The Shadow Knight (A Shadow Knight Novel Book 1)

by Jason L. McWhirter

  They rode for an hour into the forest, the massive trees growing densely all around them, their branches spanning over the road in a canopy of shades of green. The sun was shining, but its golden rays did little to warm the cold brisk fall air, the branches blocking most of the light. As they came around a bend in the path, they pulled up short. Before them were eleven horses leashed to various trees, and standing guard were two Tur’el soldiers. When they saw the Red Guard warriors ride up to them they seemed nervous, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords. When they recognized Baylock Reen, their eyes widened in surprise, but they did not draw their swords.

  Tyril pulled in next to his father, his steed stopping four paces away from the men and horses. Where were the princess and the others? he wondered.

  He was wearing a silver cuirass his father had given him when he turned eighteen and was accepted into the Red Guard ranks. It was unheard of for one so young to pass the tests necessary to be a member of the Red Guard, and as a way to show his pride, his father gave him the armor as well as his sword, all crafted by the king’s armorer himself. With the set came matching pauldrons and greaves. One could be a soldier their entire life and never have weapons of their quality. Tyril was very proud of them, polishing the armor and sword daily.

  “I am Baylock Reen of the Red Guard,” Baylock announced, “here on order of your king. We are looking for Princess Kylin to escort her back to Angar.”

  Clearly the two soldiers knew of Baylock Reen. One was older and he spoke. “She went into the woods a few hours ago with the other eight escorts. We are watching the horses and waiting for her return.”

  “Why did they take her into the forest?” Baylock’s voice was deep and accusatory and the two soldiers felt it.

  “Sir, she wanted to go. She is hunting.”

  Baylock swore under his breath and dismounted. “Tyril, come with me,” he said. He ordered ten more soldiers to follow him, leaving the other ten to stay with the horses and the two Tur’el guards in case the princess returned before guards found her. The Battle Lord took Torg with him as well hoping that he could follow their tracks easily enough and bring her safely back to the horses. They could not risk anything happening to her. The soldiers strapped their cavalry shields to their backs and followed their Battle Lord into the dark woods.

  ***

  Jonas and Bearit woke early with the soldiers. They ate a cold meal and everyone was mounted and traveling before the sun had time to warm the ground. It was decided that they would help the soldiers get the townsfolk back. Jonas and Bearit both agreed that they could not allow those people to be turned into demon-spawn. Besides, they seemed to be traveling the same direction that Tulari was heading. Perhaps their goals were one and the same. Either way, they were now moving deeper into the Lasur’een Forest, heading now northeast.

  It was mid-day when Tulari returned. She had been scouting ahead as usual hoping to find the group before they found them. Her muzzle and fur around her neck was splattered with blood but she looked unharmed. Korrin, seeing the blood, looked at Jonas with a worried expression.

  Found scout…dead…we close, Tulari announced in Jonas’s mind. “Well done, Tulari,” Jonas said, looking over at Korrin. “Tulari killed their scout. She said we are close.” The men around him heard him and passed the word back to the others. There was the sound of armor being adjusted as the men murmured their anticipation, eager to kill the enemy and save their people.

  ***

  Sorrin pulled his son closer to him, afraid that they would be separated, or worse, that his son would be left behind. They had been walking now for nearly two days with no food or water and his son, who was fourteen, was exhausted. The boy looked up at his father, his face streaked with mud and dirt from the road, his eyes pleading. “When will we stop?”

  “I told you,” he whispered. “I do not know.” He didn’t know what else to say and he was too tired to make something up. He was the village blacksmith and even his strong muscles earned from hard work were starting to give out. If they were not at least given water soon then they would not be able to continue much further. There were nearly thirty men and women around him, slogging through the dirt and mud, dragging their feet as they concentrated on keeping one foot in front of the other. They had just learned what would happen if they could not keep up. A village woman named Bel who had an injured leg from when they were attacked two days ago fell behind. She could walk no longer, and in front of everyone so all could see, the pale skinned demon-spawn ripped her apart with their claws and fed on her blood. It was the most horrible thing any of them had ever seen. Sorrin had thought about running, but knew that he would never make it, nor would his son. There were near twenty paled skinned bald men brandishing various weapons as well as an additional fifteen demon-like creatures that he had never seen before. They crawled on clawed hands and feet and their big heads were dominated by wide, teeth filled mouths. Some had streaks of filthy, greasy hair that still clung in patches across their misshapen heads. Perhaps they were human at one time, Sorrin could not tell.

  Suddenly the rumbling of horse hooves brought Sorrin from his morose thoughts to the road behind them. He was tall and he stood up straight, looking back on the road they had just traveled. What he saw gave him hope. Riding towards them was a group of Red Guard soldiers, their silver swords angling down and their shields held before them. Sorrin’s heart soared with the real possibility that they would be rescued, after all the Red Guard was the king’s elite soldiers. If anyone could defeat this force, it was them.

