The Shadow Knight (A Shadow Knight Novel Book 1)

by Jason L. McWhirter

  Frantically, Baylock Reen looked at his son, his eyes wide with battle fury. “Go!” he shouted, as he smacked Tyril’s horse on its flank with the flat of his blade.

  Tyril’s horse jumped and he pulled on the reins, spinning the well-trained horse around. Princess Kylin’s face was one of shock, her eyes wide with fright and confusion. It was clear she had no idea why her father’s troops were attacking them. Without saying a word, Tyril grabbed the reins from her and pulled her horse next to his, nudging his steed through the other mounted warriors around him. They bolted back the way they had come, blasting through the stunned Tur’el guards, his powerful warhorse bashing one black clad assassin to the side as he made his escape. All he could hear was the sound of battle behind him and their horses’ heavy breathing as they ran for their lives.

  Baylock Reen pivoted his horse to the left and swung his blade down and through the neck of an attacking assassin. He killed several more with brilliant precision as did his men around him, their skill and elevated positions giving them a massive advantage. But he knew the cavalry charge would be on them in just moments, so he turned his warhorse back towards the charge, several of his men joining him on the road. They had no time to gain any speed as the Tur’el soldier’s crashed into them. But they were Red Guard cavalry and it wasn’t just they who were the most trained and skilled soldiers west of the Tundrens, but their steeds were as well. Bred from the best stock and trained since youth, the Red Guard warhorses held their ground, pivoting expertly to either side of the charging animals, giving their riders the space and position to best use their shields and swords. The Tur’el horses pushed through the throng of Red Guard warriors. Swords crashed against shields as the Red Guard cavalry danced around the enemy, their silver swords cutting into the Tur’el flanks, dropping many to the forest floor.

  But the assassins continued to attack from the brush. Several Red Guard fighters went down, and others were forced to turn towards the enemy that was flanking them. More Red Guard soldiers fell as they tried to keep the assassins at bay, their backs now exposed to the Tur’el cavalry. There were just too many of the enemy and they were being attacked on all sides.

  Baylock Reen fought with all the savagery and skill he could muster. Enemy swords clanged against his shield as he maneuvered his sword with expert speed and precision, the razor sharp steel cutting the enemy down in staggering numbers. Bodies piled up around him as he spun his horse back and forth, churning up dirt as his shield and sword found flesh and steel alike. No one could touch him, and any who got too close felt the cold edge of his steel. Eventually, several swords found the flesh on his legs, cutting into him, and others found gaps in his horse’s barding, slicing the animal’s flesh. Soon blood was splattering through the air, both rider and steed fighting for their lives.

  Then suddenly there was no one attacking him. Panting heavily, his sword dripping with blood, he saw that all his men were dead, over forty enemy bodies scattered across the road and forest edge. There were at least ten Tur’el riders before him and another five behind him, as well as a handful of black clad assassins standing at the ready near the edge of the forest undergrowth, their short swords held before them. Glancing back, there was no sign of Tyril and the princess. He hoped they had made it.

  Turning back to the remaining men on the road he found the same man who spoke to him earlier. He had hoped the man had been killed. But that was not the case. “What are you waiting for?” he spat, sitting up straight in his saddle. He was bleeding from several wounds, as was his horse, but both stood tall and impassive, like a mountain before a winter storm.

  “We have our orders to keep you alive if possible,” the man said after lifting up his visor once again. “And don’t worry. We will catch your son and the princess. Go find them?” he yelled to the men behind the Battle Lord.

  “I will not submit,” Baylock spoke. “You will not take me alive.”

  The Tur’el commander smiled but said nothing as a rider moved forward from the rear. He was wearing a dark gray robe and hood, his face shadowed under the cowl. The dark stranger stopped next to the commander and removed his hood. It was Carvathian, the court wizard to King Oneck. “I’m afraid you are partly right, for we will take you, but not really alive. I want you to meet someone…well, I guess it’s more of an it.” The wizard than whispered some words that Baylock could barely hear let alone understand. It sounded like a spell.

