Knight and Champion Read online

  “We are not aberrations of nature, Catelyn. Neither are we biological deviants. In actual fact, you and I are the continuation of an ancient line. Dire magic can be traced back to an age-old cabal of lich lords. Proud and noble, they spurned their mortality and lived like gods. Alienated from their original race, they were eventually hunted down and destroyed. Except one. He lived a life of solitude on the Isle of Light before he was … wooed by a startlingly beautiful young woman of exceptional cunning. She managed to do what thousands before could not - extricate the skills of a lich. This is where the trail runs cold. Having become mortal, the lord himself died, presumably at the hands of the thief. As clever as she was, she is said to have struggled with the weight of the power she assumed.”

  Zan laid a gentle hand on Catelyn’s shoulder. “Whatever we carry, whatever it is that fuels us, we are linked to this mysterious woman. I would very much like to meet her.”

  Catelyn remained silent for several moments. There was much to unpack from Zan’s story.

  “Thanks, Zan.”

  “I feel that we are at our best when we are sharing knowledge,” the mage said enthusiastically.

  Catelyn couldn’t help but smile.

  “There’s no denying my curiosity,” she said.

  “It lights up the room like a bonfire.”

  Catelyn looked away, inexplicably embarrassed. Zan nodded, seeing that his charge was somewhat mollified.

  “I shall return as soon as possible. Get some sleep. We have a long road ahead of us.”

  When Zan’s footsteps had faded, Catelyn climbed under her furs and listened to the sounds of a camp slowly coming to life. She contented herself with building a detailed picture in her mind. The day passed excruciatingly slowly and she was achingly hungry by the time the tent was swathed in shadow.

  At length someone approached the tent with purpose. Catelyn felt a now-familiar lurch in the pit of her stomach, but it was Zan, blessed Zan, hopefully returning for the last time.

  “It is settled,” he said triumphantly. “I am to join the Kanoor and General Hunsan in a few hours. When the light is sufficiently diminished, you and I will find cover in the gully along the western …”

  The mage cocked his head. Catelyn could hear it too - several horses approaching from the north.

  “Might be a patrol,” he whispered, but his reaction was a bad sign.

  The hoof-fall grew louder, then stopped outside the tent. Zan shut his eyes in sheer disappointment. Panic spread like wildfire through Catelyn’s chest.

  The tent flap was pulled open and a horribly familiar face thrust itself through.

  “Tie them up,” Dahal Rane said tiredly.

  The next minute passed in a heightened blur of shock and pain. Catelyn was grabbed by a pair of thin, sinewy arms and dragged through the tent opening. She ended up sprawled on the dirt, knowing with ice-cold clarity that things were about to get a lot worse. More than a dozen elves had entered the clearing just outside Zan’s tent. Snarling with delirious glee, Rane lifted her by the hair and threw her forward. Zan was tossed to the ground in her wake.

  “Stand!” Rane bellowed, knowing full well she couldn’t. His dark, scarred cronies laughed huskily as Catelyn was forced down a narrow path between infantry tents. At length she was permitted to find her feet, at which point her arms were pinned painfully behind her back and she was marched toward a distant cluster of sputtering torches. The sun had almost disappeared behind the western treeline, but the sky was alive with arcing fireballs. At first Catelyn thought the camp was under attack, but realized the orbs were the first orcish bombardment. A battery of catapults sat on top of a rise to the northeast. Teams of orc sappers worked furiously to wind spring mechanisms and load treated ammunition bowls with flaming pitch.

  Catelyn momentarily forgot her predicament as the fireballs rained down on the hulking, darkened urban sprawl to the north. She wondered if the town had been deserted, but the scattered embers were extinguished almost as soon as they fell. That told her the town was alive, and clearly up for a fight. A sharp jab in the small of her back reminded her that the elves weren’t going to let her gawk. She was shoved onto a grassy flat where twin poles had been erected. The timber was stained with dried blood and matted skin, suggesting this was a place of punishment. Before she had time to struggle, Catelyn was held in a vice-like grip and positioned in front of a pole. Her hands were bound so tightly at the wrists that they felt numb. Her terror was slightly offset by the sight of Zan being secured alongside her. Surely the mage had something in his bag of tricks?