  The bald men quickly formed a defensive wall facing the soldiers while the demon-spawn scurried into the forest. What were they doing? Sorrin thought. There was no way they were running. More than likely they would flank the soldiers from the cover of the forest as the Red Guard were forced to fight the bald men before them. But that meant that they were now unguarded, and glancing back the way they were headed proved that to be true. They were no longer surrounded. No one was there. If they could at least distance themselves from the enemy, maybe they could escape and survive.

  “Let’s go!” Sorrin yelled as he dragged his son away from the fight. Everyone was so tired that they barely heard him. But they followed, stumbling and moving as fast as they could as the Red Guard soldier’s crashed into the enemy.

  Jonas and Bearit and five other men, all archers, emerged from the undergrowth just before Sorrin as he was picking up a man who had fallen, guiding them away from the fight.

  “Keep them going!” Jonas yelled, happy to see that at least someone was thinking clearly. They needed to get the villagers away from the fight, and this man was doing just that. As planned, they fanned out on the edge of the road, nocking arrows in the process. The cavalry charge had been brutal, the heavily armed warhorses and soldiers smashing into the enemy and killing many in the first few moments. But then the demon-spawn shot from the forest, leaping from trees onto the horsed men, dragging some down from their horses. Others were blocked with shields and sword thrusts, but the flanking maneuver was successful and it had stopped the power of the charge. Now they were surrounded. This is where Jonas and his archers would perform their part of the plan.

  Shooting into the flanks so as not to hit any of the warriors, the five archers, with Bearit watching beside them, shot arrow after arrow into the enemy, dropping many to the ground. But it only took a few heartbeats before some of the demon-spawn changed tactics, coming at the archers at great speed, some even angling for the retreating villagers. Tulari broke from the undergrowth and barreled into two of them, killing them quickly with claws and teeth. Several more dropped from Jonas’s arrows, but three made it through the barrage and one leaped from the ground towards Bearit, its back legs launching it towards his chest.

  Bearit was ready for it though, the swing of his axe already in motion. He remembered Jonas teaching him that there were times to use the full strength of a swing, and other times it was not smart to do so, and Bearit reasoned
that this was one of those times to use the latter. Stepping into the swing, Bearit brought his axe over his head with all his strength, the heavy blade coming down and striking the creature in mid-air. The demon-spawn didn’t stand a chance. The power of the attack stopped its momentum and split the creature from the top of its head near its belly button, killing it instantly. Bearit kept his momentum moving forward and spun, yanking his axe from the creature with a powerful jerk and coming at another who broke away from the main fight with a sideways attack. The creature hissed and tried to move under the swing, but was too slow. The axe blade struck it right in the eyes and cut the top of its head off. Bearit stopped his momentum and brought his axe in close, thinking that more of them would be attacking him.

  A scream spun him on his heels and he saw the two that maneuvered around him attack the villagers. Jonas’s arrow took one in the side, knocking it off its path and into the brush. The second leapt towards a man who was standing protectively before a young boy and the other townsfolk, holding a stick he must have grabbed from the ground. Bearit roared and his powerful legs closed the distance quickly just as the demon took the man’s stick on the side of its head. The impressive swing was well aimed, but the demon shook it off and landed on top of the man, the young boy behind him screaming for help. Bearit was afraid to use his axe as the man was flailing wildly trying to dislodge the creature. He didn’t want to accidently cut off his hand, or worse, slice into his leg. So he dropped his weapon to the ground and grabbed the creature by the back of the neck and its spindly leg, and lifted with all his might, yanking the creature from the villager. Roaring with fury he tossed the creature into a nearby tree, his prodigious strength sending the beast the full ten paces where it struck the stout trunk with its back. There was a crack and the beast dropped to the forest floor. Slowly it rose from the brush, clearly wounded, when a blue feathered arrow hammered into its head, knocking it back into the tree once again where it slumped to the ground unmoving. Bearit turned towards the main fight, but all he saw were horsed soldiers, the dirty road littered with dead bodies. The fight was over.

  “Well done,” Jonas said from the road as he stepped towards Captain Korrin who had dismounted and was checking on his men.

  The captain turned when he saw him. “The plan worked as well as one could’ve hoped,” he said.

  Jonas nodded and looked around the carnage. “Did you lose anyone?”

  Korrin’s look was straight faced, but Jonas could see the pain behind his eyes. “We lost five.” Then he quickly changed the subject. “Let’s drag these bodies away and see what we can do for the survivors.”

  Bearit knelt next to the man who had struck the creature with the stick. His shoulders were bloody along with one leg, but the wounds appeared to be shallow cuts. It looked as if Bearit got to the demon-spawn before he had done serious damage. “How badly are you hurt?” Bearit asked, helping him stand, the young boy holding his other arm.

  “I’ll live,” he said, wincing from the cuts. “Thanks to you.”

  Bearit nodded. “The soldiers have some knowledge of healing. I’ll get some help.”

  The man nodded. “Thank you.”

  ***

  Two hours later, Torg the tracker found the princess. They had just killed a small deer when they came across them, startling them in the process. Several of the royal guards turned crossbows on Baylock and the others as they approached; slowly lowering them once they realized who they were. The princess was standing over the deer holding an unloaded crossbow as a man dressed the animal. She looked over and frowned when she saw the Battle Lord and his men.

