The Shadow Knight (A Shadow Knight Novel Book 1) Page 2

  “Was that magic?” Bran asked. It was clear that neither one of them had ever seen anything like it.

  “It was. Do you believe me now? Will you allow me to help you?”

  Stegan looked at his younger brother, then back to Jonas, coming to the realization that he really had no choice. What were they going to do? They were alone. “What kind of help,” he said finally.

  “I will take you to Onett,” Jonas added. “And once there I will book you a trip east with one of the trading caravans. I will provide you with a writ and coin to see you safely east to a city called Tarsis. Have you heard of it?” They both shook their heads.

  “What’s a writ?” Stegan asked.

  “It’s a document, signed by me and marked with the Tarsinian royal insignia. That alone should see you safely to Tarsis. The writ would mean that you are under the Tarsinian King’s protection. Take the writ to any temple of Ulren and they will give you aid.”

  “What kind of aid?” Bran asked.

  “A job for one,” Jonas replied. “You will need to work, but you will be safe and fed. The city was destroyed during Malbeck’s War, and they are rebuilding and in need of many workers. You will have a chance at a normal life. Do you want that?” They both nodded. “If you do not take my help, then I’m afraid you might turn out like your father, and these men. And if you do,” Jonas warned, “your fate will mirror theirs. Do you understand?”

  “We don’t want to be anything like our father,” Stegan said firmly, Bran nodding in agreement. “We hated him.”

  “So you will take my help?”

  Stegan looked at his brother, then back to Jonas. His eyes were strong, his face set with determination. “We will.”

  Chapter One

  Three years earlier…

  “Shhhhhhh,” Peron said to his two friends as they dropped to the soft grassy ground beside him. “We don’t need the guards hearing us,” he admonished.

  Tyril, a large thick bellied boy to Peron’s left, laughed softly and elbowed Peron. “You made more noise than both of us together.”

  Peron grimaced but said nothing, knowing Tyril was right. He knew he wasn’t the athletic type, but he hated to admit it. “Fine, follow me and stay quiet.”

  “You sure you have the book?” Kyron asked. Kyron was thin, like Peron, but taller, with sparkling blue eyes and a mop of wavy brown hair. He looked every bit the aristocrat, and his regal pointy nose just accentuated that point.

  “Of course,” Peron whispered as he set off at a slow jog, moving in and out of the various gravestones. They ran through the dark night, stopping occasionally as Peron made adjustments to their route. The only thing lighting their way was the bright stars and moon. Luckily it was a clear night.

  After working up a slight perspiration, Peron pulled up short before a huge mausoleum, the front door made of stone and carved into a winged dragon, each wing fanned out occupying each side of the double door. Old vines as thick as a man’s wrist grew up the sides of the stone building, a mesh of thick leaves covering most of the structure. Obviously the mausoleum had been there for a long time. No one said anything as they stared up at the huge structure in awe.

  “You sure this is a good idea?” Kyron asked softly, ever cautious.

  “Wimp,” Tyril said, nudging him in the side, nearly knocking him over. At fifteen winters, he was already large and his thick arms and legs were starting to form a respectable amount of muscle. His father was the Battle Lord and leader of the Red Guard, the elite fighting force that had been protecting the Rothar kings for five hundred years.

  Peron turned to face them both. “Listen, we have been planning this for years. Don’t back out on me now.”

  “It’s a lot easier to be confident when you are the prince,” Kyron said sarcastically.

  Peron nodded his head in acquiescence. “Perhaps, but you have to trust me. You know you want to see the grave site.” He was smiling in youthful exuberance and Tyril and Kyron both joined in, Kyron’s broad smile replacing his unsure expression. “Besides, I went through a lot of trouble stealing the book and the key.”

  “Fine,” Kyron said. “Let’s just get it over with before I change my mind.”

