “Good,” Jonas added. “You should’ve been. Many people think that being afraid somehow makes you less of a man. It is not true. Being courageous is when one conquers their fears, and then acts. There is no courage without fear, and when one boasts they fear nothing, then they are liars, and generally the first to run when presented with real danger.”

  “Do you get afraid?”

  Jonas thought about it for a moment. “Yes, but not to die. I fear for those close to me. I fear to fail in helping others.”

  “I’m be afraid to die,” Bearit offered.

  Jonas smiled. “Most are, my friend. One thing I’ve learned is that the more times you escape death, the more you stop worrying about it. It will find us all, no matter how much we try to hide from it. Besides, worrying about death in battle will manifest that very thing to happen.”

  Bearit narrowed his eyes in thought, his look inquisitive. “What do you mean?”

  “When you fight, you need to concentrate on everything around you. You need to focus, and thoughts of death will cause your mind to wander from that focus. And that is when you miss the strike that kills you.” Jonas looked at Bearit, his eyes intense. “The deadliest warriors I know have an iron will. Their minds are as strong as their bodies. There is no give in them.”

  “How do I strengthen my mind?”

  “Your will is already strong, Bearit. And it will get stronger with time. Experience builds it and practice strengthens it. Your mind is like a muscle, the more you work it and train it, the stronger it will become. In time your mind will be as strong as your body.”

  “I shall work on this,” Bearit said. They continued on, both deep in their own thoughts.

  Jonas was thinking, trying to come to terms with what they might be up against. His mind went to memories that he wished he could forget; his battle with the Greever, a demon summoned my Malbeck and sent to kill him, a mission the creature almost accomplished after killing many young men at Finarth, all knight apprentices. The hunter would have likely killed Kiln and Jonas both if Taleen hadn’t come to their rescue. He thought of Taleen often, and it frustrated him that all of his memories of her were shadowed by violence. It was the nature of a cavalier’s existence, but he wished he had something else to hold onto, some memory not splattered with blood and death. He missed her dearly and thought of her often. Not to mention he could use her sword, and her council right now, but if he were honest with himself he had wanted more from her. He had had feelings for her, and part of his anger and frustration at her death was that he was never able to say anything. He was so confident in battle, but when it came to women he acted like a novice who had never held a sword. His only intimate encounter with a female was the night Myrell joined him in his room at Cuthaine. He was embarrassed to admit that again he had no part in setting up that arrangement. She had come to him, and despite the amazing night he still felt just as insecure with the opposite gender. Not to mention she had been killed the next day, just like Taleen, and Jonas blamed himself. Death seemed to follow him. Then there was Allindrian. They had a complicated relationship, one born from war and violence, accentuated by the fact that they were from very different worlds. She was a half-elf Bladesinger who had already lived six times longer than he. They both lived lives filled with constant travel, the road slick with blood as they protected the weak and battled to keep the darkness at bay. Neither of their paths was conducive for love, and despite the fact that Jonas had recently spent four years with her; he never once voiced his feelings. They had grown close, closer than any other relationship. But neither had voiced how they felt. He could face a demon dragon in combat, but telling Allindrian how he felt, that he truly cared for her, was out of the question. Risking rejection, or worse, doing something to cause a rift in their relationship, was out of the question. He just didn’t have the courage to tell her how he truly felt.

  “Who taught you to use the bow?” Bearit asked, snapping Jonas from his thoughts. “I have never seen such skill. You be fast, there is no doubt.”

  “You should see Allindrian,” Jonas said, eager to drag his mind from his morose thoughts.

  “Was it she who taught you?”

  “I’ve had several teachers. But it was she who showed me what I’m truly capable of.”

  “Who is she? I know of no female warriors.”

  “She is a half-elf, and a Bladesinger…and no equal with a blade.”

  Bearit raised his eyes at that. “You cannot beat her?”

  “No, I would be hard pressed. I’m not even sure Kiln could defeat her in a duel.”

