The Shadow Knight (A Shadow Knight Novel Book 1)

by Jason L. McWhirter

Jonas’s eyes narrowed intensely. “Fight it,” he hissed. “You are strong enough. Dig deep, find your courage, it is there, waiting.”

  Bearit stepped closer to Jonas, his huge axe held effortlessly. “Like you said, it can die.” And despite the subtle shake of his hands, he nodded towards Korrin. “We will kill it.” His tone was sharp, and matter-of-fact, no room for reproach. Jonas was impressed with his resolve, his ability to break through the demon’s innate ability to spread dread to all around it.

  Korrin looked at him, and took several deep breaths, finding strength from the young man. He set his jaw, the lines around his eyes deepening as he focused on holding onto his courage. He didn’t say anything in response, but nodded his head in gratitude. Jonas looked at Bearit, again feeling validated for his decision to not only save him, but to teach him.

  “I smell the light of Shyann!” Maltheil continued, the demons red eyes flaring brightly. “Something I shall have to extinguish!”

  This time Jonas spoke. “Your brethren have threatened that before! But I am here, and they are not!”

  “Everything comes to an end! So you five are the land’s best defense? Let us see if you are worthy!” And without much warning, Maltheil lifted his bone staff and pointed it at them. “Kill them!”

  “Make sure to stay in front of the shielding!” Atticus yelled as he jumped forward, his bow twanging as arrows flew at the charging enemy. Jonas joined Atticus and together they assailed the charging enemy with a barrage of arrows faster and more overwhelming than anyone had ever seen. Five, ten, fifteen, shafts ripped across the clearing in a few heartbeats, hammering into flesh, many of the dead flying into others, creating a tumbled mess of bodies near the entrance of the bridge.

  But still they came, swords and shields coming at them with no sense of organization. Jonas kept his bow in one hand, drawing a sword in the other. It was not the first time he fought with the bow, its magical properties making it impervious to attacks. Even the string could not be broken and the enchanted wood bow could be used to block and parry, killing with his blade. Atticus kept his bow low, drawing his sword and wielding it with one hand. Tyril leapt into the gap between them, and together they met the onslaught of bald headed warriors. All three blocked and dodged, cut and stabbed, killing and kicking the bodies away. They fought on, bodies piling up before them, but still they came.

  Baylock Reen was suddenly before Tyril, his shield bristling with four arrows, his emotionless eyes barely visible beyond the slits of his black plumed helm. Down came his sword and Tyril met it with his own shield. They exchanged blow after blow, Tyril experiencing the familiar strength of his father. But something wasn’t the same. He could hear him grunt and growl behind the steel helm, but he lacked the speed and technique of his father’s mind. But he was still the Battle Lord, and with skill worthy of the title he flicked his wrist and rolled the tip of his sword around Tyril’s block, the edge of his blade nicking his exposed bicep, drawing a bead of red. Tyril growled as he spun his shield before him, knocking his father’s sword out the way and following it with a lighting quick riposte. The enemy fighters around them were pressing forward with no sense of organization, something that worked in Tyril’s favor. As he attacked, enemy warriors behind Baylock shoved him forward with their shields, eager to draw the blood of their enemies. Tyril’s sword found his father’s chest as the Battle Lord was knocked forward by his own men, his blessed blade splitting his armor and cutting his heart in two. Just like that, he fell to the side as the enemy pushed forward. Tyril lanced another man in the gut, but a flanking attacker brought his shield down on his blade, slamming it into the stone pavers. A typical sword would have shattered, but Tyril’s, now enchanted by a High Priest of Toolm, held. But he could not get the sword back in position, or his shield, to block the shield charge. Turning at the last minute, and angling his shield toward the attack, a Tur’el shield slammed into his shoulder, beating him backward. Luckily his own shield impeded the power, the attack shoving him backward but offering no serious injury other than a bruised shoulder.

  Without missing a beat, Bearit glided past him, his axe already descending, splitting the man’s head in two. Taking Tyril’s place, Bearit went to work blocking and cutting, and along with the deadly efficiency of Jonas and Atticus beside him, killed many more. It wasn’t long before the pile of bodies was so high, that the enemy had to climb over them to get at the defenders, who were forced to back up to the edge of the shielding.