  The trees to his right began to shake and sticks cracked as something large moved through the forest. As it neared, Baylock Reen could make out its shadowy form as it pushed its way through the dense brush. It was large, and the Battle Lord noticed that the forest seemed to shrink away from the creature, as if it didn’t want to touch it. Branches turned black and shrubs shriveled to sticks, their green foliage dying like it was winter well on its way. Just as the thing broke through the shadows of the forest, Baylock felt a wave of fear crash into him.

  Maltheil’s massive form stepped from the edge of the forest and stood on the side of the road. The demon was several heads taller than Baylock Reen who was sitting on a huge warhorse. Baylock felt an intense fear rush through him. But he fought it down, and to his horse’s credit, his steed did as well, somehow gaining confidence from its rider. The black clad assassins moved away from the demon, not wanting to be anywhere near the creature. Even the Tur’el cavalry turned their horses and retreated over twenty paces away, leaving Carvathian and Baylock Reen the closest to the creature.

  “I’m impressed,” Carvathian said. “Most cannot withstand Maltheil’s fear.”

  The demon turned its red eyes on the wizard and Baylock could not miss the thing’s hatred. But then the glowing eyes pivoted to him and he nearly fell off his horse, the fear almost grasping his resolve and crushing it for good. But he held onto his courage and beat down the fear that was all around him. The demon looked at the bodies piled around the Battle Lord. “You will make a fine general,” the demon said to him, stepping onto the road, its huge clawed feet digging into the dirt.

  “It was you that freed the demon?” Baylock asked.

  Carvathian dismounted, knowing that his horse would not get any closer to the beast, and walked forward to stand next to Maltheil. The demon was twice his size and it looked to Baylock that the creature was fighting through an overwhelming desire to crush the little human. But for some reason he could not. “Sort of,” the wizard responded. “I control the demon, but let’s just say I had help.”

  Maltheil turned its clawed hands into fists as its red eyes looked down at the wizard. “You will make a mistake,” the thing hissed. “They always do. And when that happens, I will drink your blood and feed your flesh to my servants.”

  Carvathian ignored the demon. “Turn him,” he ordered. “Then bring your army to the wood line. We have a king to kill and a city to take.” Then he turned away and went back to his horse. The assassins drifted away into the forest, eager to get as far away as possible. They knew what was about to happen.

  Maltheil stepped closer to Baylock Reen. “Ready to serve me?”

  Baylock Reen’s heart was pounding in his chest, and somehow he dug deep for more courage, and he found it. “Never,” he screamed as he raised his sword, nudging his horse in the side. Together they shot towards the demon just as Maltheil took a deep breath, spewing forth a large cloud of red steam that covered the entire road.

  Baylock hit the fog and it felt like he hit a wall of pure evil. If evil had a physical embodiment, it was the dense red fog swirling all around him. He fell from his horse and barely felt the impact as the evil swarmed through his body. Gripping the dirt he screamed into the fog, his consciousness slowly disappearing. Something pulsed up the side of his neck and somewhere in his consciousness he felt his hair dropping to the ground. His last thoughts as he continued to scream were of his son. And then there was nothing.

  The red fog drifted away revealing Baylock Reen standing tall, his sunken eyes staring at Maltheil. His hair w
as gone and a black snake-like sigil ran up his neck to the top of his bald head.

  “Welcome General,” the demon growled.

  ***

  Tyril was leaning forward in his saddle urging his horse to run faster than she ever had. Princess Kylin was riding just behind him and luckily for them both she was a good rider and her horse was a strong breed. His heart was pounding and all he could think of was that he left his father and the rest of the Red Guard to die. But he was ordered to do it, he told himself. He growled under his breath and tried to clear his mind. He couldn’t fix what had already happened. All he could do was try to survive. He knew they would be close on their tail, riding them down with greater numbers. Eventually they would catch them.

  Coming to a decision he sat up and pulled hard on the reins, urging his horse to slow. Kylin shot past him but did the same, slowing and turning her horse around to see why he had stopped. Her hair was windblown and her wild eyes portrayed her fright.