  Bearit had a hard time believing any female could beat Jonas based on what he had seen so far, let alone Kiln, the legendary swordsman from Finarth. But then again he had never met a female warrior, or a Bladesinger, or an elf for that matter. His entire life was spent in the woods, alone, swinging an axe and dragging lumber. He did not know much of the world around him. Bearit had a lot of questions for Jonas, knowing very little about the world, they seemed to be boiling to the surface. “Have you fought demons before?”

  Jonas looked at Bearit, his face grim. “I have. Malbeck sent one to kill as many cavaliers as possible, paving the way for his army.”

  “But you killed it?”

  Jonas nodded. “Yes, but with help from Kiln and another cavalier. Her name was Taleen.”

  Bearit looked at Jonas, seeing the pain there. His use of the word was had not gone unnoticed. “She did not survive?”

  “She did that battle, only to die in another.” But Jonas said no more.

  Bearit looked down the road, his mind wandering to all that he had seen and heard over the last few days. “My world has suddenly changed,” he said, filling the silence. “Before I had not known of demons, or seen magic, or met a warrior such as you…and now, I see that what I thought of the world was a lie. I think I preferred not knowing.”

  Jonas smiled. “It’s called ignorance. And I know what you mean. At one point in my life I had felt the same as you.”

  “You ever wish fer de quiet life once again?”

  Jonas thought for a moment. “I do,” he affirmed.

  “Then you should live it.”

  Jonas shook his head. “I have the skill to help the world. Not using it would in a sense be aiding the evil in our world, something I could never do. Bearit said nothing as he thought of Jonas’s words. There was a less traveled road up ahead and Tulari stopped for a moment, sniffing the air, before turning west onto it. The trees were thick and their leafy branches grew out over the road creating a canopy of green, the sun’s rays broken up by the web of branches and casting patches of light onto the shadowed dirt path.

  Jonas was looking at the map. “The map says there is a small town a quarter day ahead.”

  “You think Tulari be leading us there?”

  Jonas shrugged. “Perhaps. If she is, be prepared for the worst.”

  Jonas’s warning was sound. They saw the smoke first, and once they rode out of the thick forest and into a large field, they saw the destroyed village before them, the backdrop a massive stone formation rising tall behind the scattered homes. The houses were made of stout logs and thatched roofs, handfuls of which were still burning, the gray smoke rising high into the evening air. Jonas nocked an arrow and held the bow with one hand while he used the other to lead his horse. Bearit followed his lead and unslung his axe from around his back and laid it across his lap, holding it in place with one hand. Tulari growled and her body grew, her massive shoulders the height of Jonas’s saddle. She swung her massive head towards Jonas, her yellow eyes blinking before trotting forward into the village to investigate.

  As they entered the village Jonas saw several bodies, but there was signs of fighting everywhere they looked. The road in town as well as the paths that snaked around the houses were churned up, dirt and mud torn up from many feet. The few bodies he saw were men who held weapons in their bloody ha
nds. Jonas slowed and dismounted, moving towards a couple of bodies for a closer look. One was slashed across the face with what looked like claws, while yet another had been stabbed in the back with a bladed weapon.

  “Where is everyone?” Bearit asked, riding next to Jonas.

  Jonas stood up from a body, his face grim. “My guess is they were taken. These men probably tried to fight off whatever attacked them, their actions resulting in their deaths. The others were taken. This man,” Jonas said, indicating an older red headed man lying on his stomach, “was killed by a sword. While this man,” he continued, pointing at a younger man to his left, “was killed by claws.”

  “You think the beasts that attacked us last night also attacked this town?”

  “Perhaps,” Jonas agreed. “I’m wondering if Taddick was correct in his estimate. Those creatures that attacked us could also be in league with men like the ones we killed in the catacombs. This would mean that demon has the ability to create different demon-spawn.”

  “This attack looks to be recent.”

  Jonas nodded his head in agreement. “I would say it happened last night, just as we were attacked.”

