The Shadow Knight (A Shadow Knight Novel Book 1) Page 14
“I am that man, but I am no hero,” Jonas said softly. “The heroes are all the men and women that fell defending Finarth.” But he did not elaborate, opting to eat his warm beans.
If he were looking around the fire he would have seen nothing but respect in the faces of the men. They were soldiers as well, and dying defending your land was the ultimate sacrifice. “And you were a cavalier to Shyann?” Korrin asked.
Jonas nodded his head. “I was.”
“Will you tell us what happened?”
Jonas glanced at Korrin and saw that he seemed sincere. Warrior to warrior he seemed genuinely interested in what happened. Then he looked at the men sitting around the fire, some his age and younger, and a few in their forties and fifties, the orange glow painting their inquisitive faces. Looking back at him were expressions of curiosity, awe, and admiration. They too wanted to know how a man could be a cavalier once, and now sit before them looking as an equal. Jonas didn’t like to talk about what had happened to him, but these men were warriors, and if anyone could understand, it was them.
Sensing his uneasiness, Korrin spoke again. “You do not have…”
“It’s fine,” Jonas interjected. “I will tell you the story.” He collected his thoughts, trying to figure out where to start. “I was sent into the mountains by Shyann to find King Kromm and his family. He was needed at Finarth if we were to defeat the Dark One.”
“Is he really as fierce as they say?” a young round faced warrior interjected. Every warrior in Kraawn knew who King Kromm was, even this far west, and now more than ever as the stories and songs of the Malbeck’s War circulated throughout the lands.
Jonas smiled. “He is. King Kromm is the largest, strongest, most fierce warrior I have ever seen on the battlefield. He has a sense about him; a drive to win that is unparalleled. And his men love him, ready to die beside him if necessary. We eventually found them deep in the Tundrens running from Malbeck’s minions who had taken Tarsis and were now hunting him down. We barely made it out of the mountains alive, and some of us did not.” Jonas paused as he thought back to Taleen. He didn’t want to dwell on her death, afraid he might not be able to finish the tale. So he quickly continued the story. “To save the queen and prince, the king’s wizard took his family away with a magic portal, separating them by hundreds of unknown miles. Not knowing exactly where they were, we headed towards Cuthaine, thinking that perhaps they would go there. We were still being hunted and the king insisted we get there as quickly as possible, so we took the Hallows Road, a road our adversaries could not travel.”
“The Hallows are real?” This time it was Tamoran who spoke. The look on his face was that of a young boy who was just told that the monster under his bed did in fact exist. The Hallows were so synonymous with dark scary things that there was even a nursery rhyme about the place.
Hark the Hallows, dark and creepy
Be aware, when you get sleepy
Creepy crawly, monster follows
Dream pleasant thoughts, not the Hallows
“They are. It is a world between worlds where time is different. A few days in the Hallows can be hours here.”
“How did you know how to get there?”
“Allindrian the Bladesinger was fighting with us,” Jonas said. “She led the way.”
A couple of the men shifted, adjusting their positions so they could lean closer. A Bladesinger was as rare as a cavalier, and even though most warriors knew of them by deed and skill, few had ever seen one, let alone fought with one. “What was she like?” Korrin asked.
“Deadly,” Jonas answered. “I have seen no equal with a blade or bow. Luckily she was with us, as the Hallows was a terrible place…a place I hope to never see again. It is a place of nightmares.” Jonas shuddered as he thought of the trysts, the soul worm that ate into their companion’s brain and fed off his energy, and the deadly trees that nearly killed them all. “We lost a lot of good men in that dark place. But we made it through and arrived at Cuthaine just a day after Kromm’s wife and son.”
“How old were you when this all happened?” Bearit asked, speaking up for the first time. “You can’t be more than twenty seven winters now.”
Jonas nodded his head. “I was twenty.” The men nodded around the fire, giving respect for such accomplishments for one so young. Jonas continued. “Once there, Malbeck’s Black Hearts found us, and together they coordinated an attack. We escaped once again but I was separated as I defended an underground tunnel from an army of undead while my companions escaped.”
“Undead?” An older warrior with a grey beard and grey streaked black hair asked. His nose was huge, looking as if it had been broken several times. His name was Ulngarro.
“Yes. There were dark clerics of Dykreel in the catacombs,” Jonas replied. At the mention of the dark god’s name the warriors leaned away uneasily, each one mumbling words or prayers of protection depending on the gods they worshiped. “They captured me and brought me back to an underground temple.”
“Why didn’t Shyann help you?” Tamoran asked.
