The Sacred Knight (The Kingshield Series Book 6), page 29
THE SACRED KNIGHT
BOOK SIX OF THE KINGSHIELD SERIES
Robert Ryan
Copyright © 2021 Robert J. Ryan
All Rights Reserved. The right of Robert J. Ryan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.
All of the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover design by www.damonza.com
Trotting Fox Press
Contents
1. The End Begins
2. An Ancient Land
3. Going to War
4. River Crossing
5. Deception
6. A Different World
7. The Dark’s Prophecy
8. Two Become One
9. The Promise of Hope
10. Gird your Swords!
11. The Red-haired Queen
12. Malice
13. On The Wings of Dusk
14. Tidings of the Land
15. Many Lives of Men
16. Lest you are Captured
17. This Will Not Stand
18. In Its Lair
19. All Men Die
20. The Goblin’s Den
21. Freedom’s Price
22. The Tower of the Stone
23. This Is My Battle
24. Three Armies
25. The Hidden Circle
Epilogue
Appendix: Encyclopedic Glossary
1. The End Begins
Night fell swiftly within the ancient ravine. The mighty cliffs to each side blotted out the dying rays of the sun and plunged the world into darkness. That did not stop the small company fleeing for their lives, though.
A single misstep might mean tumbling from the narrow ledge into the chasm below. But remaining still was just as dangerous. Faran feared the whole shelf of rock on which they strode might collapse. Magic had been unleashed above that had torn into the Tombs of the Letharn, and the magic within that guarded them had reacted.
He stepped forward, and his foot slipped from underneath him. It was as though the very earth had moved, and perhaps it had for he heard a rumble and grinding of stone even as he fell. The chasm was close. Too close, for as he stumbled loose rocks clattered away into silence as they dropped into the unseen darkness below. But a strong hand gripped him, and he knew that touch. Ferla was there, and she steadied him.
She helped him up, and they kept speeding down the ledge. The smell of dust was strong in the air, and he coughed as it irritated his throat. He kept breathing the dust in though, for they moved at a fast pace and he needed deep breaths.
A huge rock, large as a cottage, blotted out the faint band of stars above the ravine, but it made no sound as it sailed through the dark air. Faran hurried on, and he tried to put the incident from his mind when, many heartbeats later, the sound of the massive object smashing into the narrow stretch of stone and water below came back up to him. There was a mighty rumble, and then several smaller and sharper cracks as the rock disintegrated and sent shards smashing into the cliff walls.
The roar of the great waterfall grew louder. It became darker still, and then suddenly light flared at the tip of Aranloth’s staff. They could see now, yet so too would they reveal themselves to any who watched, which was why Aranloth had not acted before.
Yet the light was necessary, come what may. The earth moved again, and they stayed their flight as the very ledge on which they stood shifted as though it were a rope bridge rather than stone.
The world grew still again, and they dashed forward. Soon, they reached the bottom, and there they found a mass of rocks tumbled from above. Kubodin cast around, as though looking for something, but he did not seem to find it, whatever it was.
Aranloth led them on, but now without his light. They did not need it anymore, for having passed out of the ravine the open sky shed some brightness against the dark.
“We’ll rest shortly,” Aranloth said, “but I fear the waters may rise and block us from reaching the Angle if we don’t cross quickly.”
They traversed the stone span that led over the rushing waters, and then moved out into the land known as the Angle, so called because it lay between the two rivers that formed after the waterfall.
There, at last in safety, they lay down and rested. The earth still rumbled at whiles, but it seemed to be lessening. Nor had the water risen, so far as Faran could tell in the darkness.
“I don’t like to,” Aranloth told them, “but we need a fire tonight. We’ve escaped death, just, but now we need warmth and light to stay alive.”
Faran did not like it either, but he knew the lòhren was right. The air was chilly, and they had been saturated with spray from the waterfall. So they gathered some driftwood flung aside from old floods, and Kareste ignited it in a blaze with the tip of her staff. But the wood was dry, and once it caught it died down to burn slow and steady.
They all gathered round, and there was more than warmth coming from it. Given that they had passed close to death, it was a reminder to them that they yet lived, and it offered hope and cheer. Fire beat back not only dark but also melancholy.
Faran glanced at Ferla. She looked as she always did: beautiful as a queen, determined as a hawk with eyes on prey, yet humble as the simple villager she was at heart. But there was weariness etched into her face as well, and he guessed that her recent journey had been as difficult as his had been through the tombs.
“How did you come to be here?” he asked. “We each went on our separate quests, and you should be on your way to Faladir.”
She tilted her head. “Are you not pleased to see me, then?”
“You know I am. And you know that you, and Asana and Kubodin, saved us. But you couldn’t have known our danger and had no reason to change the plans we had set.”
She considered that, and then shrugged. “We were heading for Faladir, just as planned. But Savanest tracked us, and in the end he revealed that a trap had been set for you. So I chose to come here first, for Faladir can wait but you could not.”
