Knight Exiled: The Shackled Verities (Book Three)

by Tammy Salyer

  “Get behind me, Crumb,” she whispered.

  The creature stalked toward them.

  From somewhere near the tree line, she heard the voice of the youth she’d first spoken with. “Neeka!”

  She glanced over her shoulder, and the young man was speeding through the air toward them. Their pursuer’s gaze shot to him, and he withdrew a sword. The Rheunosian Ravener flapped his powerful wings and rose into the air to meet the youth, who, as far as Symvalline had seen, carried no weapon. He would be slaughtered.

  Without a second thought, she waved her hands and sent a barrage of klinkí stones into, and through, the Ravener. He plummeted to the ground in a heap, emitting a whistling screech that scoured her eardrums like hot wires. Though he hit the ground hard, amazingly, he stood. Glistening ichor poured from the holes in his clothes. He leaned forward, his movements sluggish and drunken, and swept his elongated, gaunt arms through the meadow grass in search of the sword he’d dropped.

  “Crumb, can you reach the dagger in my boot?” Isemay’s hands reached through the net’s holes at her feet, searching and finding the dagger Symvalline kept in one. “Good, quickly, cut the ropes and get me free.”

  Isemay did as she was told, wasting no movement, and Symvalline rose clear of the net in moments. She stepped to the Rheunosian Ravener, her stones hovering. “Leave that sword where it is and move away,” she commanded.

  The creature turned its cold solid-gray eyes in her direction. His lips parted in a thin sneer, and that screeching wheeze, more muted this time, passed between them. The sound wasn’t words, but she could understand the threat in them nonetheless.

  It shouldn’t have been possible for him to move, not with eight neat holes piercing from one side of his body to the other. Yet he was more than moving. He was planning to attack again.

  Something flashed in the corner of her eye, and she saw with a glance the Rheunosian youth hovering beside her, staring at her in shock. “You!” she called to him. “Take the child and see my daughter to safety. Go!”

  The youth quickly dropped down to sweep up the little one, who was still tangled in the ruined net. The Ravener had found his sword and was leveling it at her for another attack. Symvalline sent two more klinkí stones into his arm, and the sword fell.

  “I can carry two of you,” the Rheunosian said. “But not all three. We’ll be safe in the Churss. The Minothians can’t follow us in there.” He pointed up to the hilltop where the towering forms of strange-looking trees loomed in darkness.

  “No need,” Symvalline responded. “I’ll slow them down. Now go. I’ll follow when you’re safe.” Isemay began to protest, but the command in Symvalline’s voice stopped her short. She would not be spoken against this time. “I am a Knight and your mother, Isemay, you are still a child. You will do as you’re told.” She caught the youth’s eye and gave him a short nod. “Go.”

  They both saw the Ravener once again retrieving his sword, like a drunken man who couldn’t think beyond one simple action at a time. The creature gripped the weapon in both hands, looked toward them, and spread his wings wide, preparing to launch himself at them.

  The youth said, “Hold on, Neeka, like an urzidae cub.” The child hugged herself to his body, and he took Isemay underneath the arms. With a flap of sturdy wings, he rose up.

  Her daughter’s eyes never left hers, and she could see the defiance mixing painfully with love in them. The youth swept toward the forest, and Symvalline turned back to the Ravener. With a hurricane-strong barrage of her klinkí stones, she ensured he would not rise again. After one last glance toward the retreating Rheunosian and Isemay, she looked back to the valley and faced the oncoming horde.

  The troop of Rheunosians approached quickly. Symvalline didn’t know if she could stop them all, but she would try. Whatever feud might be going on in this realm was not her concern. Her daughter was the one thing that mattered, and she would end anyone who tried to harm her.

  Four more flying Rheunosians halted and came to a hover before reaching her. It might have had something to do with the massive spinning vortex of klinkí stones she held out as a shield as tall and wide as a house. The blue of the stones’ hearts blurred the night, like a carnival of cerulean fire.