At first Jonas had asked that same question, wondering if he had done something to anger her, causing his goddess to abandon him. But he had later learned that was not the case. “She was always there for me, and still is now. But the temple was shielded by Dykreel himself, and she could not find me. They tortured me,” Jonas paused as he thought back to the painful memories. Perhaps it was good he was talking about it. Despite it being a time he wished he could forget, it was also a defining moment for him. It was an event that changed his life, which led him down the road he was now walking. Not only that, it was also a time where he lost loved ones, and remembering what happened to him brought back those memories. It was important that he didn’t forget Myrell and all the others that died then. The men waited for him, several looking at each other knowing that the memories he was recalling must have been difficult. They seemed uncomfortable and Korrin was just about to speak when Jonas continued. “Dykreel’s clerics broke both of my knees first,” Jonas continued. “The pain went on for what seemed like an eternity, but the worst part was when they cut open my chest and placed a cursed barbed halo under my skin.” The men around the fire were stark still, staring at Jonas, their expressions a mixture of horror, sorrow, and respect. “The symbol was cursed by Dykreel himself and the metal wrapped around my bones, his dark magic entering my body and seeking out my spirit. It was the same way they created the Banthras, by capturing cavaliers and turning them into servants of the Forsworn.”
“Banthras were once cavaliers?” Korrin asked incredulously. “I did not know that.”
Jonas nodded gravely, his mind still thinking of that dark day. “Most do not. They sealed up my chest as the dark magic flooded through my body.”
Bearit leaned closer to Jonas. “How did you fight that off?”
“Kiln taught me a mental exercise to help with concentration during battle. I used it to center my very being. It’s hard to explain, but imagine you are in a dream that you can partially control. That’s what it felt like. In my mind’s eye I formed a circle of my self, and I protected it against the darkness that sought to stamp it out.”
“You fought inside your mind?” Bearit asked, stating what the others were thinking.
“Yes. I floated above my self, a ball of light that if destroyed would be my end. Then Dykreel would control my body and I would be dead. I fought to protect that light, knowing it was all that was left of me.”
“What did you fight?” Ulngarro asked, enthralled in the story.
“The darkness took whatever shape it wanted, coming at me as black winged demons, giant worms with huge teeth filled maws…anything you can imagine from your darkest nightmares.” The men around the fire shivered as they each pictured their own demons. “I fought and fought, having no sense of time. Then suddenly the demons went away and I was left alone, hiding in my own consciousness.”
“What happened?” Korrin asked, his voice tense.
“Wait a minute,” Bearit said, trying to get his bearings around what Jonas had just said. “People went inside your mind to rescue you…to be bringin’ you back?”
“Yes, the elven wizards were very powerful. Allindrian, Fil, and Kiln went in after me. They brought me back from the dark world that was dangerously close to taking over my mind. As they did so, the Ekahals somehow embedded this stone in my chest, and its magic sealed away Dykreel’s magic forever. But that same magic that keeps the dark god’s power restrained, also blocks Shyann’s magic. She could not find me or feel my presence any longer. And she still cannot.”
“So you were a cavalier no more,” Korrin whispered as he stared into the fire. He looked back at Jonas, his expression one of pain and respect. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Jonas.” Then he nodded in respect. “You honor us with your deeds, your presence here now, as well as this story.”
The men around him mumbled similar words. But Tamoran was still thinking about what Jonas had said. “So the cursed halo and magical stone are still embedded in your chest?”
Jonas looked up from the fire. “Yes.”
“May we see it?” Tamoran asked.
“Tamoran, you speak out of place!” Korrin snapped at him.
“I’m sorry,” Tamoran back peddled. “You are correct. It was my curiosity that spoke, not my manners.”
Jonas looked at the men and he could see that they were all curious, but none of them said a thing. “It’s fine, Korrin. I have not talked about these events for a very long time. I think perhaps that it is good to remember. What happened to me is part of me, literally, and I should not shy away from it. I will show you.” Jonas stood and unbuckled his cloak, laying it beside him. Then he unbuckled his black armor and pauldrons, setting them in a neat pile. Finally he lifted off his tunic and undershirt, exposing his scarred and muscled torso. The firelight flickered and crackled, and the orange glow reflected off of Jonas’s silver and blue God Mark. The mark covered his entire torso, Shyann’s tree now snaking down his arms and even wrapping around his back. White scars in the shape of an X could be seen in the center of his chest, slightly marring the beauty of the mark. Dead center was a stone set in silver, its center swirling colors of blue and white, Jonas’s flesh jutting against the silver encasement as if it was part of his body. The men around the fire had never seen such a thing, and they leaned forward, their expressions reflecting that very sentiment.
“That is amazing,” Korrin whispered.
“It’s beautiful,” Bearit said.
“I got the mark when I was fourteen and a cripple. Shyann healed me one night while I slept and I woke with the mark.”
“How did that happen?” Tamoran asked.
Jonas smiled. “That is perhaps a story for another time.” Jonas put his clothes and armor back on while the others talked quietly. Once he sat back down Korrin looked over at him.
“So you are a cavalier no longer, but Shyann has not forsaken you?”
“No, quite the opposite. She has made me her Shadow Knight. My clothes, my weapons, and my armor, are blessed by her, given to me by her just as a cavalier receives their weapons. Tulari, once my steed, is still my companion, as you can see.” Tulari lifted her head from the ground and growled softly in acknowledgment. “She is my connection to Shyann.”
“Do you have the power of a cavalier?”
