The Shadow Knight (A Shadow Knight Novel Book 1)

by Jason L. McWhirter

  But then the door crashed open making the decision for him. A wave of fear hit him followed by the stench of sulfur, burnt flesh, and rotting garbage. A dark grey beast ducked its head under the door frame and stepped in, its black wings unfurling as it left the confines of the hallway. The body of one of the guards was sprawled at the demon’s feet, and the other could be seen further in the hall, his body leaning against the blood streaked wall. Blood dripped from its spiked tail as it twitched dangerously in the air. The creature was human-like, with long arms and legs, all covered in sharp spikes, the ones on its hands dripped crimson. Its head was longer than a human’s, covered in spikes, its wide mouth filled with sharp teeth. But it was the thing’s eyes that froze Peron to the floor. They were large and all white. A gurgling hiss escaped the demon’s mouth and it stepped quickly towards him, its tail raised and ready to strike.

  The fear emanating from the beast was nearly overwhelming, but staring death in the face snapped Peron from his frozen trance. Spinning, he ran for the door into his sleeping chambers. He heard the beast hiss louder and the unmistakable sound of claws scraping on stone followed. His heart was pounding and he ran faster than he thought possible, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him and engaging the deadbolt. Without stopping he raced to his Stopper by the door, quickly turning the weapon on its swivel to face the door just as it crashed open, the power of the strike ripping the deadbolt right out of the stone.

  Milky white eyes found him, and leaning forward, its long clawed arms stretched toward him, the demon propelled itself across the stones with immense speed. Peron’s eyes grew wide at the frightening acceleration and he had just enough time to press the lever down. There was a loud click as all five bows fired. Fifteen bolts flew at the demon, each tip coated with the magical oil of sharpness. Eight of the bolts slammed into the demon’s body, hitting the creature in its thighs all the way up to its head. The others ripped through the creature’s wings. The power of the strike was immense. When the bolts struck the beast the creature was launched backwards, its heavy body catapulting to the floor. Steam rose from the wounds, the fletching of the bolts the only thing exposed, the power having driven the bolts deep into the beast’s flesh.

  Peron didn’t wait to see if the beast was dead. He rushed through the door to his balcony and ran to the edge of the railing. He wasn’t sure what to do. Was there only one demon? If so, was it dead? If not, should he try his preplanned escape route? He wasn’t sure if it would even work. He’d hate to die by falling to the stone ground below if the threat was over. He ran to the door, his heart pounding. The demon was still there, unmoving.

  He ran back to the large crossbow, his mind reeling over his options. With little warning, he heard the whooshing of wings and a hideous screech. Looking up, he saw a large winged shadow descend on him, its clawed feet reaching for his flesh. Reacting instinctively, he gripped the handle of the crossbow and swung it high, pulling the trigger at the last moment as the second demon was nearly on him. There was a resounding twang as the powerful weapon kicked back, and the big bolt, followed by the length of rope, snapped from the weapon to hit the creature directly in the chest. The demon screeched in pain and somersaulted backwards in the air, the bolt having ripped through its chest to burst out the other side, the barbs holding the bolt in place as the creature tumbled down to hit the pavers below with a heavy thud.

  Peron looked down, and with the moonlight casting its bluish glow, he was able to see the howling demon flop around, vainly trying to rip the bolt from its chest. He had not covered the bolt’s tip with the oil of sharpness, and without the magical properties of the oil, the bolt would not kill the demon. But the creature was in serious pain, and it couldn’t free itself from the bolt or the tangle it had created as it struggled to free itself from the weapon and the trailing rope.