  Peron nodded and turned to the door, fishing in his pocket before producing a big gold key. Looking back at his friends, he smiled before sliding the key into the steel lock embedded in the massive door. Turning the key slowly, there was an audible click, before he removed it from the locking mechanism. Then he reached out, gripped the handle, and slowly opened one side of the huge door. A gentle breeze pushed out from the crack, which brought with it the smell of musty soil and dirt. Peron stopped pushing once the opening, which was as black as a starless night, was big enough for them to squeeze through.

  “Get the torches lit,” Peron ordered.

  Kyron removed his small pack and brought out three torches and a tinder box. Within moments he had the torches alight and they quickly slid through the opening.

  “Hurry, shut the door,” Peron said. “We don’t want any guards seeing the light.”

  Tyril shut the door behind them and they all three turned to face their surroundings, the torchlight pushing back the blackness and casting ominous shadows around the large room. The stone walls on either side of them were lined with three statues, each life-size and depicting great warriors. Their workmanship was exquisite, each and every detail making it feel like they were real, standing guard over the royal family’s ancestors. The floor was covered with a thick layer of dust and the stagnant musty air was damp and heavy, causing the back of their throats to itch. The wall before them was dominated by another great statue, this one even more impressive than the others, its body encased in armor and its muscled arms spread wide, each hand holding a broad sword over the two doors flanking it. The warrior’s head was completely encased in a magnificent helm with curved horns jutting from each side.

  “This is amazing,” Tyril whispered, looking slowly around.

  “I’ve always wanted to see this, but my father said I wasn’t old enough,” Peron said as he stared at the great statue in awe. It was tradition that when a Rothar prince reached the age of eighteen, that he would be allowed entry into the royal family’s burial chambers, to give respect to the kings before him. Peron had three years to go.

  “You sure the demon’s body is even down here?” Kyron said, his voice strained as he thought about the creature of legend.

  Peron flipped his backpack off and reached inside, removing a thick leather-bound book. “My grandfather has been reading me stories about Maltheil since I was a young boy. I don’t know if he was just scaring me, but he told me on more than one occasion that the demon was encased in a spellbound tomb deep in my family’s catacombs. As legend has it, the beast was put here so my family could watch over it to ensure it was never freed again. He said the wards that are guarding the demon were secured in a book in Master Moran’s room.” Master Moran was Peron’s father’s court wizard, his family lineage traceable to the very wizard who originally summoned the great demon thousands of years before.

  “And that’s the book?” Tyril asked.

  Peron smiled. “Master Moran told me of the book on numerous occasions. So yes, this is the book.”

  Kyron looked nervous, thinking that if the book did in fact exist, that there was some truth to the stories about the ancient demon. “How did you get the book from his room?” Kyron asked.

  Peron raised his eyebrows and smiled. “One can do wonders when people think very little of you. They have talked about secrets around me since I was a little boy. It took a long time, but I found out where he hid the book, and I learned how to get it.”

  Ever the serious one, Kyron frowned in doubt. “Come on you guys, you really think that story is true?” Everyone knew of the story of Maltheil, an ancient demon, as the stories would have it, called forth by the Rotharian court wizard. The stories suggested that they used the power of the demon to win a great war, but over time, the dem
on broke free from the wizard’s control, killing him and enslaving the royal family. Raising an army of slaves, the demon sought power, controlling not just the Kingdom of Lanard, but moving its army east to Tur’el. Eventually the demon was killed by the Tur’ellian King, with the help of a grove of druids who protected the Lasur’een forest that separated the two kingdoms. According to the old books, this all happened thousands of years ago, and most thought of it as nothing more than a legend.

  “I don’t know,” Peron conceded. “But this book certainly looks real.” Peron held the book up so they all could see. It was made of thick leather and was plain in appearance, the old cover worn and cracked. The only thing they could make out on the ancient tome was a symbol of old Lanarian, the metal bright against the old black leather. It was somehow secured to the leather on the front of the book.

  “What does that mean?” Tyril asked as he pointed to the symbol.

  As the crown prince, Peron had been schooled in Old Lanarian. Being the son of a wealthy lord, Kyron had been as well. Tyril’s schooling was closer to his aptitude, which meant it revolved around a shield and sword. Peron smiled mischievously as he traced the sigil with his finger. “It means do not open.”