  Through the shield she watched them hesitate. Three of the four were the same pale, gaunt Ravener-types, but one looked more like the Rheunosian man who had taken Isemay. Less pale and misshapen, more like the youth who’d helped Isemay escape.

  “Hold!” the non-Ravener one commanded. “Wait for Archon Tuzhazu.”

  She had a moment to be thankful that her plan had worked. The pursuers would be stopped long enough for the others to get away.

  As they stood at an impasse, the typical-looking Rheunosian gaped at the dead Ravener who lay near her feet, his expression of shock enough to show he was unused to being confronted with death. She held her shield and her silence, waiting for them to make the next move.

  Soon enough, the steps of large animals coming over the rise reached her ears, and moments later saw what was making them. Seven massive thick-furred creatures with heads bearing a single horn, gleaming black eyes, and heavy jaws marched toward her. Astride their saddles sat more Rheunosians. Some were winged men, but a handful were the smooth-skinned, hairless women, all muscular and kitted like soldiers.

  The foremost stopped his mount before her shield. She noted that he, aside from the non-Ravener-types, was the only one armed with a sword, which he’d drawn. Most eyed her with expressions not of malice, or at least not completely, but with more of the same surprise as the first Rheunosians she’d met.

  “Who are you?” he asked in a resonant baritone that nevertheless crawled to her ears like a spider.

  She said nothing, her focus flitting in each direction, trying to keep account of them all. He only waited moments before he spoke again.

  “I asked you a question, starpath traveler. Tell me your name and your realm. Who sent you and from where?”

  “It doesn’t matter where I’m from. I am no threat to you or your people.”

  His eyes dropped to the dead Rheunosian Ravener that lay nearly at his mount’s feet. “A liar, then. That tells me who you are, but it doesn’t tell me why you’re here. Or why you slaughtered this one.”

  “He threatened my—” She stopped herself. She wouldn’t tell them of Isemay. Her daughter was safer if she was secret.

  “Your?”

  “The Rheunosians who tried to assist me.”

  “Archon Tuzhazu,” a soldier near him said. “She could be a plague-bringer.”

  The leader held up a hand, and the woman who’d spoken fell silent. He smirked at Symvalline oddly, a look she couldn’t read. “Is that what you are, liar? A traveler from another realm who brings us the wasting death?”

  Symvalline glanced over her shoulder, reassured that she could no longer see Isemay or the other Rheunosians. She hoped that meant they were safely away. It was time for her to be as well.

  “Yes, a traveler,” she said. “And now I’ll be leaving. Whatever quarrels you have are none of my concern or doing.”

  “No,” the one called Archon said. “I don’t think you’ll be on your way just yet.” He heeled his mount, and it began to lumber toward her obediently.

  “You’ve seen what I can do with these stones,” she warned. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He gave her that smirk again and reached into a pouch at his side, withdrawing something fist-sized, a darker shadow in his hand that seemed to repel the light.

  Somewhere not too far distant behind her, closer to the forest, there was a sound. Small, no louder than a subdued chuckle—but it sounded more like a cry. The Rheunosians heard it too.

  “Archon, there’s movement,” one of the mounted women said.

  The leader gave a short nod, and the woman spurred her creature and bounded after it.

  Symvalline wanted to turn to look. If one of the Rheunosian children was still in this meadow, they woul
d need her help. Yet her attention was fixed on what was in the Archon’s hand.

  He followed her eyes and said, “Let me take a closer look at those stones you control.”

  He held out the thing in his hand as if offering it to her, and she felt a sudden and irresistible tug in her mind, as if her very thoughts were being pulled toward his beckoning fingers. The sensation was so unique that it caught her off guard. And like that, all eight of her stones were sucked through the air. The came to rest hovering in a much smaller circle around his outstretched palm, as if the thing he held was a magnet.

  Alarmed, Symvalline recovered immediately and called back her klinkí stones through the Mentalios. They jutted toward her for a moment, but then sprang back to circle the Archon’s fist. His smirk turned into a grin of triumph.