  “What are you doing? What are we doing? What in Toolm’s name just happened?” Her questions came flowing out of her like a broken dam.

  “I don’t know. But they clearly wanted us dead, which could only mean one thing…the treaty was never going to happen, nor was your marriage. It was just a ruse to get the king in your father’s grasp.” He dismounted and moved towards her with purpose, grabbing her arm and literally pulling her from the saddle.

  “What are you doing?” she screamed. “Let go of me.”

  He stood tall over her and held her in his iron grip. “Tell me you had nothing to do with this,” he hissed, his voice like iron.

  She looked aghast. “Of course I didn’t!” she stormed. “My father never includes me in anything. I told you, I hate him.”

  “Well, it’s not your head they want,” he said, releasing her. “But I cannot have you returning to them and telling them where I’ve gone. So you’re coming with me.”

  “I told you,” she said firmly. “I am not part of this plan. My father likely cares little for what has happened to me.”

  Tyril relaxed some. She seemed to be telling the truth, or she was an incredibly good actor. “It matters not. You are coming with me.”

  “Where?”

  “We need to get to Lanard. If we stay on the road they will soon catch us. We need to send the horses away and travel on foot. If we stay in the forest we will be much harder to track. Hopefully they will ride past us and not realize we have left the horses. You ready?”

  “Yes,” she said, her tone still angry. “Let me get my crossbow.”

  She grabbed the weapon and returned. Tyril noticed that she already wore a belt that contained a quiver of bolts as well as a hunting knife. He hoped she could use both, and that neither would be necessary.

  Tyril slapped his horse’s rear and sent the animal down the road. Kylin did the same and followed him into the dark woods.

  They ran west toward Lanard, Tyril leading the way. There were animal trails through the undergrowth, but at times Tyril had to use his sword to cut through the foliage. He hated doing that, knowing it would leave an obvious trail for a tracker, but it was the only way to make good time. He had to hope they stayed on their horses’ trail. If not, than they would catch up to them, sooner rather than later.

  “How do you even know where you’re going?” Kylin asked, her exhaustion evident as she followed Tyril through the thick brush.

  “I know we were heading west when we left the main road,” Tyril answered, ducking under a low lying branch. “I can only hope our direction has held true.”

  They had been moving through the forest for over an hour, and Tyril was worried that he indeed had no idea the direction he was going. What worried him the most was the trail they were leaving. Any tracker worth his salt could follow it.

  Suddenly he heard something to his right. He turned towards the noise just as an arrow slammed into a tree beside him. “Get down!” he yelled. And just as he did two men charged him from the brush. They must have been flanking them, waiting for their opportunity. A body came catapulting through the brush before him, a sword thrust for his gut. Spinning his sword across his body Tyril blocked the attack as he pivoted to the man’s flank, his own blade continuing around incredibly fast and slicing across the man’s back as he ran by. The Tur’el soldier wore armor but his blade still cut into the top of his unprotected shoulder as well as his buttocks as it sliced across the man’s back. Another man came from around a tree to Tyril’s left and he dropped just in time as his sword flashed above his head. Tyril kicked the man in the back and knocked him into the brush as he brought his sword back around to take the injured man in the neck. Another arrow whizzed by his head and out of his peripheral vision he saw Kylin ducking low and loading her crossbow. He didn’t know where the archer was and he had no time to worry about it as three more men emerged from the brush, their swords held low. Kylin had jumped behind a tree, but it mattered little, the men were clearly after him.

  Tyril had never killed before, or fought a real enemy to the death. But he had been trained since birth and it was the one thing he was confident in. Few were faster, stronger, and more capable with a sword than he. Even at his age, he could best nearly every Red Guard soldier. Trained by his father and waking every morning over the last ten years with a sword in his hand had morphed him into a deadly warrior.