  “So disappointing,” Rane said, sliding into view. “I travel across Elesta to claim a human family and you insist on denying me my prize.”

  The gathered elves laughed appreciatively.

  “There are still three to go, brothers,” Rane said through a chuckle. “Two, not counting this blond bitch.”

  Catelyn’s first thought was for her family - who were the other survivors? Had they eluded the elves? A pair of massive orcs emerged from the gloom, clearing a way for their Kanoor. Tibus barely paid Catelyn a second glance, but reserved his most withering contempt for a man he’d clearly trusted.

  “Speak, Zan,” he boomed, speaking Orsilian so everyone could bear witness. His jowls quivered with rage. “This melier speaks poison in my ears. I would know if there is any truth to it.”

  “You conspire to desert your people at the first available opportunity,” Rane said, addressing Zan for the first time. “Do not even bother to deny it.”

  The elf thrust a parchment into the air.

  “Clear proof of treason,” he leered. “Signed by six orcs of varying station, including this traitor. ‘The League of Del Cinar.’ A society committed to the protection of Elesta against a common, unnamed foe.”

  Laughing with his kin, Rane thrust the document into the Kanoor’s jade-encrusted hand.

  “What do you fear, mage?” he snarled.

  “Short term goals include an emergency meeting with King Rosten,” Tibus said, reading off the manifesto. “Through whatever means necessary. Is this true, Zan? Do you plan to abandon the Orcish Nation?”

  Zan’s red-faced consternation was visible even in the dying light. He’d clearly been betrayed by someone close to him.

  “Del Cinar is no threat to anyone but the dragon riders,” Zan said. “Kanoor, I beg your leave to depart for Lakeshore. It is vital that I consult with King Rosten as a special envoy.”

  “Enough with this nonsense!” Tibus spat. “Rosten banned orcish envoys over twenty years ago, or have you forgotten? The arrogance of humans knows no bounds. Our foreign policy begins and ends with war. A war sanctioned by our elvish allies.”

  “And the dragon riders?” Zan returned. “They will not stop with our homeland. They will push east over the Mittels and reach Ardennia within two years. Our invasion is merely deferring the inevitable.”

  “Then what is so urgent that you must speak with King Rosten immediately?”

  Zan looked away, head bowed. Catelyn’s heart sank - if he was going to save the both of them, this was the moment.

  “I cannot disclose my knowledge. To do so would compromise the means of our salvation.”

  Tibus stepped forward with a murderous air of finality.

  “You will tell me, champion, or I cannot protect you.”

  Catelyn felt Rane’s eyes boring through her. With a chill she realized that the Kanoor could not help Zan. Orcs seemed to be beholden to elves for reasons she wasn’t privy to. These elves, shabby and decrepit versions of the real thing, exerted some sort of power in the siege camp. Rane was certainly behaving with roguish presumption, barely concealing his disdain for the Kanoor and his entourage.

  “’Dragon riders’? Wanton foolishness, Tibus. Elves recognize your need for migration, but let us not overplay the threat.”

  “The dragon riders of Tarbus seemed real enough when I held a dying elder in my arms,” Tibus said coldly.

  Rane bowed. T
he act of deference clearly did not come naturally to him. The catapults on the hill let loose with another well-coordinated volley. The fireballs emitted an eerie, high-pitched scream as they soared toward the darkened riverside town. The moonless night had a primal edge to it, a quivering violence. Catelyn could not only feel the obvious, nerve-shredding threat, but something, something in the back of her mind insisted there was a ripeness to it. An opportunity she could exploit. The fear and revulsion throbbing in her chest craved release. She wasn’t sure how it could be achieved - only that it would be utterly destructive when it happened.

  “Andra falls, one way or another,” Tibus said in a flat tone. “You will not aid your people, mage?”

  “Enough innocents died at Duskovy Castle,” Zan said. “I will not claim another soul in this war.”

  Tibus cast a furtive glance at his dire mage before turning away. “Do what you will, Rane. I trust you will tell the Council I was most obliging.”

