“Be gone,” he commanded, shooting the mass.

  Draknorr produced a chain that buzzed with lightning ripples coursing through it. The chain slammed into the dark blob, causing it to diffuse. He then swung it up. There was a loud crack as the chain hit Falcon in the jaw.

  Falcon fell back. His katana dropped to the ground. A chain whip wrapped itself around his neck. With a strong yank, Draknorr forced Falcon to his knees. He pulled the chain through the ground, dragging the void wielder along with it. Falcon struggled to loosen the grip, but it was too tight. He gasped for air, but none found its way into his lungs.

  Falcon’s world faded. Seconds later the dark knight released his grip. He stared down at him. “I expected a much better fight than this. You’re not even worth me killing.” He turned to Cidralic, who had recovered. “Take care of him, make it slow and painful.”

  “At yer command, Master Knorr.”

  Falcon desperately searched for the power within him, but found none. The abundant energy that had engulfed him minutes ago was now non-existent. His entire body ached. Blood oozed through his ragged clothes. His swollen right eye was completely shut.

  “Not be so tough now,” said Cidralic, delivering a series of kicks to Falcon. The hits landed all over his body.

  “Stop!” pleaded Aya, or at least Falcon thought it was Aya. His ears were ringing so loudly that he couldn’t be sure. But Cidralic didn’t stop, he continued on his relentless attack. Between kicks Falcon caught glimpses of what was going on around him.

  The few surviving Asturians looked on, unsure of what to do. Sheridan lay on the ground. Dead? Unconscious? Falcon couldn’t tell. Only Aya remained on her feet, single handedly fending off both ghouls and countless Suteckh soldiers.

  “Stop, Aya,” said Lao, as he stepped beside Falcon and motioned Cidralic to cease his attack. At first, Falcon thought that Lao was about to help, but he then brought his sword to Falcon’s neck. “Yield or I kill him.”

  Falcon motioned her to not listen, but she was looking past him and at Lao, with a cold hatred in her eyes. To his dismay, she stopped fighting and released the grip on her batons. They clattered loudly on the hard ground, causing his eardrums to ring even louder.

  Both ghouls delivered a volley of punches to Aya’s midsection. She fell to one knee.

  “You have potential, boy,” admitted Draknorr, kneeling beside Falcon. “You could be a valuable asset to the Suteckh.”

  Lao’s eyes widened. “But, sir, he would never join us. He doesn’t have the drive or the character.”

  The dark knight held his hand up. Lao grimaced, but refrained from saying another word.

  Draknorr rested his giant claws on Falcon’s neck. “If what Lao speaks is true, then someone like you could cause us a lot of problems down the road. I’ll have to eliminate you.”

  Lao smiled.

  Falcon gasped for air. He did not fear for himself, but he did not want anyone else to suffer for his weakness, especially Aya. Through the throbbing pain in his neck he mustered enough strength to shout one word.

  “Run!”

  The remaining Asturian soldiers dashed toward the giant double doors. Aya alone remained in place. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she met his gaze. Falcon’s heart sunk as the terrible truth dawned on him. She wasn’t going to abandon him, even if that meant dying.

  The fleeing Asturian forces did not make it far. Suteckh soldiers intercepted them, driving swords through them.

  “Ghouls, close those doors!” said Cidralic. The monsters took off toward the giant gates. Falcon lost sight of them through the fog, but he heard the creaking sound of the first door as they pushed it shut.

  The little hope Falcon held out for Aya and the Asturians escaping shattered before him. As soon as the soldiers closed the second door, the troops’ only means of escape would be gone.

  He waited.

  The sound of the second door closing didn’t come.

  “Ghouls! What be taking so long?” roared Cidralic after a minute of silence.

  Falcon’s eyes widened as ghouls flew out from the thick fog and crashed by Cidralic’s feet. The yellow from their eyes had been extinguished, and their bodies did not move.

  “Who be doing this?” thundered Cidralic. “Show yerself.”