  “Do you think we be findin’ more villages like this?”

  Jonas looked bleak. “I’m afraid so.”

  A noise to his left ripped his attention from Bearit to a log house ten paces away, his bow coming up in a blur, the blue feather fletching gently caressing the side of his face, his black bow at full draw. A man pushed aside the broken door and stepped into the clearing. He wore a dark gray cloak dirty from the road and carried a long sword in his right hand, crimson staining the tarnished surface. His dark beard was long and unruly and his eyes were hard, like he was used to using the weapon he held. Behind him emerged another man, similarly outfitted with nondescript clothes dirty and worn from travel. This man was younger, with a shorter brown beard and a shaved head, a prominent scar crisscrossing up his head behind his ear. He carried a loaded crossbow pointed at them and there was a short sword at his belt. Two more men emerged from another house on the other side of the street. One was tall and thin and he carried a spear, while the other was his complete antithesis. He was short and stocky and held a hand axe in one hand and a long dagger in the other. His front teeth were badly chipped making his smile more ominous than anything.

  Jonas didn’t release the arrow, holding the difficult position easy enough. “Let me guess,” Jonas said passively. “You saw the smoke and came to prey on what happened here.”

  The bearded man with the sword shrugged his shoulders casually. “Something like that. Now hold that arrow. You are outnumbered two to one and I have a crossbow aimed at you.”

  Jonas said nothing, turning slightly towards the bald man with the crossbow. The movement was subtle, like a gentle breath of air to extinguish the flame of a candle. Releasing his thumb and forefinger, Jonas’s arrow hammered into the crossbowman’s forehead, snapping his head back. Before the brigand’s eyes crossed in death, he had another arrow nocked and aimed at the leader. The crossbowman fell to the ground. “Not anymore.”

  The three men looked on with shock, not fully comprehending that their friend was dead and the speed in which he had been dispatched. Bearit too looked equally surprised, his grip tightening on his axe. He hated being on the horse, having no idea how to fight from it.

  The leader shifted his feet nervously and held his sword protectively before him. His eyes were wide, now more nervous than confident as he looked at Jonas. “Now take it easy. There is plenty of loot for us all. Whatever happened here the assailants took nothing with them.”

  Jonas kept his face calm but he was boiling with anger. One of the things he hated the most was people who preyed on the misfortune of others. Brigands and thieves were just as bad as murderers in his book, and the former usually became the latter. The older he got and the more horrible things he saw, the harder and more rigid he had become. “We are not thieves. I am a knight to Shyann and you picked the wrong man to rob.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed, knowing he could not manipulate Jonas. Then he looked at the brigand with the spear. “Lyrus, kill him,” he ordered, quickly moving towards cover.

  That was all Jonas needed. His first arrow took the leader in the neck before he found cover, catapulting him backwards into the damaged door. Spinning to the right, his hand flashing back to his quiver impossibly fast, a second arrow covered the distance to the spearman in half a heartbeat, hitting him in the center of his chest. But not before he got off a clumsy throw. The man was no warrior and Jonas quickly spun a full circle to his left, easily avoiding the spear, and drawing his third arrow in the process. Dropping to his knee, he narrowly avoided the axe that flew over his head. Seeing he had no other option, the stocky man that threw the axe turned and ran down the road. He made it three paces before Jonas’s arrow slammed into his back, launching him from his feet to sprawl face first in the churned up mud. They were dead before Bearit could even dismount.

  Bearit was shocked at the speed and ruthlessness. “You shot him in the back,” he said as he moved next to Jonas, his axe held in both hands. He didn’t mean to, but he sounded accusatory, and he winced as soon as he said it.

  Tulari ran from around a corner and slid in the churned up dirt. Clearly she had heard the commotion and came running. But she was no longer needed.

  Jonas looked at him and felt sad for the young man, seeing in him what he too would have said just years ago. He used to be naive, but not anymore, his youthful ignorance crushed by years of violence and blood. “You are correct. What would you have done?”

