The Shadow Knight (A Shadow Knight Novel Book 1)

by Jason L. McWhirter

  “So by turning an army of soldiers, Maltheil will have a trained military force at his disposal?” Tyril asked, already worried about the answer.

  “For the most part, yes.”

  “And if Maltheil is killed?” Kylin asked.

  “Then his servants die as well.”

  “Then we need to kill the demon,” Tyril said adamantly.

  Atticus nodded his head, staring again into the fire, knowing that that task would be no easy feat.

  Chapter Six

  The smell of roasting horse meat filled the roadside camp. It was only midday but the people they had rescued were far too tired to do anything other than rest. They needed food and water, and the Red Guard did not have enough rations to feed that many people, so they opted on cooking one of the dead horses. The villagers ate the cooked flesh ravenously, washing it down with cold water from a nearby stream. It was going to be a cold night so the soldiers spent the rest of the day collecting wood so they could build large fires on the road to keep the townsfolk warm at night. In the morning, they would march them back to their village, at least what was left of it.

  Jonas walked among the townsfolk looking for the man that had directed the villagers away from the fighting during the battle. He had some questions for him. He found him sitting by a fire with a young boy roasting several juicy chunks of horse meat. The fire was roaring and putting off lots of heat. Nearly ten other villagers were around warming their tired and cold bodies. Jonas appraised the man quickly, noticing his thick muscular arms. The man had stood up to a demon-spawn with nothing more than a stick. Jonas was impressed. The man’s eyes were tired and his face was smeared with dirt. White bandages were wrapped around both shoulders as well as his thigh, but other than that he just looked worn out. He looked up and nodded as Jonas approached, gesturing for him to join them.

  They had propped some logs over big stones to form some makeshift benches. Jonas sat on the log next to him. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Tired, but alive, thanks to you and the soldiers. Especially that man with the axe. I’m afraid my boy and I would be dead if it weren’t for him.”

  Jonas nodded in acknowledgement. “It was luck we came across your tracks. My companion and I were hunting something else.” The man looked curiously at Jonas as he turned the meat around to cook it fully from all directions. But he said nothing, pressing him no further. “The Red Guard was tracking you when we met them on the road. We decided to help.”

  “We are thankful for it,” the man said. “I am Sorrin and this is my son, Erlan.”

  Jonas nodded. “Well met. I am Jonas. I wanted to ask you a few questions. I’m hunting the evil that did this to you, and I was hoping you could tell me what happened to your town.”

  Sorrin glanced at Jonas, his eyes quickly appraising him, glancing over his armor, knives, swords, and clothing, seemingly trying to figure out who he was and why he would be on such a daunting hunt. He shrugged, figuring it was none of his business. “There was no warning,” he began. “The men you killed came from the forest around our town and attacked, while the pale creatures swarmed our homes. Anyone who fought back was killed. I was at my forge, my son helping me, when they came.” He glanced at Jonas. “I would have fought, but my first thought was to protect my son. The pale men said that we would be spared if we offered no resistance. They gathered us up and marched us away. That was two days ago. I have no idea where they were taking us.”

  Jonas sighed, figuring that the story was typical. He bet that many villages around Lanard had suffered the same treatment. “Count yourself lucky we came across you,” Jonas said. “There is a great evil about, and I’m afraid you were being taken as its slaves.”

  “Evil…what do you mean?” Erlan asked. He was curious, as all young boys were.

  “Let’s just say that the men and creatures that attacked you were once townsfolk just like you. They too were captured.” Jonas’s meaning was obvious.

  “You mean we would have been turned into those things?” he asked, his eyes wide with fear, and disgust.

  “It was likely,” Jonas said.

  “Who are you?” Sorrin asked. “I see a warrior, there is no doubt. But you say you are seeking out this great evil by yourself?”

  “I am a knight to Shyann. I am here to destroy the demon that is doing this.”

  Sorrin took in his words, looking at him in a different light. “I know of Shyann. Some villagers worship her here, but not many. Are you a cavalier? I’ve heard tales of them, but never seen one.”