  Two men charged and their glinting swords came at him. He had no time to think. Reacting on instinct and hours of practice, Tyril parried their strikes, keeping their blades away as he danced around them, taking advantage of the cover the trees offered by ducking behind them. Enemy steel struck the trees as they tried to cut him down. One man’s blade became lodged in the wood and Tyril spun around the trunk, his fist, the same one holding his sword, connecting solidly with the man’s elbow, snapping it at the joint. Continuing its momentum, he sliced the blade across the man’s bicep as he brought it across his body to deflect the other man’s thrust aimed at his chest. His block was true, but not fast enough, and the tip of the man’s blade sliced across his leg as it swung by, opening up a shallow gash. Grunting, Tyril kicked the man in the groin, knocking him back into the brush.

  Tyril had a quick reprieve and that’s when he noticed Kylin struggling with the third soldier. She brought her crossbow to bear and shot it point blank into the man’s stomach. The man grunted in pain and fell to his back. At the same time, the man that fell into the brush regained his balance at charged Tyril again. But before he got two steps an arrow slammed into his neck, his body careening into the brush. The man with the broken arm finally freed his sword from the tree and was raising the weapon above his head with his good arm when a black cat nearly as big as a horse slammed into him, launching him five paces and disappearing into the thick bushes. The man screamed and thrashed about, but in moments he was silent, the big animal emerging from the foliage, stopping three paces from Tyril and Kylin, both of whom were staring at the cat in shock.

  “He won’t hurt you, but just to be sure I’d lower your sword.”

  Tyril glanced to his left and a man emerged from the forest like a mist carrying a bow, a sword dangling from his hip. He was tall and moved with the grace of a warrior. “Who are you?” Tyril asked, not lowering his sword.

  The man smiled. “That is a good question, and if I told you, you probably wouldn’t believe me. You may call me Embry. The shadow cat’s name is Korum.”

  The big cat growled in acknowledgment and sat on his haunches, licking the blood from his clawed forepaws.

  Tyril lowered his blade some and Kylin ran to his side. “There is an archer in the woods,” he said, stepping protectively in front of Kylin.

  “Not anymore,” Embry said, moving closer to them. “I gave you my name, now it’s your turn to give me yours. And do not lie to me Red Guard soldier, for I will know.”

  There was something about the man that reinforced his threat. He looked younger than his father, but there was something about him that carried the
weight of age, or wisdom, or maybe it was power, or perhaps all three. All Tyril knew was that he didn’t want to lie to him. “I am Tyril Reen and this is Princess Kylin Oneck.”

  Embry looked at the dead soldier with the crossbow bolt in his gut. “Why would the princess of Tur’el kill her own soldier?”

  It was a good question, and one that Kylin struggled with. “I…I don’t know. I didn’t know what else to do. They were trying to kill Tyril and take me with them.”

  “Did you both come from Angar?” Embry asked.

  “Yes,” Tyril said, still looking at the big cat cleaning the blood from his fur. “How do you control the cat?”

  “Korum is my friend. I am a druid.”

  “Druid? I thought they were all dead,” Tyril said.

  “Most are.”

  Kylin stepped closer to Embry. “Are you the one we call Solum, protector of the forest?”

  Embry gave her a subtle bow. “I go by that name as well.” Then he looked at Tyril. “You may know me as Atticus Belthar.” The Kingdom of Lanard was further from the Lasur’een Forest, hence most of its inhabitants were not as familiar with Atticus’s other names. But the Kingdom of Tur’el bordered the forest, so most of its people knew of the strange druid that protected the land.

  Tyril stepped back in shock. “You cannot be him,” he stammered. “You look younger than my father.”

  “I told you, I am a druid. I protect the land around us and in return the land grants me power, some of which is used to maintain my youth and vitality.”

  “It was you, then, that helped defeat Maltheil thousands of years ago,” Tyril said, thinking back to the druid’s words in the book.

  “It was, although I had help. The earth helped me seal away the beast, and it was your kingdom’s job to protect the tomb and book and make sure that the demon never rose again. But someone freed it. I’ve been tracking the creature and that is when I found you.”