  Peron ran inside to his bedside and grabbed his sword belt, flinging it over his shoulder. Then he plucked his crossbow off the bedside and was about to run out the door when he saw the demon on the ground start to rise. Swearing, he ran to the railing again. Quickly he untied the rope and pulled it hand over end until it was tight, the struggling demon on the other end acting as a weight. He tied it off just as the other beast stepped onto the veranda. With incredible speed the demon launched forward, one clawed hand swinging for Peron’s head. He stumbled backwards and the big crossbow saved his life. The demon’s razor sharp claws struck the side of the weapon instead of his face. A dripping oozing substance splattered from the demon’s arm and when it hit Peron in the neck it burned like acid. He screamed and brought his crossbow up, firing the weapon point blank into the demon’s chest. The bolt flashed blue and sunk deep, causing the demon to stumble back a few steps. Knowing that he had one chance to live, he reached up and grabbed the leather strap on the side of the weapon. Dropping his crossbow, he leaned over the railing and wrapped the leather around the rope. And without a second thought, he leapt off the edge, both hands holding onto the leather strap. Just as he cleared the railing, he felt a burning pain on the back of his legs. As he fell to the courtyard floor, he looked up to see the demon leaning over the railing. The beast must have sliced the back of his legs with its claws when he fell over the railing. But he had another problem. He couldn’t get a firm grip on the leather; therefore the pressure on the rope was not enough to adequately slow his decent. He was falling too fast.

  Bracing for impact, he let go of the leather strap before he hit the stone floor, hoping to land as far away from the struggling demon as possible. When he landed he heard a snap, followed by a burst of pain in his right ankle. He tumbled to the side across the stone pavers, his right shoulder hitting hard. More pain shot through his arm. Fighting back the agony he crawled away from the rope, trying to distance himself from the demon. Looking back, he saw the demon finally rip the bolt from its chest, its white eyes quickly pivoting towards him.

  Two Red Guard soldiers who had been walking the perimeter saw the commotion and ran to give Peron aid. They had no idea what they were getting into. At first they stared at the demon, their eyes wide with shock, and fright. But they were both elite soldiers, and they shook away the paralyzing fear and came to Peron’s aid. It was then that the second beast leapt from the balcony above, its flapping wings slowing it decent to land near the soldiers. Swords flashed in and out expertly, but the steel did little damage. There was a flurry of claws and whipping spiked tails, and within moments the soldiers were down.

  By this time Peron had crawled to the base of the castle wall. He was in severe pain and panting heavily from exertion. He slowly stood on one leg and drew his sword. I guess this is it he thought, seeing no way out of his predicament. Then he heard a caw and a flap of black wings directed his gaze above him. A large black bird dropped from the sky and in mid-flight transformed into a man who landed with the grace of an acrobat, rolling forward and drawing his sword in one smooth motion. The man didn’t hesitate as he attacked the demons.

  Atticus held three fireseeds in his left hand and with an easy flick he threw them at the demon on the left, attacking the demon on the right with his sword. He knew that fire would do little harm to the demons as they were partially immune, but it should give him time to engage one at a time. The seeds struck the demon and exploded, causing the beast to fall backwards as fire engulfed it. Atticus lifted his glowing blade as the other demon’s tail flipped around towards him. Snapping the magical blade forward, he cut the tail in two, and ducking under a claw attack he rammed his blade deep into the belly of the demon, ripping it out and diving away. Slimy goo had splattered from the creature and burned the flesh on Atticus’s arms and neck. He cringed but kept moving. The wound to the demon was devastating, but still the demon sought the druids flesh. Flapping its wings, it leaped into the air, both clawed feet angling for him. Atticus roared and rolled away, his sword flashing up expertly as he narrowly avoided the dangerous claws. Gangly toes flew through the air as his sword cut through the beast’s foot. Spinn
ing his legs under him, Atticus regained his footing, and wasting no time swinging his sword across the back of the hobbling demon’s neck. His blade cut through the creature’s flesh and its head landed with a grotesque thud, its heavy body following.

  The second demon was slowly standing. Atticus could see at least eight crossbow bolts deep in its flesh, smoke still rising from the wounds. Its grey oozing flesh was singed, but the fire didn’t seem to do much damage. But it served its purpose, distracting it while he could eliminate the other beast. Now he was facing one demon, and not two at the same time. Atticus whispered the words to a spell as the demon walked towards him. All at once there was an extremely bright light shining above the beast. It looked like a bright star, the starlight effulgent, its rays raining down on the demon. The demon hissed loudly and wrapped its black wings around its head to avoid the bright starlight. Atticus knew the light would not harm the creature, simply annoy it greatly. But that was not his goal. All he needed was a distraction, and the light provided that.