  “I was once, but am no longer.” Jonas didn’t say anything else and Sorrin didn’t press further.

  Erlan was looking at Jonas with eyes filled with wonder, and a little confusion. “You don’t look like a knight,” he said.

  Jonas smiled. “I’ve been getting that a lot. Rest assured young Erlan, looks can be deceiving.”

  “Are your swords magical?” he asked with the wonder of youth.

  “They are. Would you like to see?”

  “Can I father?” he asked excitedly.

  Sorrin nodded. It was obvious that he wanted to see as well. “Of course.”

  Jonas drew one of the blades and laid it across his lap. Then he wished it to glow, and instantly the edge glowed blue, and the elven sigil along the dark steel lit up in the evening shadows.

  Sorrin and Erlan’s eyes grew wide, never before seeing a magical blade. “What does it say?” Sorrin asked, indicating the glowing writing.

  “Redemption,” Jonas answered. “The other says Retribution.”

  “That’s incredible,” Erlan said excitedly. “Do you think someday I could have a sword like that?”

  Jonas smiled at the boy and stood up from the fire, sheathing the blade. “You never know. Be strong and good, and help those in need. You don’t need a sword like this to accomplish those goals. But if the sword does find you, wield it with honor, and respect what it can do.” Jonas patted the young boy on the shoulder. “I will leave you to your meal. Thank you for the information. Good luck and safe travels.”

  “Same to you, Jonas,” Sorrin said. “Thank you again for your aid, and I wish you luck against this evil.”

  Jonas nodded and walked away.

  Once he was gone, Erlan looked at his father. “Was he really a knight?”

  Sorrin shrugged, “I don’t know, as you said, he didn’t look like a knight,” he answered, looking over his shoulder as Jonas disappeared into the night. He looked back into the roaring fire, his mind pondering. “But he was definitely something.”

  Jonas and Bearit left the group at first light, following Tulari further into the Lasur’een Forest. They had only gone a few hours before Tulari stopped and turned north facing the dense woods. This way, she said in his mind.

  “You want us to leave the horses?” Jonas asked. She said yes and Jonas turned to Bearit who was looking at him expectantly. “Looks like we are going on foot,” Jonas said.

  Bearit actually smiled. “That is the best news I’ve heard in a while.”

  “Your backside still hurting?” Jonas asked as he dismounted.

  “It’s better, but yes, it does. I’ll be happy to stand on my own two feet. Where do you think she is leading us?” he asked as he dismounted.

  Jonas was taking a few supplies from the saddle bags and loading them in his pack. They only had a few days of rations left, but luckily they were able to get a little more food from the soldiers, and he made sure it was packed away securely. Bearit was doing the same. “Hard to say,” Jonas responded. “She could be leading us directly to the demon, or perhaps to an important location. Whatever she is doing will help us fulfill our mission, have no doubt.” He hefted his pack over his shoulders, along with his quiver, and grabbed his bow from the saddle. He glanced over at Bearit as he too swung his pack over his huge shoulders. Bearit was carrying most of the food and water and yet it looked as if the pack weighed nothing to him. “Well done saving that man and his son. That was q
uite a throw.”

  Bearit shrugged his shoulders. “I wasn’t sure what else to do.”

  “Well it worked, although you should always hold onto your weapon. Never relinquish it unless absolutely necessary.”

  “I was afraid I might hurt the man if I attacked the demon with my axe.”

  Jonas tilted his head in acquiescence. “Which was why I didn’t use my bow, but rest assured if you were not there, I would have risked it. I think you should’ve done the same. What if more demons had rushed you and your axe was on the ground?”

  “I see your point.”

  “Good,” Jonas said as he adjusted his pack one more time. Then he looked sidelong at Bearit, his eyes serious. “You know you can leave me at any time. I do not want you to feel obligated to stay with me,” he added, seeing Bearit’s hurt expression. “The supplies and weapons were given with an open heart, with the idea that you will live on and be an example for others. That does not have to be done by my side.”

  “I understand, and I thank you. But this is where I want to be.”

