The Reborn King (Book Six) Page 31

  He followed the duo, running in silence from shadow to shadow. Though the knight was young, he had been well trained. He took a seemingly random route through the city, stopping from time to time to check that they were not followed. But the Dark Knight was far too skilled to be caught by such basic tactics.

  When they finally reached the Master Builder’s small house, his escort ushered the man inside and then took a walk around the building as a security measure. But none of this would do him any good.

  When the knight returned and followed his charge through the front door of the house, Aremiel prepared to move. Watching from an alley twenty yards away, he waited for a few pedestrians to pass before bolting across the street. Creeping along the side of the house, he made his way to the back. The sound of the knight talking came to him quite clearly.

  Experience told him to stay put until he knew precisely where everyone was. From the sound of the footsteps and the creaks in the floor, he was able to get a reasonable idea of the interior layout. The Master Builder was clearly not in a mood for conversation, and was saying nothing while the obviously now relaxed knight prattled on.

  He would prefer for both men to be in the same room when he made his move, so he decided to enter straight through the back door. If he was fast enough, he should be able to take the knight by surprise and end the fight before he could even arm himself.

  He drew his dagger and stepped forward. The knight would be in the room just to his left. He took a breath and smashed the rear door in with his the heel of his boot.

  Without hesitation, he stormed to the door of the next room. It was slightly ajar, so he ran into it shoulder first and burst through. He was expecting to see a solitary knight caught unawares by the suddenness of the attack. Instead, there stood three knights, each one well prepared and carrying a long dagger.

  The younger man was in the center, and flanked on each side by an older veteran. The man on his left the Dark Knight recognized, the other he did not.

  Aremiel grinned viciously. “I see I wasn’t as careful as I thought.”

  “It ends here, demon,” the young knight said. “You have drawn your last drop of blood.”

  “And you think you will be the one who kills me?” he scoffed. “For your bravery, I will spare your life if I can.”

  “You will pay for the lives you have already taken,” he spat in return.

  The older knight on the left spoke. “Take care. I have seen him fight. He was the only knight in the Order who could challenge Orias.”

  “That is why I called for you,” the youthful knight shot back. “I am young, but I’m no fool.”

  Hearing his old friend's name sent a tinge of pain shooting into Aremiel's heart. But in an instant, the pain had turned to anger. He could hear the Master Builder’s rapid breathing in the next room. He needed to end this and complete his task. Still, he felt a liking for the young knight. He was reminded of himself as a youth. So full of confidence and resolve.

  “I suggest that you prove you are no fool,” he said. “Leave now.” But the young knight said nothing. Aremiel's eyes narrowed. “Such a waste.”

  As his opponents rushed forward in a narrow semi-circle, he grabbed a small throwing knife from his side. The steel was painted black, making it virtually invisible against his black armor. It sank into the thigh of the man to his right, who instantly let out a cry of both shock and pain before collapsing sideways directly in the path of the young knight. Aremiel could see the fierce determination in the young man's eyes as he fought to prevent himself from stumbling over his fallen comrade. Somehow, he managed to avoid entangling his feet, and, with balance restored, charged on.

  The Dark Knight’s blade flashed as it struck out at his oncoming foe's heart. The young man twisted away, his training guiding his movements. He countered by attempting to open Aremiel’s throat with his knife, but the blade found only air.

  In his eagerness to strike, he had stepped beyond his reach. In an amazing display of skill, Aremiel kicked the young knight in the groin while simultaneously plunging his dagger into the injured man’s chest.

  The young knight doubled over, his face creased with pain and turning purple. Yet still he was able to thrust his blade upwards. It caught the Dark Knight’s breastplate, but he did not have sufficient leverage to penetrate the armor.

  The man now at his rear, enraged by the sight of his companion’s death, roared with fury and stabbed hard at the Dark Knight’s back. But like his younger comrade, his blade also found nothing but empty air.