  The Kanoor didn’t bother waiting for a reply and Dahal Rane clearly saw no need to furnish him with one. Zan was now at the mercy of a pack of rabid, bloodthirsty jackals.

  “Let’s get down to business,” Rane purred, fondling himself provocatively. “Mage, you are a misguided fool. You will die and I won’t think twice about it.”

  The elf’s fevered gaze slid to Catelyn, who suddenly wished dire magic included the ability to teleport.

  “My betters send me on errands of various import,” Rane went on. “I do not complain. At the end of the day, I am merely a pawn in a much larger game.”

  Rane unzipped his leather trousers and revealed himself to his captives. Catelyn averted her gaze.

  “I execute dry, soulless commands for a living. I do it flawlessly and without complication. I killed your family to send a message, Catelyn. It wasn’t personal. At first, I was even prepared to accept that I’d only nailed seven little rabbits.”

  The elves chortled. Catelyn could barely see their faces in the settling dark. Every now and again their ugly smirks were illuminated by torchlight. The overall effect was like a grotesque mummers’ show.

  “But of course, three little rabbits were still running around, their shivering hearts beating madly. I threw myself into my work, but I couldn’t meet certain … desires. Not when I’d left three of the most wholesome, ripe-looking bunnies behind.”

  Catelyn thought she might black out. She’d never encountered anyone as willfully hostile as this elf.

  “I would not advise you take this any further,” Zan warned. “You do not have enough men to contain a fully-fledged dire mage.”

  “The hands are the transfer points for dire magic,” Rane said blandly, moving behind Catelyn. “So take them off.”

  A clutch of elves approached Zan with extreme caution. It seemed that Rane was intent on testing their resolve too.

  “Zan!” Catelyn screamed, terrified of what the psychotic elf was about to do to her from behind.

  Zan broke free of his bonds and he launched into a spell. His arms swung in a circular motion and he chanted something unintelligible. The foremost elves disintegrated on the spot, their flesh granulating into ash so light that it was carried by the breeze before it could hit the ground. Short of succumbing to panic, their comrades pressed forward. Zan obliterated two more with dramatic heaves of his body, stripping flesh and bone with astounding, near-surgical precision. But something wasn’t right. A mage of Zan’s magnitude should have had all of the elves laid out by now. Were they naturally immune to dire magic? By the time an elf was able to get close enough to touch the mage, several lay dead on the dirt. It wasn’t enough. A burly elf held the mage’s hands by the wrists even as his own began to disintegrate.

  “Zan!” Catelyn shouted, her voice muted by wildly unstable air. “Get out of there!”

  Rane appeared from nowhere and swung a hatchet down over Zan’s wrists. The orc’s scream joined the distant, celestial fireballs across the sky. Catelyn saw his hands tumbling to the dirt before tearing her gaze away. Tears flowed down her cheeks. There was no hope in her soul now, just a feral pestilence. Defeated, all she could do was slide into sitting position. Zan’s humming magic seemed to fold in on itself, flowing desultorily back to its caster until the clearing was crisp and clear once more. The night breeze played with the torches and there was a lull as the distant catapults prepared to reload. Andra, so stolid in defense just moments ago, was now ringed by fire.

  Five or six elves remained - it was difficult to tell in the murk. Rane had disappeared again. A soft chuckle at her shoulder quietly skewered whatever ragged tendrils of courage she had left. Zan lay on his side, hugging his bloody stumps close. The mage seemed on the verge of passing out and was likely bleeding to death.

  “I’ve waited so long for this moment,” Rane whispered in Catelyn’s ear, caressing her cheek with a calloused finger. “Excuse my roughness. I am but a lowly horseman.”

  Catelyn’s tunic was ripped apart at the seams, exposing her back. She flinched as Rane pressed himself against her.

  “What a world we live in,” he panted. “That someone like me could write a love letter on someone like you.”

  Catelyn hunched over, anything to make herself a smaller target. Of course, anything she did was futile. She dug her fingernails into her palms as a warm liquid jetted across her shoulder blades.

  “Do not … touch her …” Zan whimpered, raising a pathetic stump against Rane.