Jonas shook his head. “No, I do not. My ability to heal and bring forth God Light and Fire came from my connection to her. I am no longer capable of those skills. But I can bring forth her power from the tools she gave me at will.” Just then Jonas brought forth the light from his armor. Blue silver light flared brightly from the tree symbol on the chest plate. The startled men jumped and Jonas stopped the light, Shyann’s magic receding back into the chest plate, returning it to its normal ordinary look.
“Does that light have power?” Korrin asked.
“It can repel great evil, but it does not have the full power of a cavalier’s God Light.”
“Why do your weapons be lookin’ so…” Bearit was looking for the right word. “Plain?” he asked.
Jonas smiled. “When I was a cavalier I could not go anywhere without being noticed for what I was. My armor, my weapons, everything about me screamed cavalier, which is the point I guess. Cavaliers, besides defeating evil, are supposed to illicit a sense of honor and courage in others. That is their purpose.”
“I think I am beginning to understand your new role,” Tamoran said. “As a Shadow Knight, you can do much that a cavalier could not.”
“That is correct. My purpose is the same as a cavalier, and that is to say I am here to defeat evil, but I have another goal. I can now go where a cavalier could not. I can infiltrate the root of evil and destroy it. The Forsworn look for people who are struggling, and they slowly convert them, molding them into their servants. I can find these men and women, and I can help them find the light once again.”
“And if they are too far gone?” Bearit asked, looking into the fire. He was clearly thinking about his own plight. How much longer would it have been before his heart had turned black and become a servant of the Forsworn. He could easily say that he would have never let that happen. But just months earlier he would have said that he never would have been found in a dark lair watching a man get tortured for a loaf of bread. It might have taken a long while, but perhaps they would have turned him. He shuddered thinking about what could have happened to him. Glancing over, he looked at Jonas, his eyes thanking him.
Jonas’s expression was hard. “I kill them.”
Chapter Five
“What!?” King Oneck stormed as he stood up from the negotiating table. “We have spent the majority of the day hammering out the treaty and you decide to tell me now that the demon has escaped!”
His retainers, including his general, Hyrim Galstar, and court wizard, Carvathian, were also sitting at the table. They scooted their chairs back but did not stand, waiting to see what their king would do.
King Rothar was calm, his intense gaze unwavering as he waited for the Tur’el king to release his anger. Sitting to his right was Baylock Reen, the Battle Lord, wearing full armor, his blue cape clasped around his neck. The Battle Lord’s brown hair was wavy and long, a leather band holding it back from his eyes. His face showed two day stubble and his gray green eyes narrowed at the king’s outburst. He rested his massive forearms on the table so the other general could see he was not grasping his weapon. The last thing they wanted now was to undo the treaty they had made by provoking one another to violence.
“I felt that the treaty was more important,” King Rothar said slowly, waiting to see if the Tur’el king was finished. It turned out he was not.
“More important!” King Haten yelled, looking back at King Rothar. The Tur’el king was in his early fifties but looked much younger. He was tall with wide shoulders and loo
ked every bit the battle king in his silver cuirass and gold lined green cape. Despite his age, his hair was jet black, with no hints of gray. His dark eyes were boiling with rage. “My daughter, your soon to be wife, is out on a ride! Perhaps if I knew of the danger I would not have allowed her to go traipsing around the forest.”
King Rothar shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had not known that Princess Kylin left the camp. “Was she escorted?” He regretted the question as soon as he said it.
King Haten spun on his heal and slammed his fist on the table. “Of course she was escorted! But what can ten men do against a demon!”
This time it was Baylock who spoke. “I’m sure she is safe. But as an apology I would like to personally go find her and bring her safely back.”
King Rothar narrowed his eyes at that. Clearly he was not happy that his Battle Lord had just apologized for him. But he said nothing, knowing it was not the time and place. Besides, Baylock was right. The gesture was likely unnecessary, but having the Battle Lord personally volunteer was a smart diplomatic move.
King Oneck’s anger seemed to dissipate as he thought about the Battle Lord’s suggestion. It looked as if something else briefly occupied his mind, but he tucked it away quickly and looked directly at King Rothar. “Very well,” he agreed. “But if anything has happened to her than this treaty is off.” King Rothar
stood slowly, his eyes never leaving the Tur’el king. “That will not be necessary,” he said softly. “We will find your daughter.”
It wasn’t long before twenty mounted Red Guard soldiers, along with Tyril, were mounted and galloping into the dense forest. There was a main road that went north to Mynos and another that went east into Tur’el, and off those main roads were other paths that led to various villages. Baylock Reen made sure to take their best tracker, a young man in his late twenties with long dirty blonde hair pulled back into one braid, the sides shaved short. His name was Torg and he rode in the lead, looking for fresh horse tracks. They didn’t go far into Tur’el lands before Torg led them south along a narrow path heading deeper into the Lasur’een Forest. Normally of course, they would not venture into Tur’el lands, but this time was different. They had the king’s permission. The tracks they followed were consistent with fresh horse tracks of a party of ten or so, which was the number the king said escorted his daughter.