  Aremiel spun around and trapped his attacker's extended arm beneath his own. In a single movement, he then brought his own blade across the knight’s neck. The man let out a ghastly gurgling sound as blood spewed from the terrible wound. He then sank to his knees and toppled over onto his back.

  By now, the young knight had recovered sufficiently to regain his stance. Aremiel could see the rage in his eyes and knew that more blood would need to be spilled.

  “Come then,” he said. “Join your friends if you must.”

  The young knight charged in with speed that was remarkable for a man of such large proportions. Aremiel jumped to one side and was only just able to avoid having steel sink into his chest. Instinctively, he caught the man’s wrist and countered. But the young knight was ready for this, and pressed hard to one side, causing the dagger to pass behind him. The sheer force of his movement was immense. Both men slammed into the wall, grunting loudly as they did so. The old timbers, unable to withstand such a battering, shattered asunder. With an ear-splitting crack of wood and glass, the pair tumbled completely through and landed in the small area of ground behind the house.

  For a second, panic seized Aremiel. His opponent was larger and heavier…and on top of him. But his hand holding the dagger was still free, and at the other man's back. He turned the tip down and struck. The young knight yelped and rolled to one side.

  This was all the Dark Knight needed. Going with the sideways momentum, he exerted even more force until able to roll over completely and reverse their positions. Now on top, he still had an iron grip on the young man’s knife hand. After pinning this to the ground, he pressed his own blade to the flesh of his opponent's throat.

  “It is over,” he growled. “Drop your weapon.”

  The young knight glared furiously. But his situation was undeniable. He had lost…and now he would die. He loosened his hold on the knife and allowed it to roll off the tips of his fingers.

  “Some men close their eyes when they know the end has come,” said the Dark Knight. “But not you. No. You have courage. And as I told you - I would spare you if I could.”

  “Don’t bother,” he hissed. “I have no fear of my own end.”

  “This I can see,” he replied approvingly. “And before you meet that end, I will know your name.”

  There was a long pause. “Bevaris,” he finally said.

  “It was an honor to meet you, Bevaris. May you live long enough to find a good death. For today it has eluded you.” With a heavy grunt, Aremiel sent his fist smashing into the young knight’s jaw, dispatching him into unconsciousness.

  He rose to his feet and went back into the house through the ruined wall. The Master Builder was still in the next room, sitting in a rickety chair against the far wall.

  The Dark Knight chuckled as he entered. “It would seem you ended up finding your true calling after all, didn’t you, Laraad?”

  “I have always contended that one’s true nature will surface in the end, Aremiel,” he replied.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I thought speaking my name was a crime.”

  Laraad sniffed. “As this is to be my end, I don’t think I need worry about the consequences.”

  “Your end? Why should that be so?”

  “Don’t play games with me,” he said. “We are no longer children, and I have not the patience. Just do what you came here to do.”

  “You’ve gained some courage over the years.” Aremiel took
a chair from the other side of the room and placed it in front of Laraad. “I would have never imagined that to be possible.”

  “And you have become even more arrogant,” he shot back. “I would have never imagined that to be possible.”

  Aremiel laughed softly. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I am arrogant. But that does not explain why you chose me as the guardian of the sword.”

  Laraad sneered. “You think I would choose you? I voted for Orias, but was overridden. He was always a man of faith. More so than any of the others…especially you. Whatever you may think of me, I am devoted to the Order. I would not allow my personal feelings about you or Orias to influence the most important decision of my life. He was always the better man.”

  “And from what I have heard, you now have your wish. Is he not the guardian?”

  “You know that he is,” Laraad replied with disgust. “You know it because you tortured members of the Order for the information. How many innocent men and women have fallen to your wrath? A hundred? A thousand? Or do you even know?”

  “I have only done what needed to be done,” Aremiel replied calmly. “You can serve the gods if you choose. But I will no longer be blinded by their lies. The time is at hand for humankind to be rid of them…forever.”