  The elf was onto the stricken mage in a flash, pressing a boot down on his mangled stumps. Zan howled like a man possessed. The sight of Rane, such a disgusting, predatory figure, standing over a man who’d shown her kindness and respect, tipped Catelyn from her grief into pure, blazing fury. The world was surely mocking her. She found a hard, cold ball of anger inside and didn’t let go. Zan’s aura of decay may have retreated, but hers was waiting in the wings, begging to take flight. Her body tensed, whip-like. The double-coiled rope that bound her wrists felt like the thinnest of twine. It fell away as she rose to her full height.

  Rane’s eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of what Catelyn was about to unleash. With a circular flourish, she expelled the energy she’d been carrying her entire life, purging, purging the shadow she’d always sensed but never confronted. A ring of pure, atrophic decay pulsed from her hands, flaying the elves alive. Rane’s hateful face disintegrated into ashes of blood, flesh and bone that danced away into the seething night.

  Her breath ragged and shallow, Catelyn gathered her tattered tunic around her and knelt next to Zan.

  “Can you walk?” she asked, trying not to look at the stumps where his hands had been. She wrapped them in strips of her clothing. It was only a matter of time before orcs arrived to investigate the strange happenings within their siege camp.

  “We must go,” Zan said, forcing himself to his feet.

  “Together,” Catelyn said, inexpressibly glad that Zan was still alive. To wade into that wall of dark alone seemed utterly impossible.

  Supporting the mage, Catelyn stumbled through a ring of shrubs and found herself surrounded by pig-skin tents.

  “This way,” she said with more confidence than she felt. Zan was in no condition to comment. The pair threaded their way through the camp with the utmost wariness, but most of the tents were deserted. The bulk of the Kanoor’s forces were most likely watching the fireworks along the siege line. The few orcs that remained seemed unwilling to show their faces. Catelyn didn’t blame them in the slightest - between the distant siege and the sudden outburst of dire magic, the night had taken on a thoroughly surreal ambiance.

  Minutes later the limping, weak fugitives cleared the tents and found themselves in an apple orchard. The light was dim at best, but Catelyn ensured that Zan remained on his feet. If they could just put a single mile behind them, escape wasn’t out of the question. The idea of being free of the ravenous orc horde filled her with aching hope.

  “Hurry,” she breathed, hardly daring to speak. “A little more
effort and we’re clear.”

  The steady thrum of approaching hoof-fall destroyed her burgeoning hopes instantly. A company of orcish horseman caught up with them, circling the pair at a distance.

  “Knight,” an orc said, his voice halting in the gloom.

  “Ovessa,” said another, delicately reining in his horse.

  The human word ‘knight’ and the orcish word for ‘champion’. These orcs had witnessed the elf obliteration and recognized valor in battle. Catelyn didn’t quite understand the cultural context of their behavior. Her own kind would either be cowering in fear or giving chase. And yet as soon as the words had been uttered in quiet wonder, she knew she was free. The enemy had recognized fellow warriors on a different path. They would wait until Catelyn and Zan had disappeared before rejoining their own war. The hard-earned validation gave her strength and courage where there had been none.

  She stood tall and carried the fading Zan through the trees and into the darkness beyond.

  14 - Tanis

  “So tell me, Tanis, what is it you want?”

  Tanis set down his fork. He didn’t know where to start. Seated at the opposite end of the dining table, the Tall Lady waited patiently for an answer. Her over-large face was as discomforting now as it was an hour ago when he’d first arrived. Everything about the chapel flirted with the familiar, the common, without ever settling on that mark. The floor was clean, but scuffed and crumbling. The walls were white but gleamed with a clear, viscous substance. The ancient pews were covered in odd scrawlings. Finally, the dining table, upon which luncheon was served, was unusually narrow. It spanned the entire width of the altar. The witch clearly wasn’t a devotee of the Eleven.

  Smoke occasionally drifted from the sacristy out back, which had presumably been converted into a kitchen. Thankfully the foul stench was allowed to drift through the open nave doors. Aside from that, there was little evidence that the Tall Lady occupied the building. A series of large, ornate paintings mounted in between the stained-glass windows were the only real decoration.