  “Princess Kylin, I’m sorry to disturb your hunt but your father has requested that you return to camp immediately,” Baylock said.

  She looked perturbed. “And he sent the Battle Lord of Lanard to retrieve me? Seems excessive doesn’t it?”

  Tyril was standing next to his father and he enjoyed watching her challenge him. He was pretty sure few had talked to him in such a tone. She glanced at Tyril and he swore he saw a subtle smile behind her mask of annoyance.

  “I requested the honor myself,” Baylock answered, his tone a bit more sharp.

  She sensed it and changed her own tone. “I see. And what dangers lurk in my own lands that require the presence of Baylock Reen?”

  “That is not for me to say. Please, I must return you safely before the treaty is to be signed.”

  She deflated somewhat at that, knowing the importance of the treaty. “Very well,” she added, turning to the guard that was dressing the deer. “Take the choicest cuts and leave the rest. We depart promptly.”

  On the way back to Angar, Princess Kylin rode next to Tyril, who was just back in line from his father. She rode next to him for a while, the silence palpable. Finally Tyril spoke after giving her a few furtive glances. “Did you kill the deer on your own?”

  She looked over at him. “Yes…does that surprise you?”

  Tyril shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

  “The crossbow is not so hard to use. My father’s weapon smith made it for me,” she added, looking down at the weapon that hung from a hook on her saddle. “It’s really quite impressive. He designed it with a series of gears to make it easier for me to crank and load.”

  Tyril looked more closely at the weapon. Sure enough, there were some gears along its shaft that were not typically found on a crossbow. “I have a friend who would like to look at that weapon,” Tyril added, thinking of Peron. “He thinks of himself as quite a tinkerer.”

  “And is he?”

  “He is,” Tyril agreed. “He is the smartest person I know.”

  “In that case I would like to meet him.”

  Tyril smiled at that. “I think that will happen sooner than you think.”

  “What do you mean?” she queried. “And what is so funny?”

  Tyril looked at her sheepishly. “Well my friend is the Prince of Lanard and next in line for the throne.”

  “Peron Rothar you mean?”

  “I do.”

  “I am to be his step mother,” she spat. “We are the same age I would guess.”

  “That is true, but when you marry his father you will be his step mother nonetheless.”

  She said nothing as she looked off into the forest, her mind elsewhere. After a mile or so she looked back at Tyril. “Do you respect your father?”

  It was a blunt question, and one she had to whisper as Baylock was no more than four horses ahead of them. It took Tyril off guard. “Yes, I do. He has raised me well. My father is honorable and I am proud to be his son.” She looked at him seriously, and seeing he meant what he said she looked away. Tyril followed her question with one of his own. “What about you? Do you respect your father?”

  She looked back at him and her dark expression said it all. “No, I do not. He is a snake and wants nothing more than power and wealth. He includes me in nothing. I have no idea why he does what he does. Case in point, why would he send your father to fetch me? I can only assume that he has some ulterior motive.”

  “I see,” Tyril said lamely. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. And he could think of no other motive as to why her father wanted the Battle Lord to find his daughter. After all, it was Tyril’s father’s suggestion to begin with.

  “Perhaps,” she added, looking off into the dark forest, “my life will be better with King Rothar in Lanard.”

  “I’m sure that it will,” he added, trying to make her feel better.

  They were still another hour from camp when they came upon a group of mounted soldiers, all bearing the Tur’el colors. Baylock Reen pulled up short of them, keeping nearly ten horse lengths between them. Tyril stopped his mount next to his father.

  “Something isn’t right,” the Battle Lord whispered to Tyril.

  Just as he did so one of the Tur’el soldiers nudged his horse closer. He lifted his visor to speak. “Baylock Reen, we have come to escort our princess back to Angar.”

 
“We were given permission by King Oneck to do just that. As you can see,” he added, “we have the princess and are escorting her back to camp. We need no further assistance, however, if you would like to join us than feel free to do so.”

  The man was wearing a full beard and the distance was too great to see his facial expression, but Tyril got the feeling that the man was smiling.

  Torg the tracker nudged his horse closer to the Battle Lord. “My Lord,” he whispered, “there are men in the brush flanking us.”

  Baylock Reen said nothing in return, but he nodded in understanding, glancing over at Tyril. “Son, if you can, take the princess and run. Watch your flanks.”

  Tyril looked at him, his expression one of worry. “But Father…”

  Baylock Reen drew his blade, and the Red Guard soldiers behind him, sensing their commander’s tension, followed suit. The ten Tur’el soldiers who were behind the princess looked confused, glancing at one another as if the other knew what was happening. But none of them did. “If your assassins in the woods attack us!” he shouted, “then you will be starting a war!”

  This time Tyril could see the man’s expression. He was smiling broadly, his white teeth visible through his black beard. “That is exactly the point! Attack!”

  Just then everything exploded into motion. Men in black broke through the underbrush and came at the Red Guard soldiers. The mounted warriors before them churned up the dirt on the road as they charged.