The words were said lightly, but he knew the depth of her feelings and the weight of responsibility that she bore as the seventh knight. Not lightly would she have put aside her quest, but she had done so, and she had done it for him.
“Then you beat Savanest? He is dead?” He knew it must be so, otherwise she would not be here.
“I beat him, and he’s as good as dead. Better for him if he were, though.”
She recounted briefly then all that had happened since they had separated, and Faran was amazed. For Savanest, he felt little pity. He would have enslaved Ferla to the Dark, and Faran could never forgive him for that.
“Thank you for coming,” he said when she had finished. The words seemed so inadequate to him, but he could find no others.
He looked at Asana and Kubodin then. “And thank you also. Not just for coming here, but also for helping Ferla.”
“It is nothing,” Asana answered.
Kubodin scratched himself absently. “We had a few good fights, hey. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss them.”
The little warrior did not seem himself though. His head was bowed and his answer seemed to lack his usual good spirits.
“Is something the matter?”
Kubodin merely shrugged at that, and Asana answered in his place.
“We left his mule at the base of the ledge. It could have climbed it, but not silently which was what we needed to do. Nor could he tether it when we left it behind, for we were not sure we would survive. So we took off its saddle bags, which were empty anyway, and left it free.”
Faran understood then. He had seen Kubodin search for something as they had come to the bottom of the ledge.
“The noise of the falling rocks must have spooked it, and it fled. I’m sorry,” Faran said.
Again, the little man merely shrugged and his face was expressionless, but despite his rough exterior Faran knew him to be deeply emotional, even if he rarely showed it, and he had loved the mule.
Aranloth spoke, but he was careful not to look at Kubodin. “This is a good land to roam free in. The grass in the Angle is green and deep, and there’s a good supply of water.”
The lòhren said no more. He knew that to offer open comfort to Kubodin was to trigger him to pretend not to care.
Kubodin did not answer, but he raised his head and looked around into the dark as though he were assessing the countryside.
“And what of you?” Faran asked Aranloth. “When we confronted Sofanil, you warned him that he would die if he attacked. You told him it wasn’t prophecy, but how could you know that Ferla and the others were coming? You couldn’t have seen them in the mist.”
The lòhren looked out into the dark. “My eyes are sharper than they were, for the death-sleep is truly a balm of healing. Mist and shadows hide little from me, and also, Ferla is the seventh knight. Hers is a presence that I can feel, for the strands of destiny are twined brightly about her. As they are about you.”
They were tired, and after that their conversation died away.
“I shall keep the watch,” Aranloth told them. “Sleep and rest through the night. You have earned it.”
“When will you rest?” Asana asked.
Aranloth looked out into the dark again. “I have slept the death-sleep of the lòhrens. I am better rested than you all.” He said it with a smile, but there was a grimness in his eyes.
“We may not be alone out here,” Kareste said. “Sofanil had soldiers from Faladir with him, but we destroyed only elugs up on the ledge.”
Aranloth nodded in acknowledgement of that, but did not answer. Instead, he stood up and moved away into the shadows so that he could keep watch without the light from the fire ruining his night vision.
Faran drifted to sleep soon after, but despite how tired he was he woke up several times during the night. Once, sometime after midnight, he heard a noise and looked up.
It was nothing to be concerned about. Kareste had moved to the perimeter of the camp and there, though Faran could hear nothing of what was said, she spoke to Aranloth.
They talked for a little while, and at the end Kareste nodded and Aranloth slipped away into the darkness. Faran watched for several minutes after that, but saw no sign of the lòhren returning.
It was not hard to guess what he was doing. Without doubt, he had gone to scout the land and look for any sign of Sofanil’s men.
Faran drifted off again, and his last thoughts were of the lòhrens. What powers did they have that they could endure such hardships as they had and yet not require sleep? He had been proud of the magics he had learned, but he knew he was still as a child to Aranloth and Kareste, and that he had so much more to learn.
This time, his sleep was deeper, and he dreamed strange dreams. They were not nightmares, but they were unpleasant nonetheless, yet they faded away. But a new dream came, and it was different from the others.
He felt the rush of dark air on his face. Above, stars gleamed, but they seemed paler than they should. Below were other lights, and he realized he was looking at a vast city, blanketed by deep night but lit by homely lights in windows. Yet the dark rush of air snuffed those lights out, and the stars shivered.
There was a presence with him, but he saw nothing. Except that he stood on some high vantage. It must be a tower, though it was so dark now that he could barely see anything.
Why do you strive against me?
The words came to him as though from a great distance. He looked around, but still he saw no sign of anyone else.
With a chill, he knew where he was. He stood upon the fabled Tower of the Stone. And it was the Morleth Stone itself that spoke to him. But if this were dream or reality, he could not tell.
“Begone,” he replied. “Evil must be fought, or it will prosper. That is why I fight. Nothing else needs saying. Now, begone!”
You cannot command me. Yet, you could use me. Take me up and hold me. Wield me, and together we will rule the world. I see into your heart, and I know you wish it.