  “Death follows me,” Jonas said softly. “Are you sure?”

  “I am,” Bearit said firmly. “Drought follows a farmer, beetle blight follows a logger…it is the way of the world. If one chooses to fight against evil, then death will follow them as sure as old age. I’ve made my choice.”

  Jonas nodded. “Well spoken.” Then he nodded towards his wounded leg. “How is your hip?”

  Bearit lifted his leg and moved it around. “Hurts some,” he said honestly. “But I’ll be fine. How’s your arm?”

  Jonas glanced at the bandage wrapped around his elbow. “Nothing to worry about.” He pulled his straps tighter on his pack. “Ready?” Bearit nodded. “Tulari, lead on.” Tulari leapt into the undergrowth and Jonas and Bearit followed, quickly disappearing into the thick brush.

  ***

  The next morning King Haten Oneck sat on his warhorse, his twenty five year old son mounted beside him. Prince Bannic Oneck was the mirror image of his father, tall, with broad shoulders, dressed immaculately in shining armor. Combine his physique with a regal nose, sharp features and a strong chin, along with glossy black hair, and you have an iconic image of a ruling aristocrat. On the King’s other side was General Hyrim Galstar, dressed in full armor and ready to march.

  Around them were the scattered remains of the camp, the city of Angar in the background, smoke rising from various places within. Two days before, unbeknownst to the Rothar contingent, Prince Bannic had led the Tur’el army to Angar and had waited for orders from his father, all the while King Oneck was going through the motions of working on the treaty and arranging the marriage with King Gyveel Rothar. His army hid in the forests around Angar, and when the word was given, stormed the camp.

  His daughter’s departure into the woods had worked well in his favor. When Baylock Reen had agreed to personally find her, his actions had removed the finest fighter from the camp as well as twenty Red Guard warriors. It had provided the perfect opportunity for Carvathian to use the demon to turn the Battle Lord, and while gone in the forest, to secretly attack Angar with his hidden army. The risk to his daughter was necessary. If he could get her back, he would, but if not, the Tur’el Kingdom would survive. Her death would matter little in the scheme of things.

  Once they destroyed the Lanard contingent camped in the field, they then stormed the city. Reluctantly, under the control of Carvathian, Maltheil had helped them, sending his army of five hundred men and women, now demon-spawn, over the walls of Angar. It didn’t take the demon-spawn long to get the gate open, and soon after, the Rothar Soldiers, who were unprepared for such an attack, were quickly overwhelmed. It was a slaughter.

  “You sure about this, Father?” Prince Bannic asked.

  The King of Tur’el looked at his son, his eyes hard. “Of course I’m sure. I have been waiting for this opportunity for many years, as my father had before me.” He looked back at the city. “That city was seized from my grandfather, and now I have taken it back. And I’m not stopping here. Finally the Lanard lands will be ours.” The king looked ahead of him and smiled. There were four long poles stuck into the ground, and impaled on each one was a head, blood dripping down the wood shafts. The shocked and bloody visages of King Gyveel Rothar, Master Moran, Prince Dalland, and Earl Gallinor stared back at them. They had put up a good fight, especially Prince Dalland, who was one of the finest swordsmen next to the Battle Lord, Baylock Reen. But in the end the Tur’el numbers overwhelmed them, and now their heads were stuck on poles. As they marched by, he wanted every one of his soldiers to see the dead Lanard king and his brother. Behind them, spanning out across the clearing before the city were six thousand Tur’el soldiers, nearly a thousand were cavalry, the silver points of their lances glittering in the morning sun. It was cold as winter was fast approaching, and the steaming breath of the soldiers made them look like dragons ready for battle.

  “I meant are you sure about the demon,” Bannic added. To their left stood Maltheil, the beast’s giant form surrounded by its demon-spawn, Baylock Reen to Maltheil’s right, his pale bald head now covered by his black plumed helm. Near the beast, but not too close, was Carvathian. None of them could get near the demon without feeling an overwhelming sense of fear, so they stayed clear. The only one who seemed impervious to the demon’s magic was Carvathian, and the wizard himself looked exhausted. His skin was more pale than normal, his bloodshot eyes surrounded in shadow. “I worry that Carvathian is not strong enough to control the beast.”