  “Maybe this is not a good idea,” Kyron said, wavering in his resolve.

  But Peron was resolute. “My father can choke on a chicken egg. He can eat the dung of a slop pig for all I care. I don’t care what he thinks. Don’t worry about him.”

  If Peron was honest with himself, he was not feeling as confident as he sounded. He had never had a great relationship with his father, King Gyveel Rothar, and he had to admit that his father scared him. Peron’s mother died giving birth to him, and he suspected that his father’s hostility towards him was partly due to that fact. Perhaps he blamed him. He was brusque and prone to bouts of anger, all of which was more than likely fueled by the Queen’s death and the fact that Peron had not turned out to be the warrior Prince as the king had hoped. Peron was tired of letting his father down, and now he was finally acting out against him.

  “Peron, if we get caught we will get in serious trouble, while you get a slap on your hand,” Kyron said.

  Peron’s anger erupted as he turned on his friend. “You see this,” he snapped, pointing at his eye. “This is not just a slap on the hand.” Peron’s eye was healing but both could clearly see the bruising fading to shades of yellow and purple.

  Kyron stepped back, ashamed of his words. They both knew the King hit Peron on more than one occasion. “I’m sorry, Peron. It’s just that we could get into real trouble, and we don’t have your father to back us.”

  Peron relaxed some. “Let’s not worry about him. Besides, it’s all probably just a legend. Let’s go check it out. We will be back in our warm beds before you know it.”

  The boys shrugged and Tyril stepped forward. “Which door do we take?

  One door bore the Rothar family crest, a dragon with its wings spread, its clawed paws resting on a craggy peak representing the Peaks of Annure just south of them. According to the historians the lands around the steep mountains were once ruled by the Rothar family before the Ronith tribes took them over. The other door was plain in comparison.

  “I think the plain door leads to tombs occupied by the bodies of high lords. The door with my family crest must be where my ancestors are buried. If the demon is indeed hidden here, it should be there.”

  Tyril shrugged. “Let’s go.” Tyril, being the bravest of the three, reached the door with the others on his heels. It opened easily enough and a gust of wind hit them carrying the rank smell of decay and dirt. It was as if the air, long sealed in, jumped at the chance of freedom presented by the open door.

  Dust covered stone steps led deeper into the ground and at the base it opened into a wide cavern with a high arched ceiling, everything expertly covered in a gray stone now marred with cracks and lichen. In some places root structures had broken through the stone tiles, dangling like spindly legs. As they slowly walked down the huge hall, they noticed that each side was filled with many shelves cut into the earth. There must have been thirty on each side and as they continued further into the hall, their footsteps echoing in the stone cavern, they noticed more and more flanking them. They stayed near the center of the walkway, avoiding the shelves as they quickly realized that each one was occupied by a set of dust covered bones. Many were encased in old rusty armor, while some seemed naked, their expensive gowns and robes long ago eaten away by time. It wasn’t long before the hall opened into a large round room, the diameter easily forty paces wide. The ceiling of the room was domed, and much higher than the hall. All around the edge were ten giant columns of white marble, spanning to the ceiling. At each interval between the columns were eight sarcophaguses, each one no doubt containing the bodies of the very first Rothar Kings, Peron’s ancient ancestors.

  They slowly walked the edge of the room, Tyril and Kyron following Peron’s lead. They each felt like they shouldn’t be there, and they were looking at one another with undisguised apprehension as Peron inspected each sarcophagus, his mouth open in awe. “Look at this,” he said reverently. “This is the tomb of King Lynel Rothar, the founder of my family’s kingdom.”

  “What’s that?” Kyron said, pointing to a door made of black iron. It was inset dead center on the far wall, two columns on either side of it. They walked closer.

  “Look at that,” Tyril said as he pointed at an impression on the door. It was the only thing they could see along the metal surface. There wasn’t even a lock. The impression was in the center of the door and it looked to be a symbol of some sort.