  Holding his sword high in the air with both hands, he whispered the words to another spell, calling on the power of the Sanga. Several phrases later and there was a loud clap of thunder, the sound echoing off the castle walls. The deafening sound was followed by a crack of lighting, flashing brightly from the sky above and striking the druids raised sword. Flashing again, the lightning shot from the blade and struck the demon. The lightning exploded and sent the demon flying backwards, its entire body crackling with blue-white fire. Then the crackling subsided and the demon lay still, smoke rising from the burnt creature.

  Atticus walked over to Peron, standing above him with his sword held low. “Peron Rothar?”

  Peron stared up at his savor, his ashen face one of shock and pain. “Yes.”

  “I am Atticus Belthar.”

  Peron was rushed to a healer, surrounded by armed Red Guard soldiers. Atticus had offered to heal the prince, but they didn’t know who he was and decided the best course was to get him to the royal healer. The castle was on high alert and General Moore, along with Lord Anteel, a member of the ruling council, came to Peron’s side as soon as they received word of the attack. The healer was High Priest Vollen, who had been Peron’s father’s religious advisor and healer for as long as he was king. The man was nearly ninety winters and he looked it. Years of service to Toolm, the High One, had taken its toll. His bald head and weathered skin, combined with a slightly hunched over frame, could be construed as feeble, but nothing could be further from the truth. The man was a powerful cleric to Toolm, and few west of the Tundren Mountains could match his clerical strength and zeal.

  When soldiers had arrived on the scene just after the demon’s defeat they had assumed that Atticus had been part of the attack, as they had never seen the man. After a few words from Peron however, their attitudes towards the man had changed. And then when Peron said his name, they looked at him with shock and wonder, the same reaction Peron had had when he found out his identity. Even now, lying on the soft bed in Toolm’s main temple, he wondered if the man really was the famous Atticus Belthar.

  “How do you feel?” General Sig Moore asked. He was wearing full battle armor and had his usual gruff manor.

  “Fine now,” Peron said. “Thanks to Atticus and Master Vollen.”

  Atticus nodded, and Maser Vollen, who was standing near the bed, laid an old wrinkled hand on Peron’s shoulder. “Of course, my boy. Your ankle was crushed badly and your shoulder was dislocated. Rest assured that you will feel no long term effects from those wounds.”

  “How did you escape those demons?” Lord Anteel asked, genuinely concerned for Peron’s welfare.

  “Luck mostly,” Peron responded.

  “I don’t think so, young Prince,” Atticus said. “The wounds one demon sustained before I arrived looked as if ten men had shot it with crossbows. And the bolts were magical. Not to mention the hole in the other demon’s chest was as big around as my fist. What happened?”

  Everyone was equally interested in hearing Peron’s entire story. So he told it, keeping nothing out. When he was finished they seemed to look at him differently. Even General Moore looked surprised, if not a little impressed.

  “And you say you made these devices?” the General asked.

  Peron nodded. “I did.”

  “Smart thinking on the magical oil,” Atticus added. “Those demons cannot be harmed by normal weapons. You would likely be dead if you had not administered the oil to the bolts.”

  “I’m afraid those men who came to my aid found that out,” Peron said sadly. Then he looked directly at Atticus. “Thank you again for saving me. But I have to admit, I’m having a hard time believing you are thee Atticus Belthar.”

  “I as well,” General Moore said. “You saved our prince, and I mean no disrespect, but why are you here?”

  “To save all of you,” Atticus said with no hint of bravado. “I am Atticus Belthar, and I am here to help you.” He looked around the room and saw four guards standing near the door that led into Master Vollen’s private chambers. “What I have to say is for your ears only.”

  General Moore got the point. “Men,” he said to the guards. “Wait outside.”

  They nodded and left without a word.