  Falcon saw a silhouette in the fog, but he couldn’t make out the identity of the figure. Not until the shadow emerged from the fog did Falcon get a good view of the ghoul’s killer. It was a knight unlike any Falcon had ever seen.

  The mysterious knight was completely encased in paper-white slim armor. A few lines of silver and gold ran across his chest and the helmet. He wore an oversized gold belt that shined brightly despite the surrounding gloom. An imposing large white cape hung from his back, giving him a larger than life aura.

  “Yer be dead!” Cidralic brought his massive arms down on the mysterious white knight. The knight blocked the incoming attack with one hand. With the other he brought forward a giant white spear. Before Cidralic could react he received a blow to the chest that floored him.

  “Get him!” ordered Cidralic from the ground where he had crumpled.

  Countless soldiers rushed the knight. He flung his hand around and most of them flew through the air at his whim. The few Suteckh soldiers who managed to make it past his wielding were rewarded with an instantaneous death at the end of his spear. In a matter of seconds the ground lay littered with dozens of defeated men. The remaining Suteckh soldiers took a step back. Even Cidralic dragged his crippled body away from the warrior.

  Apparently forgetting all about Falcon, Draknorr swung his chain whip at the mysterious man.

  The white knight sidestepped the attack. Draknorr swung his chain again, this time aiming for his enemy’s head. The chain whizzed over the white knight’s helmet as he ducked. The white knight caught the chain with his spear and forced it out of Draknorr’s grip. The demonic leader stood weaponless as his chain fell beyond his reach.

  “You think I’m defenseless?” said the dark knight. “Think again.” He tightened his grip and a giant dark sword materialized at his right hand.

  Draknorr pounced on his mystery foe. The white knight sidestepped the attack and drove his spear forward. A last-second parry from Draknorr saved him from certain death. They continued on like this for what seemed like an eternity, with attack, counter-attack, dodge, parry. Their speed was so fast that Falcon could hardly follow it.

  The white knight jumped into the air and brought his spear over Draknorr. The dark knight brought up his sword to meet the spear. With a deadly reverberation, both weapons clashed. Sparks burst from the weapons as they slammed against each other.

  Then, very suddenly, ripples formed directly in front of him. They looked exactly like the circular ripples that formed in a lake when a rock slammed into it.

  These ripples were not in water, though; these formed in thin air above every Asturian soldier on the battlefield, even the fallen. The hits to the head must have been harder than I thought.

  He sighed with relief when he realized he wasn’t the only one who noticed the ripples. Everyone else on the battlefield saw them as well. Some soldiers stumbled away from them, uncertain of what the phenomenon was. Others did the opposite, holding out their hands in an attempt to touch the strange anomalies.

  “You’re doing this,” hissed Draknorr to the white knight.

  Without answering, Falcon’s savior jumped into one of the ripples. Draknorr shot a bolt of lightning but it missed its mark as his enemy disappeared.

  Falcon felt a pull on his hand. He looked down in horror. His arm had extended so much that it resembled stretched pasta dough. The pull spread to the rest of his body as he got sucked into one of the ripples. Strangely, he felt no pain.

  The last sound he heard was Lao’s mad scream as he reached for him. But before he could grasp him, Falcon slipped into the ripple, and away from his former friend’s grasp.

  Chapter 28

  Falcon opened his eyes. A small room whirled around him before settling. Two open windows let in the morning breeze. By each window stood a small cabinet with a flower pot above it. They were the same ones from Faith garden, which meant he was back in Mayor Seth’s home. But how? The last he remembered, he and the Asturian forces were trapped in Ciompi.

  He brought his fingers to his injured eye. The swelling had gone down. Medicinal green leaves were spread over his chest and legs. A thick cream that smelled like death had also been applied to his neck and hands. He made an attempt at getting up to escape the stench, but his sore body forced him back into bed.

  “Hey, you’re finally awake,” said Sheridan, striding into the room with a mug of water. The cuts on his arms were gone, as were the bruises on his face.

  “Where’s Aya?”