  “He says that he is,” the king said, looking towards the demon. Maltheil stood frozen, its huge wolf like head staring right at him, red glowing eyes boring into his courage. If he didn’t know better he would swear the beast was smiling. “We need the demon to take the city walls. After that we will banish the creature.”

  “What of the young prince?” Bannic asked.

  King Haten laughed. “Peron Rothar? He will pose no problem. Besides, if the demon does its job, the prince will be dead before we arrive.”

  “What about my sister?”

  “Carvathian is taking care of it,” the king said. Then he shrugged nonchalantly. “If we can get her back alive, we will.” Then he looked at his son, his eyes hard again. “Your sister should be of no concern to you. Do not let thoughts of her well-being distract you from our task at hand.”

  Bannic nodded. He was raised by his father, and hence felt very little for much of anything. He had spent little time with Kylin and didn’t really know her. It wasn’t terribly difficult to dismiss her. “And what if Carvathian fails in his task?”

  “Look behind you,” King Haten said. “We have an army. If we have to, we will kill the demon, just as my great ancestor did thousands of years ago.” Looking forward, he raised his sword in the air. Thousands of soldiers behind him screamed and shouted, banging swords on shields and shaking lances in the cold morning air. Then he lowered the sword and the army moved forward, the glaring dead visages of the Rothar dignitaries staring at them as they marched by.

  Once the army passed, Carvathian rode before Maltheil. The demon hadn’t moved, which was eerie enough, but the fear that emanated from the beast nearly broke through the wizard’s defenses. Baylock stood like a statue beside the great beast, his haunting eyes looking at the wizard through the slits in his helm.

  “I feel you getting weaker,” Maltheil hissed, his malevolent voice eager for blood.

  Carvathian sat up taller in his saddle, knowing full well that showing any sign of weakness could mean his end. “I am strong,” he said loudly. “We only need you for one more task.”

  “And what is that?”

  “To take the city of Lanard.”

  Maltheil laughed. “Something I had planned to do anyway. Your king is a fool. His hunger for power will kill him, and you.”

  “Killing us will not be so easy.”

  Maltheil laughed again, the sound like fluid in his throat. “Killing is always easy. What
do you want, wizard?” he said, spitting out the last word.

  “The king wants his daughter back, alive if possible. I want you to send servants to get her.”

  “And?”

  “Send assassins to kill the young Rothar Prince. My king wants him dead before we arrive. You will then follow us with your army. Any villages along the way you may destroy, turning who you like. Once we arrive at Lanard, you will climb the walls and kill any resistance.”

  Suddenly a wave of mental energy struck Carvathian and he nearly fell from his saddle. Digging deep, he protected his mind, focusing all of his energy on keeping the demon out of his head. He was a powerful wizard, with vast amounts of mental strength, but even he felt a stab of panic. Quickly dismissing it, he focused his mind on the mental barrier he had created between them. Sweat dripped down his back and his head throbbed as Maltheil struck his mental wall several more times. Then it was gone. Carvathian was left sweating, his head hurting, but he sat up straight, ignoring the pain and exhaustion, knowing that any sign of fatigue might instigate the demon to attack again.

  “I’m impressed, human, you are strong,” Maltheil said. “But you can’t withstand me forever.” Then the beast turned and walked away towards the woods, its long muscular legs taller than Baylock and the other servants who followed. The demon’s long arms hung low, its clawed gangly fingers nearly reaching its knees, one holding its massive bone club. The thing’s broad back was covered in tangled black hair that rose to the base of its neck. Carvathian had to admit that the creature was impressive, and glad that it was gone.

  Maltheil and his army of servants didn’t have to walk long before the demon found what it was looking for. Stopping near a rock face, a small clearing of grass surrounding him, he reached out and felt the waypoint. His army of four hundred servants were scattered around him, the forest broken and trampled as they carved a path through the dense brush.