Faran knew this was true. There was a part of him, the part that felt pride, the part that was weak, which wanted dominion and accolades and that would grow stronger, or at least feel stronger, by suppressing others. But it was not the only part of him, and he knew it was there and he gave it no power over him. Humility was stronger in the end, and the temptation of the stone was weak.
He laughed. “Begone, and trouble me not. You are nothing without the hands of a person to raise you and bring you forth. That, I will never do.”
The air grew chill, and a gale blew over the top of the tower, but Faran ignored it and thought of the camp where he lay in the Angle. Dream faded to sleep, and then sleep rose up to wakefulness.
It was morning when he opened his eyes, and he was the last to wake. The fire burned again, small and nearly smokeless. He joined his companions, and together they ate a small meal. Of Aranloth, however, there was no sign.
But the lòhren returned within the hour, and he brought news with him.
“Sofanil’s men are here, within the Angle. They are camped upon the hill where the ancient city stands, which is a great place for observation. When we move, they’ll see us, if they haven’t already.”
2. An Ancient Land
Aranloth’s words were not a surprise, yet still they gave rise to a sense of fear. They had not escaped the enemy.
“What then to do?” asked Asana. “Go back up the ledge to escape them? The earthquake has subsided.”
“The earth has settled,” Aranloth answered. “There is no guarantee that way remains open though. The ledge may have collapsed in places after we passed, and if it is so, we will have to come back here and face the same problem. Assuming the soldiers have not marched forward and trapped us in the interim.”
Ferla spoke up, and her voice was hard with determination.
“We must get to Faladir as swiftly as possible. So I think we should strike out in that direction, but evade the enemy. If we travel at night, they’ll find it hard to spy on us, hill or no hill. And Faran and I can choose trails to hide our path.”
Aranloth stroked his chin, thinking that through. “We could do that, but if you and Faran work hard to hide our trail it will take us much longer to get to Faladir. You might have to do it all the way, for likely they guess we must now go to the city. Time is slipping away from us, and events move forward. We have to be there soon, or it will be too late.”
“What has worked before can work again,” Kareste said. “I can create an illusion to help us, and have the enemy pursuing phantoms the wrong way.”
Aranloth grinned at her. “You’re good at such subtleties, but I think now the enemy is forewarned against them. Not to mention they’ll be expecting us to turn toward Faladir. They know we must go there, and that will give the lie to your deception.”
“What do you advise then?” Faran asked. He thought he knew the answer the old man would give, but with a lòhren it was never wise to be too sure.
Aranloth turned to look back up the great hill that rose majestically before them. Once, it was the dwelling place of a nation, but all was ruin now. Yet from this distance that was obscured.
“They irk me,” Aranloth replied. “These soldiers from Faladir who now serve evil have no place in the land that was once my home. No place at all. Indeed, they desecrate it. So, I suggest we walk straight toward them, openly and without trepidation. Let’s see what they make of that!”
It was the answer Faran thought was coming, but much more forcefully given.
Kubodin tugged on his brass earring and chuckled. “I like it! It’s no good running all the time. The best way to grind an enemy into the dust is to face them.”
Aranloth turned back to the company, and his eyes were bright with some emotion that Faran could not read.
“Remember, I know this land like the back of my hand. I spent my youth here, and ever I have returned through my long life. I know every stone, every wood, every fold and slope whether by sun, moon or starlight. Even in the dark I can find my way, but the enemy does not and cannot. That is our advantage.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Asana replied. “But it’s best to be prepared. If we do as you say, they’ll see us and know our position and mark our expected path. They’ll set an ambush for us, unless you plan to use your knowledge of the land to deceive them in some way.”
“Ah, old friend,” Aranloth answered. “Deception is the mother of battle, and that is exactly my plan. I’ll make them regret they came here.”
Of his intentions though, Aranloth told them no more. Instead, he started up the long path that would eventually lead to the top of the hill.
“Time to be walking,” he urged them. “The day slips away from us.”
So it was that they followed him under the broad light of the sun, and they made no effort to conceal themselves. It did not seem natural to Faran, but such was his respect for Aranloth that he did not question it. Nor, he noted, did anyone else.
The Angle was certainly a beautiful land. The grass was tall and green, and there was ample water in the form of small streams and springs that crisscrossed the long slope. No doubt, they were fed from higher up the hill and found their way downslope via many underground passages and seeped through runs of sand and loose gravel between harder sections of rock.
There were small woods here and there. Some even seemed the descendants of ancient orchards, and there were groves of apple trees in flower. Through these at times they walked, and the falling blossoms were in the air when a breeze stirred, and the hum of bees was continuous.
They went ahead, resting briefly every hour or so when they came to a favorable spot. Of the enemy soldiers, there was not a single sign, but Faran had not expected them to reveal themselves. He did wonder how, on the previous night, Aranloth had found them and then returned not long after dawn. Magic, perhaps. Or, as Faran had long suspected, he could walk at great speed when he chose to. But there might be a kind of magic involved in that, too. Maybe.