  “It’s the same symbol on the book,” Peron whispered, his heart beating faster.

  “You’re kidding,” Tyril said as they stood around Peron to get a better look at the symbol. Sure enough it was the same.

  “And you said it means do not open, perhaps we should heed the warning,” Kyron advised.

  “Well I don’t see a lock anyway,” Tyril added, inspecting the door more closely.

  Peron stepped closer to the door, a smile wide on his face.

  Seeing his expression, Tyril stepped beside him. “What is it?”

  “Look,” Peron said, holding up the book near the impression. “The impression on the door is the same size as this symbol. Maybe the book is the key.”

  Kyron and Tyril looked closer, their unsure expressions, seeing Peron was right, were now replaced with worry. “You sure about this?” Tyril asked, voicing Kyron’s concern for the first time.

  “Are you kidding me?! Yes, we need to do this. Obviously there was something to the story. We have to see what’s beyond this door.”

  “I don’t know, Peron. I think we should leave,” Kyron said, stepping away from the door.

  “No! We are going.” Peron was adamant. “Even if the demon is buried here, the thing is dead. There is nothing to worry about.”

  Peron lifted the book to the door as the other two unconsciously moved back a step, or perhaps it was conscious, as both boys were visibly concerned. The symbol fit perfectly into the door but nothing happened.

  “Maybe you need to turn it,” Tyril suggested, regretting it immediately as Kyron glared at him.

  “Don’t encourage him,” Kyron snapped as he hit Tyril in the arm.

  Peron smiled. “I feel like I’m with a couple of little girls.” Then he turned the book and his smile widened as the locking mechanism spun slowly until the book had turned ninety degrees. Then there was a loud click and some grinding noise, followed by a bright flash all along the seam of the door.

  Everyone stepped back, including Peron, who withdrew the book from the lock. Slowly, the door swung open revealing only blackness.

  “Now what?” Kyron asked, clearly concerned.

  “We go in,” Peron said as he raised his torch and walked into the room. Reluctantly, the others followed slowly.

  They entered a square room that was roughly double the size of most sleeping chambers. But t
here was no bed, fireplace, shelving, or washbasin, just a sarcophagus that sat directly in the middle of the room. But it was unlike any sarcophagus any of them had ever laid eyes upon. It was three times larger than the biggest they had ever seen. But the unique aspect of it was that it was made of steel and the entire surface was covered in blades, embedded in the steel and facing outward like a giant pin cushion. The blades were of all different sizes but they seemed to be sharp, and amazingly, they were all shining like they were recently forged and polished, none of the steel showing any signs of wear that would be normal for metal sitting in a damp cold place for several thousand years. It was the most magnificent and ominous thing any of them had ever looked upon.

  No one said anything for a few moments as they gazed at the sarcophagus, staying just clear of the sharp points jutting out from the structure. Finally Tyril broke the silence. “Now what?”

  Peron shrugged. “I guess we open the book.” Standing at the foot of the magnificent coffin, Peron opened the book. Just as he did so the book slipped from his hands. Reacting instinctively, he reached for the falling book just as it struck one of the sharp points, slicing his hand in the process. “Ow!” he snapped, pulling his hand back as the book fell to the ground.

  “You okay?” Kyron asked.

  Peron picked the book up with his other hand as he stood, inspecting the cut. “Yeah,” he said. The cut was on the back of his hand and it looked to be about an inch long. It wasn’t terribly deep, but there was a trail of crimson dripping down the side of his hand nonetheless. He wiped it on the edge of his wool cloak. “I’ll be fine. Now, let’s see what this book says.”

  Slowly, and almost reverently, he opened the book to the first page as Kyron and Tyril looked over his shoulder. There were a few lines of words written in Old Lanarian.

  “What does it say,” Tyril whispered.

  “It says,” Peron said slowly, “This tome is a seal, the spell woven by me, Atticus Belthar, to bind it that shall not be woken. But beware, for it works tirelessly to break free from its prison, and the blood of Kings is the key.”