  On the other side of the bridge, Peron dismounted as the sounds of battle assaulted them. “Where are you going, my King?” Lord Caynon asked.

  “To the front,” Peron said. “I need to see what is happening.”

  “That is not wise,” Lord Caynon warned. “We cannot lose you.”

  Peron wondered if he really meant that. He thought of himself as rather insignificant, and assumed that when the recent circumstances had thrown him into the mantle of king, that others felt the same way. Perhaps it was only him thinking it. It was a fleeting thought, and he smiled at his adviser. “And you won’t,” he said, running to the bridge and jumping onto the narrow ledge.

  “Wait for me,” Kylin said as she too jumped from her horse to follow him onto the railing. The bridge railings were built of heavy stone that rose to waist height, and were half that wide. It was plenty wide for Peron to safely run on. As he ran by the cavalry, the Red Guard soldiers slammed their swords to their light bucklers, chanting his name, thinking he was running toward danger.

  When he got to the front, Captain Engler looked down at him from his horse. The Captain’s face was tense. From their vantage point, they had a very clear view of the fighting that was taking place no more than twenty paces away. “My King, what are you doing here?”

  “I cannot see,” Peron said, standing tall to get a better view. His eyes grew wide as he watched the enemy crash against the seemingly impenetrable wall of steel. There were so many dead piled up before them that the ranks of enemy attackers began to slow.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Captain Engler said. “Jonas and Atticus have killed more than I can count.” The warrior was clearly enthralled by the dazzling display of martial skill.

  Back at the fight the enemy finally stopped attacking. Jonas, Bearit, and Atticus backed up slowly, barely able to see above the pile of bodies, stopping just before the shielding. Bearit was exhausted, and Korrin took his place. Tulari hung back, waiting for her chance to take part in the battle.

  “Eat the bread I gave you, quickly,” Atticus whispered. They all reached into their pockets and quickly withdrew a small cake, eating it hastily. He had told them of the nourishing properties of it, and that it could sustain them through combat for many hours, even without water. Looking up, they saw the upper body of Maltheil walk towards them, the beast’s huge bone staff held easily in its right hand. “Here he comes,” Atticus said. “Put on your masks.” Atticus didn’t have to say anything to Jonas, who had already dropped into the state of Ty’erm, focusing his mind on the energy around him, pulling it in and amassing it before him, preparing the energy for immediate use.

  Everyone readied themselves. Jonas and Atticus sheathed their blades, nocking an arrow to their ready bows. Korrin, Bearit, and Tyril had placed the masks over their faces, drawing the string tight. The grease along the edge of the mask had been applied liberally, and when the soft edge pressed against their necks the grease oozed out, hopefully making a tight seal. They could not see well, but it was better than becoming servants to the demon.

  Maltheil stopped before the huge pile of bodies, and without pausing, swung its club back and forth before him. Bodies, two and three at a time, were tossed over the side of the bridge. Several moments later and the pile of bodies was cleared, and standing not more than ten paces from them was the massive body of Maltheil, fear rolling off it in waves.

  Jonas felt the fear hit him again, this time more powerful, and fought it off, but knew that the others would be struggli
ng. Willing Shyann’s light, his cuirass lit up, brightly casting a white blue glow around them. The light did not have the strength and power of a cavalier’s light, but it did have a similar effect, deadening the fear and giving those around him hope.

  Korrin stepped closer to him, his sword held high. “Thank you.” His voice was muffled through the mask, and Jonas had to admit that he looked quite frightening.

  Maltheil’s black lips curled back, exposing rows of sharp teeth. His great bone club swung threateningly before it, the weight and power so great that they could feel the displaced air. “Time to die,” the beast said, its head rearing back to breathe.

  As planned, Atticus ducked backwards as Tyril took his place; simultaneously Jonas pushed a wall of translucent energy before them, forming a wedge that blocked the entire width of the bridge. Red steam shot from the demon’s mouth, striking the wall of energy and rolling off it to the sides, most of it harmlessly falling away over the edge of the bridge. Some however swirled around the shield, engulfing Korrin and Bearit, who were both on the edges of the bridge, before drifting harmlessly away. Nothing seemed to happen to them, and Jonas silently thanked Peron for his inventiveness.