  “She’s fine,” said Sheridan, waving his hand dismissively. “You’re the one who suffered a beating, not her.”

  Falcon took a sip of the cool water. “How did we get here?”

  “Don’t you remember? Hyatt, you took a harder thrashing than I thought.”

  “I vaguely remember, but I might have imagined it. It feels like a dream.”

  “No, it was no dream!” he exclaimed, his enthusiasm catching Falcon off guard. “This amazing wielder came out of nowhere and saved us all. No one knows who he really is. He appears and disappears as he pleases. People call him the Ghost Knight.”

  “You seem excited about this.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? You saw the way he fought Draknorr while space wielding.”

  “He’s a space wielder?” asked Falcon, finally understanding Sheridan’s excitement. Though not as rare as holy or chaos wielders, space wielders were still low in numbers.

  “Yes, he created rifts in space and pulled all of us through them. The next thing you know we were back in Asturia. I never thought I’d meet another one of my kind, but on my first mission….” Sheridan took a deep gulp of air. “Can you imagine how much focus and energy is required to create so many rifts? Not even Tamius could accomplish such a feat, and you know how powerful the stories say his space wielding was.”

  Aya trudged into the room. “You sound like a child with a shiny new toy.”

  “Oh, my dear Nakatomi, this is much more than that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see if I can find the Ghost Knight, perhaps he will teach me some new techniques.” He kicked and punched imaginary foes in the air as he strutted out of the room.

  Falcon and Aya were left alone staring at each other. He was sure what was on her mind, but he didn’t feel much like talking about it.

  “I’m not surprised,” said Aya, breaking the awkward silence.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ever since we were children, Lao has craved power.” There was a hint of anger in her voice.

  “I knew he wanted power, but I never thought he would resort to this. We have to talk to him, find out what happened.”

  “There is nothing to talk about. You saw him. There was no remorse in his eyes.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” agreed Falcon. “I still can’t believe he would do this. The blood of all our dead is on his hands.”

  “We almost lost you, too,” she murmured, taking a seat at the end of the bed. “You stopped breathing and lost a lot of blood. You only survived because of Faith.” Her voice cracked. “She brought you back from the brink of death.”

  Faith! He had been meaning to speak with her, but he had been so busy he hadn’t found the time. Yet, she had nourished him back to health not once, but twice. He felt a twinge of guilt in his chest.

  ~ ~ ~

  The aroma of sweet and salty foods filled the room as the old maid brought the meal to Falcon’s bed. Her entire body trembled as she struggled with the two plates. Her hands shook as she poured blueberry juice into a mug.

  “That’s quite all right,” said Falcon, feeling bad for making the old lady work. “I can serve my own juice.”

  “Don’t you worry, dear. I enjoy staying active. It keeps me looking young for any potential suitors.” Falcon stared at her, not sure if she was serious. She grinned at him and burst into a fit of laughter. “I’m just teasing you, son, I’ve been married for fifty years come next snowfall, to an old grouch, believe it or not.”

  Not really in the mood for banter, Falcon gave her a wan smile. “Thanks for the food. It looks delicious.”

  “It’s an honor to serve the son of Lucinda.”

  Falcon’s mouth gaped open. “You knew my mother?”

  “Knew her? Why of course. I was her nanny.” The old woman’s eyes watered. She stared at him, but her eyes looked past him, as if she was lost in another time. “Oh, the trouble she and your dad would get into as children.”

  “Really? Please tell me about them.”

  “I would love to, but at another time. Right now you must eat and rest. Come to my hut later when you are well, if you wish to speak.”

  Despite his disappointment, he remained grateful for the offer. “Thanks, I will.”

  The elder wiped her eyes and stepped out of the room. Falcon turned his attention to the hot meal before him. He scratched his head at the sheer number of plates; surely they didn’t think he could possibly finish it all. There were two large plates. One contained smoked lamb chops with red rice; the other consisted of buttered and dried beruda strips. Countless smaller bowls filled with snacks like roasted chestnuts, salted dried peas, honey-dipped apple slices, figs, cream lemon puffs, and slices of pumpkin bread flanked the larger plates.