  Without time for a heart to beat twice, Symvalline raised an arm and drew back her sleeve, launching a dart from the wrist-mounted crossbow she wore like a vambrace. The darts in the bow on her right would incapacitate a person for hours. Those from her left would kill them instantly. She chose the right. She hoped to avoid further bloodshed, though this leader of Raveners had brought this retaliation on himself with whatever powerful wystic weapon he wielded—and she feared she knew exactly what it was.

  The dart struck the Archon in the neck. His face flushed with surprise, and he toppled from his mount into a motionless heap. Calling back her stones, Symvalline had them back in her control and spinning in the air once more before her still-raised hand. “No one move. I’m not here for trouble. It was you who brought it to me. Now I’m leaving. Do not follow.” She’d already begun to back away as she spoke, hoping for even the tiniest bit of Verity-given clemency.

  A groan emitted from the Archon, and to her astonishment, his hand shot up and grasped a stirrup. He began pulling himself to his feet as she hurried her own backward steps, never taking her eyes from him. The dart would have laid out a Vinnric for half a day, but here, in Arc Rheunos, their bodies must be different. And, she cursed, he was an Archon, a servant of Mithlí with his own Verity spark. She had no options but to kill him or outrun him.

  He heaved himself up. The soldiers surrounding him seemed confused and hesitant, unsure of what to do, whether to charge her or assist him.

  She raised her arm, not to fire another dart but to finish him for good. Before she could, he flung out his own arm. Briefly, she caught sight of the wystic artifact that had taken control of her stones. Then it penetrated her shield without the slightest resistance and struck her in the temple, and she knew no more.

  Chapter Two

  “Let go of me!” Isemay yelled at the winged man as he carried her toward the looming forest ahead. “Let go, I have to help her!”

  “Please stop squirming,” he replied shortly, his voice strained from effort. “I don’t want to drop you.”

  She glanced down, saw how high they were, and promptly followed his advice.

  The child clutching him whispered in a voice filled with fear, “Are they going to get us, Salukis? I promise I’ll never disobey Deespora and sneak to the Thallorn for nightcaps again. I promise on my talisman I won’t.”

  “Shh, it’s okay, Neeka. We got away.”

  As he spoke, they descended toward the edge of the forest, and Isemay could see it more clearly. It wasn’t a forest at all, not in the way she thought a forest should be. Rather, the hilltop had given rise to a forest of stone towers, all as tall and thick as the oldwood forests in Vinnr, stretching beyond her vision. Far in the distance, she could just make out a glow over their tops, as if sunrise was on its way.

  Salukis gave his wings a milder flap, and they reached the ground. Under ordinary circumstances, Isemay knew she’d find his flying ability extraordinary—but not at this moment. He released her with a sigh of relief, and Isemay ran forward a few steps, just as happy to be free of him. The other Rheunosians had all gathered to wait for them, and the older woman scooped the child named Neeka from Salukis’s chest.

  “Oh thank Mithlí you are safe, little one,” she crooned, hugging the girl. “I would never have forgiven myself if… Where are Cylli and Onni? Where are the twins?!”

  Those gathered began to look about them frantically, calling the names the woman had said. Isemay pressed her back to one of the tall stone columns, dejected and scared. Facing the meadow below, she could make out the swirling mass of cerulean klinkí stones her mother wielded. She took a determined stride forward, but a strong hand came down on her shoulder. She whirled and faced the woman, who was still holding Neeka. Her flashing green eyes were filled with compassion, yet stern.

  “Please,” the woman said, “don’t. We can’t protect you from them. The Minothians will imprison you, and you’ll never be free again.”

  “But my mother!”

  “I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do for her now. Nor for Cylli and Onni. Deespora can help. Please come with us.”

  Isemay stood undecided, then turned back to the meadow to watch, helplessness making her feel weak, afraid in ways she never knew fear could manifest.

  “Mura, that stranger, she killed a…a Deathless,” Salukis said.