  Atticus began his chant, keeping his words low as he opened the gate behind the shielding. In the meantime, Maltheil stopped its breath and moments after Jonas dissipated the wall, drawing his bow and releasing an arrow, hoping to distract Maltheil before the beast learned what Atticus was up too. They knew that the demon could detect magic, but they hoped they could occupy its attention with relentless attacks, angering it so much that it would charge without reservation.

  Jonas’s arrow struck the beast in the neck, snapping its head back with a flash of blue light. Howling in rage, Maltheil stepped forward and swung its club in a deadly arc. As the club descended dangerously fast, Korrin ducked below it, the peak of its arc higher where he stood. But Tyril was not so lucky. He tried to jump back, throwing up his shield at the last moment once he realized he was not going to avoid the weapon. The edge of the spiked club struck the shield, spinning him around and catapulting him towards Jonas. But Jonas was already moving, his magical boots reacting impossibly fast. To everyone’s astonishment, Jonas jumped high, above the club and Tyril, his right foot planting on the demon’s wrist as it swung by. Pushing off it, he drew his blade in one smooth motion, the razor edge lit in blue light arcing across the demon’s thick chest. Again Maltheil howled and stumbled back a few steps, Jonas landing softly just before it. Black blood poured from the deep cut across its muscled chest, but it seemed to have little effect. Maltheil kicked out with its huge foot, and Jonas barely avoided it, spinning away and leaping back, hoping to distance himself from the creature’s attacks.

  “Hey!” Atticus yelled, standing high on the edge of the bridge just to the side of the shielding. The gateway was open, a black swirling hole spanning the width of the bridge. But Maltheil couldn’t see it, its swirling blackness hidden by the shielding. His bow was drawn and he released the shaft. Maltheil took the arrow in the shoulder as it turned to try and avoid the missile.

  By this time Bearit, Korrin, Tyril, and Tulari, had made their way around the shielding, standing behind it. Tyril’s arm hurt badly, but luckily the club just clipped his shield. If it hadn’t, his arm would be broken, or likely worse. From Maltheil’s viewpoint, they simply disappeared. To the demon, it looked like the bridge before it was now unoccupied, minus the row of cavalry over twenty paces away. It was an illusion of course, the druid’s shielding hiding what was really there. Jonas was still standing in front of the shielding, and Atticus was on the edge, but the others had simply vanished, shielded by the spell.

  But Atticus didn’t want Maltheil to have time to ponder where they went. They had to anger the demon, to keep the beast busy, or their plan would not work. Following the arrow, Atticus jumped down from the ledge to stand next to Jonas. He would not do well in a fight, having to concentrate on the task at keeping the gateway open. But he could manage. He hoped it would be enough. He drew again, releasing a shaft. This time the arrow struck Maltheil in the chest, a flash of light following as it buried deep into its flesh.

  The demon’s red eyes flared and it charged them, its powerful weapon swinging dangerously before it. This time the demon resorted to magic as well as the physical attack, something they were not prepared for as they knew very little what the beast was capable of in that arena. The stone under Atticus’s feet suddenly turned to mud, dropping him into the muck just below his knees. Frantic, he tried to evade the club, but his movements were hampered by the thick sludge clinging to him. Jonas saw the club descent and knew that Atticus was in trouble, and there was no doubt, that if that weapon hit him head on, that he would be killed.

  Reaching for his powers, he hastily formed a weak shield before the druid. He did not have the time to fashion a proper defense, and the powerful club smashed through it, striking Atticus in the chest and launching him from the mud so high that he flew over the shielding to land in a heap near the others. The attack was devastating, but Jonas’s hastily formed shield reduced the power of the impact, perhaps saving his life. In a flash the gateway closed.

  Jonas stood alone before the beast, unsure if Atticus still lived. But he had no time to contemplate the druid’s fate, as the demon was barreling forward, its club reversing and coming towards him. Rather than stay and attack the beast, Jonas wanted to keep Maltheil moving, hoping that it would stumble unknowingly into the gateway. So he turned and ran, narrowly escaping the club, the powerful weapon swooshing behind his back. Please be open, Jonas chanted in his mind as he jumped impossibly high over the shielding, Maltheil close on his heels.