  He grabbed a lamb chop and dug his teeth into it, savoring the salty taste. He then moved plate by plate, eating a bit of everything.

  Once he had satisfied his hunger, he ventured out of the bedroom and into the empty living room. He gingerly made his way over the squeaky wooden floor and out the door.

  The sky was a deep red as the sun hung right above the distant mountain line. A few blotches of white broke the crimson skyline as some puffy clouds drifted across the horizon. A fresh breeze coursed through the air.

  Falcon smiled at the sight before him. The beat-down homes that had been a common sight in Asturia were now non-existent. The broken windows from the cabins had been replaced with clear pristine ones, roofs had been rebuilt with new wooden panels, and even the logs used to make the cabin looked to have been freshly cut. Countless ceramic pots, filled with a variety of vividly colored flowers, decorated the village, no doubt the work of Faith. The main dirt path was now half-covered with white stone. Even the old washing fountain had been fully re-built with large red bricks. It all gave the air a strange combination of woody, musky, and honeyed scents.

  None of the villagers seemed to notice as he moved into the patch of trees. Now that most of his memories had returned, the layout of the forest was familiar to him. It was after all where he’d spent his childhood summers with Faith. The old brown sicoris tree he had climbed as a child towered over him in the same spot, the fountain he drank from years ago was still where he remembered, even the old wooden bridge he and Faith had crossed many times remained intact.

  Whoosh.

  Falcon had just crossed the bridge when he heard the distinct sound of a weapon cutting through the air. Who is out here? Sheridan?

  Whoosh.

  This time the weapon sounded much closer than before. He followed the noise until he arrived at a small clearing.

  In the middle of the open space stood the Ghost Knight. With his majestic spear in hand, he gracefully moved through a routine of swings and attacks. His movements were much more complex than the simple weapon routines Falcon had seen back at Rohad.

  “You can come out now if you like,” said the Ghost Knight, in a deep clear voice. He didn’t bother turning in Falcon’s direction.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spy,” said Falcon, wondering how the Ghost Knight could have possibly heard him.

  “Come forth.” The knight signaled Falcon toward him. “I could use a sparring partner.”

  Falcon stepped forward, wondering how jealous Sheridan was going to be when he told him about this opportunity.

  “Attack,” instructed the knight. “Don’t hold back.”

  Falcon lunged, his sword thrust directly at the Ghost Knight’s upper chest. The white knight, holding his spear with one hand, brought it up to meet the attack. Both weapons locked.

  Falcon jumped forward, putting all his weight behind his sword. The knight pulled his spear down toward the ground, and the hilt of his spear caught the sword’s hilt and took it down with it. Falcon, refusing to let go of his weapon, went down too. As he fell, his grip loosened and the sword flew clear across the field.

  Falcon quickly rolled back up and pulled out his katana. A gray blur raced toward his face, hitting him on his forehead.

  Falcon staggered back. The spear flew forward. This time he saw it coming and back-flipped out of its reach. Now I’ve got him, thought Falcon, sensing an opening in the knight’s defense. Certain of his victory, he swung both his swords toward his foe’s midsection. That’s when the backside of the spear rammed into his chest, sending him tumbling to the ground. Before he could recover, the tip of the spear came down on his neck, an inch away from his Adam’s apple.

  Falcon put up his hands in defeat.

  “Not bad,” said the Ghost Knight, extending his hand to Falcon.

  “Not bad?” said Falcon, unable to suppress the hint of irritation in his voice. “You defeated me in less than five seconds, with one hand behind your back, literally.”

  “I vanquished nobody. You conquered yourself.”

  “Huh?” What is he talking about?

  “You gave into your emotions. Desperation drove you to foolishly push forward. In doing so you lost your weapons and orchestrated your own defeat. You did the same against the poison wielder back at Ciompi.”

  “That was different,” he countered. “We were overrun. I had to do what I did to save people’s lives.”

  “Did it work?”

 

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