  Atticus continued. “I’m afraid I have bad news,” he said, looking at Peron. “Your father is dead, as well as your uncle and Master Moran, betrayed by King Oneck. As we speak he is marching an army here.”

  Peron’s eyes widened, and he looked at General Moore and Lord Anteel, both looking just as surprised. “What?! How can this be?” Peron said.

  “Are you sure?” Lord Anteel asked, his voice just a whisper as he tried to process the news.

  “I am,” Atticus replied. “I flew above the fields outside of Angar and saw the destruction. King Oneck betrayed you all. His army was hiding in the woods and they stormed the camp two evenings ago after they had worked on the treaty, killing everyone.”

  “That cannot be true,” the General said, his tone despondent.

  “It is,” Atticus said softly. “And that is not all. Maltheil marches with the Tur’el king, a small army of servants with him. They used Maltheil’s demon-spawn to climb the walls at Angar.”

  Lord Anteel squeezed the spot on his nose just below his eyes, as if trying to work a headache away. “How is this possible?”

  “It seems,” Atticus continued. “That Carvathian, the Tur’el court wizard, is controlling the demon.”

  “So it was he that raised the beast?” Peron said, thinking out loud. He was still trying to process all that Atticus had said. Were his father and uncle really dead? He had no strong feelings for his father, but he was still his father. And Dalland was a good man. He genuinely liked him. His death hit him much harder than his father’s, and there was a part of him that felt bad for that.

  “We think so,” Atticus continued. “But he had help. You have a traitor in your midst. Someone helped the wizard get the book.”

  The General looked up from his dark thoughts. “That someone would’ve had to have Rothar blood to get past the wards protecting the book. And now that the king and Prince Dalland are both dead, that leaves Prince Peron.” When he realized the implications of what he said, he back peddled some. “I don’t mean to say it was you, my Prince. But we are running out of explanations.”

  Everyone looked at Peron. “I had nothing to do with it. I think the demons trying to kill me are proof of that.”

  “Who else would have a motive to free the demon and help Tur’el conquer Lanard?” Atticus asked.

  Everyone was silent as they thought about his words. They had all been mulling over the issue of who had freed the demon for the last two weeks. But no one had yet come to any conclusions.

  Finally General Moore spoke. “I do not know. But we have pressing matters at hand. We need to prepare the city for a siege. And how are we going to stop Maltheil?”

  Lord Anteel looked at Prince Peron. “My King,” he said, addre
ssing Peron with the title for the first time. “What are your orders?”

  General Moore looked at Anteel, his eyes narrowing briefly before looking at Peron. It was true, the young prince was now the King of Lanard, and the realization of this passed over General Moore and his hard exterior softened some. “I’m sorry, my King. Anteel is quite right. What would you have us do?”

  Peron didn’t know what to say. So he thought honesty the best course. “General Moore, I know you think I am not fit to be king.” The General was about to protest when Peron cut him off with a raised hand. “And you may be right. If I am to be honest with you both,” he said, looking to Lord Anteel and General Moore, “I do not know if I even want the responsibility. I feel inadequate. But I no more have the choice than a young boy born to poverty and abuse. I will do my best, but know that I will need your council.”

  Atticus smiled. “Spoken like a wise king.”

  “What do you all suggest we do?” Peron asked.

  “More of our reserves are coming in from the fields daily. In two days, our standing army will grow from seven thousand to ten thousand.”

  “Do we have two days?” Peron asked Atticus.

  “They will have to travel the main road,” Atticus said. “My guess is they will not arrive for another four to five days.”

  “Good,” Peron replied. “Do we have weapons and armor to outfit the extra men?”

  “We do now,” the General said. “I met with your friend recently, Lord Vannearon, and he and his father have stores enough to outfit two thousand men. We have the rest in reserves.”

  A sudden thought struck Peron, but it was so outrageous that he shook it away. But as they continued to talk it hung around his mind, nagging at his consciousness. “Good,” he said. “Prepare the city for a siege. Bring in what villagers you can and collect as many stores as possible.”