  “I don’t know. Let him go I guess. He was running away and no longer a danger to us.”

  “Perhaps,” Jonas agreed. “The leader had fresh blood on his sword. They had probably just finished off the survivors when we arrived. But if I had let him go then I would be responsible for all the harm and hardship he would have caused for the rest of his life. There is a small chance that he would have found redemption for his crimes, but it is unlikely. He would have continued to steal, rape, kill, and pillage. And I would be responsible for that. Not to mention he could have run off and brought back reinforcements, becoming a danger to us once again.” Then he looked up at the sky, the sun already behind the massive mountain of stone before them. “It will be dark soon. Let’s burn these bodies and rest here for the night. We leave at first light.”

  ***

  Maltheil stood tall before its prisoners; its long arms spread wide, red eyes slowly swiveling across the men and women. He was standing at the opening of a huge cave, the entrance a slab of stone that spanned out into a field of grass. Water poured from various places above the huge rock face, cascading around the beast and forming rivulets that poured into the tranquil pool to the left of the opening, the water then flowing over huge rocks and boulders, the stream meandering further east and eventually dumping into the North Fork of the Onith River that flowed out of the northern section of Fish Lake.

  It would have been a beautiful oasis, except now the grass was dead, blackened as if a fire had burned the entire clearing. The trees surrounding the clearing were also dead, their blackened and gnarly limbs reaching into the clearing like bony arms of the dead. The entire clearing was surrounded by Maltheil’s servants, men and women who now had no recollection of their former lives. Over half were pale skinned, bald, with snaking black sigils running around their necks and up to their heads. Their eyes were lined in red and sunken in shadow. Most of them wore dark cloaks of green, brown, and black, carrying various weapons confiscated from the villages they had raided. They now stood guard around the forty humans they had corralled around their master, taken from various villages. The other half, nearly thirty in number, looked far less human. They were hiding in the shadows, many of them clinging to the dead trees, their pales bodies visible against the blackened trunks. Long claws dug into the wood, their bony heads and red eyes gazing into the clearing like cats in the night. Teeth filled maws open
ed, saliva dripping as they stared at the humans standing before their master, their fragmented minds thinking only of blood and the desire to serve.

  Maltheil stood five heads taller than the biggest man and the beast radiated a sense of fear that was nearly overwhelming for the men and women before it. They huddled together and cried, their bodies shaking, barely able to contain the desire to flee, which they would have if they were not surrounded by dark cloaked men holding sharp blades. The demon’s huge wolf-like head stopped and stared at one big man, its red eyes pulsing bright. Then the demon reached out and pointed a long clawed finger at him. “Come before me,” Maltheil hissed, his voice soft, like a whisper from the dead.

  The man shook his head but stepped from the throng of people anyway, his body moving forward even while his mind was saying no. On trembling legs, the man walked the ten paces it took to bring him before the great beast. Maltheil stood up taller, like it was breathing deeply, then the demon launched its head forward, a gout of black steam shooting from its open mouth to envelope the poor villager. The man screamed and the crowd watching did the same, huddling together and screaming as they heard the piercing shrieks of the dying man. The black cloud spun around the man like a vortex, keeping him within its magical embrace. Moments later the man stopped screaming and Maltheil cut off its breath. When the black smoke dissipated all that remained of the man was a blackened husk, his flesh burned down to the bones. The demon stepped toward the body as the men and women in the crowd huddled closer together. Reaching out with its right clawed hand, red energy began to coalesce around its long fingers. Then ropes of magical energy snaked down and wrapped around the body, causing the black flesh to turn red and burn away into dust leaving behind just the bones. Then Maltheil stepped back and raised its hand further, the magical ropes of energy lifting the man’s bones into the air where they spun around each other, turning red and glowing brightly. Then there was a flash of light, causing the men and women watching to scream and shift backwards, the swords of the black cloaked men stopping them like a solid wall.