  Pain lanced through Atticus as he tumbled to a halt. Both his ankles were broken, snapped as he was launched from the magically induced hole. He felt pain in his side and arm, likely broken ribs and more. His mind swam and he faltered, the magic holding the gate open teetering tenuously in his mind, the gate flashing shut. Digging deep, knowing that their plan depended on it, he fought the pain away, shoving it deep below his consciousness, focusing his mind again on the task at hand. Wrestling with the pain, he fought it, finding once again the words to the spell. Looking up, he saw Jonas leap incredibly high over the shielding, the tall head of Maltheil just behind him. Three more steps and he would be on the portal. Closing his eyes he slammed the pain down, saying the words to the spell flawlessly, his agony buried below a purpose so strong that it could not win. The gate flashed open as Jonas landed beside him. Spinning around, Jonas, along with Bearit, Tyril, Korrin, and Tulari, faced the demon as the great beast stepped past the shielding, its club angling down towards them. But instead of setting its foot on stable ground, it disappeared into the black hole, throwing the creature off balance as it tumbled into the portal, its deadly club striking the edge of the breach, knocking the weapon from its grip to tumble over the side of the bridge. In a flash, the demon was gone.

  “Go!” Atticus yelled through clenched teeth. He didn’t know how much longer he could maintain consciousness. His wounds were so severe that pain erupted all across his body, shooting like burning lightening to all four limbs.

  Without hesitation Jonas jumped into the hole, followed by Bearit and the others. As he entered, disorientation following, Jonas realized one fatal error…Atticus carried the return stone.

  Peron was glued to the battle, as was everyone on the bridge who could see. When Atticus’s body flew over the shielding, his heart sunk. “No,” he cried, moving forward on the ledge. Then the demon pushed through the shielding and fell through the portal, and moments later the other followed. Atticus has the stone, he screamed in his mind.

  Without thinking Peron ran forward and skidded next to Atticus’s body. The shield was flashing in and out and the druid’s eyes snapped open when he felt Peron beside him. “I…can’t…keep it open,” he stammered. Then he narrowed his eyes, his impressive will pushing through his bodies desire to find sleep, to free him from the pa
in. He pushed one more time, his mind focused on keeping the gate open. “Go!” he screamed.

  Peron looked at the hole and the flashing stopped, the swirling blackness solidifying once again. He had no time. Without a second look back, he jumped into the hole.

  Atticus finally lost the fight, the pain easing away as he lost consciousness. The gateway snapped shut and the shielding evaporated, leaving Atticus’s body behind, backed by Red Guard cavalry, staring at an army of demon-spawn. The army howled, and then they charged.

  Chapter Ten

  Jonas was ejected from the portal landing on black rock, the smell of sulfur and brimstone smacking his senses immediately. Bearit, Tulari, Korrin, and Tyril followed, stumbling through the portal as they tried to orientate themselves. Jonas’s head swam as he pushed away the nausea. Both Bearit and Tyril dropped to their knees, keeping themselves from falling over; their spinning minds nearly overwhelming them. Tulari stood strong, growling.

  Maltheil was before them, and the great beast wasted no time in attacking, his anger so deep and powerful that it radiated from the demon like light from the sun. Stepping forward, the demon leaned forward and black gas shot from its gaping teeth filled maw.

  “Look out!” Jonas shouted, bringing forth his cognitive powers. Their surroundings, however different, was still made up of the same things, particles of energy so small that even Jonas figured what he could see in his mind’s eye was just a glimpse of their diminutive size. Again, he had no time to weave an adequate shield, and seeing the different color of the gas worried him greatly. A weak wall of energy formed before them, and the gas struck it, rolling around it. But some pushed through, wisps of blackness falling upon them.

  Jonas and Tulari moved aside quickly, and Bearit and Tyril somehow broke through their dizziness to stumble to the side, leaving Korrin slowly standing as small clouds of the mist struck him. Instantly he screamed, the smell of burning flesh assaulting them as they all ran to the demon’s flanks. Korrin, still screaming, followed, moving as fast as he could through the pain and nausea to distance himself from the deadly burning gas.