  “What?” the woman said.

  “A Deathless Guard was after Neeka, and the stranger was protecting her. When the Deathless came after me, she threw those blue stones, and they went through him like a spear and killed him.”

  Repeating him, Mura said, “She killed him…” and her voice trailed off ominously, causing Isemay to glance back. The two Rheunosians were eyeing her warily, as if they feared she might attack them. Confused, she felt as if she needed to defend herself.

  “They were coming after us. He drew a sword. My mum saved your lives,” she chided.

  One of the other winged Rheunosians, no more than a child, said quietly, “Mura, we should get back and tell Deespora what’s happened.”

  Neeka added, “I’m scared. What are they going to do to Cylli and Onni?”

  Isemay could feel their fear, and something deeper, a helpless sadness, like the cold sea mist that had surrounded the funeral party at a burial she’d been to as a child. The deceased, a teacher of hers at the Conservatum, had died by accident, and all had wept as he was sent to sea wrapped in gray fog. Isemay felt that sense of no return again, and of irretrievable loss. She looked back to where her mother stood alone against a troop of hostile soldiers, and this time she saw only a handful of lights moving back toward the mountains that rose on the other side of the starpath valley.

  Everything in her went numb. She felt like a dead tree, erect, unaware of its death, too insensate to even know to fall over. Someone was speaking, maybe to her, but the words couldn’t penetrate. Her mother was gone, her father too, fighting a battle she knew nothing about, one or both of them maybe dead. She was in a strange world with no one familiar to rely on.

  “What is your name?” These words, repeated who knew how many times, slowly came through.

  “Isemay,” she responded through cold lips.

  “And you’re from the realm of Vinnr?”

  “Vinnr,” she acknowledged.

  “Isemay from Vinnr,” Mura said. “I don’t think they will harm your mother. The Minothians still honor life, just as we do.” She paused, as if uncertain of what she’d said, then continued. “Come with us to speak with Deespora. She may be able to help. Isemay, can you hear me? Please try to understand.”

  “I’m going down there,” Salukis said.

  “No!” Mura said. “You can’t.”

  “We need to know what’s going on, and someone needs to look for the twins. They might still be there, hiding.” He glanced sideways at Isemay, then said in a lower voice. “There are too many questions we still need answers to, Mura. Why have these other-worlders come here? And why now? What if their arrival has something to do with the Equifulcrum?”

  “That stranger saved Neeka,” Mura responded. “Do you really suspect them of harm? This one is still a child. What realm sends a child to create
chaos? Besides, she said they’re from Vinnr, not Battgjald.”

  At the mention of Battgjald, Isemay began to listen closely. Knight Evernal had said something, some kind of warning, about the Verity from Battgjald, whom Isemay’s father had gone to face him. Isemay had been barely paying attention, too excited about the festival in Ivoryss and the visit from the foreign Verity. She blurted, “What do you know of Battgjald?”

  The two Rheunosians fell silent. Then Salukis said, “What do you know of it?”

  “My da, he is the Stallari of the Knights Corporealis of Vinnr. My mum is a Knight too. Our realm was visited by the Battgjald Verity right before we…came here. My father went to…to—Vaka Aster’s eyes, I don’t know! It all happened so fast.” She wanted to kick herself for paying so little attention. For being obstinate and impetuous and ignoring her parents one too many times. She finished more quietly, “If I had listened to Da and not gone to Aster Keep, none of this would have happened.”

  Salukis was quiet, and Isemay could feel his considering stare as he spoke to Mura. “I think a Knight Corporealis must be like an Archon.” He looked to her. “Are your parents watchers of the vessel of your Verity and protectors of your realm?”

  Isemay nodded.

  He and Mura shared a look. “It explains much,” she said simply.

  “Yes.” He returned the focus to his plans. “We should try to find out what we can before they take the Vinnric all the way to Everlight Hall. If the Menace is visiting other realms, he may be returning to ours.”

  “You’ll get caught,” Mura said, her voice strained.