  “And will it end there?” he countered. “Once you have defeated the gods, will you simply lay down the sword and live your life in peace?”

  “Peace? When has there ever been peace? Have the gods brought peace, or do they simply watch the never-ending slaughter from heaven?”

  “So that is what you think you will do, is it? Bring peace? How can you be so blind?” He shook his head. “You swim across an ocean of blood and think peace will await you on the other side? I was wrong about you. You are not arrogant. You’re insane.”

  Aremiel locked eyes with him. When they were young, Laraad would have quickly looked away. But this was not the same cruel boy he had known in Valshara.

  “Give me what I came for,” he commanded sternly.

  “This will only end in your doom.” Laraad removed a gold ring from his index finger and held it up. It was set with an oval jade bearing the engraved symbol of Amon Dähl. “And I fear that many others will share your fate.”

  Aremiel snatched it from his grasp. “I will create my own fate. And when it is over, you shall see that I am right. The world will be free.”

  Laraad laughed with woeful eyes. “Men like me will not survive to see what you have done to the world.”

  Rising to his feet, Aremiel placed the ring on a nearby table and drew his dagger. With a grunt, he smashed the pommel end of the weapon into the green stone. The jade shattered, revealing a tightly folded piece of parchment. With the utmost care, he opened it and read. A tiny smile crept up from the corners of his mouth.

  “Do you have what you came for?” Laraad asked solemnly.

  “Yes,” he replied. “I do indeed.”

  * * * * *

  The High Lady of Valshara inched her way along the passage toward her door, the young cleric on her arm a constant reminder of her increasing age and infirmity. No longer could she walk the halls of the temple whenever she felt restless. Most of her time was now spent in her chambers. In fact, the vast majority of Amon Dahl’s business was now conducted from there.

  On reaching the door, she patted the young girl on the hand and dismissed her. She was not so feeble that she couldn’t dress for bed unaided – though that time must fast be approaching.

  The first thing she did after entering the room was to glance at her desk. She let out a sigh of relief. No letters. Every day she feared receiving word of more deaths at the hands of her son. Her dear boy. Where had she gone wrong?

  The day she denounced him was long ago, yet it was still fresh in her memory. The one thing that is not failing me is the one thing that causes me the most pain, she thought. Slowly, she rounded her desk and eased herself into the chair.

  “Hello, mother.” The voice seemed to come from the dark corner across the room.

  She froze, at first thinking she had imagined it. Then, from the shadow, her son stepped out.

  “Aremiel.” Her voice was barely audible. “How...?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I killed no one in coming here. But you will want to have someone check the ramparts after I leave so they can untie the sentinels.”

  “Why are you here?” she asked. Her eyes were already welling with tears.

  “I am here to tell you that it is over,” he replied. “I know where the sword is. And when I leave here, I will have it.”

  Anguish instantly clouded her face. “I will only say this once, though I know you will not listen. The Sword of Truth was never meant to be wielded by mortal hands. If you take it, it will destroy you. Please, son. Has there not been enough death? You have made war on the Order, the temples…and me…until your heart has completely turned away from the light. Come back to me. I’m begging you.”

  “There is nothing to come back to,” he said. “Amon Dähl is nothing to me now.”

  “Am I?” she asked. “Am I nothing?”

  He gazed at his mother, trying to see her as he once had. But the woman he knew then was long gone. He understood this now. And in that moment, he knew that coming to see her had been a mistake. It would only serve to cause her more pain. And in spite of his anger, he did not want that.

  “You are my mother,” he replied. “And regardless of what you might think, I do love you.”

  “I know you do, son. And no matter what you have done…or will do...I love you too.”

  Aremiel moved closer to kiss her on the cheek. She took his hand, squeezing it desperately. For a brief moment he was the child she had brought to the temple so many years ago. But then he pulled away and without looking back, left the room.

  For more than an hour she sat there in silence, tears soaking her face. Finally, she reached into her drawer and removed a small, silver-handled dagger.

  “It has been long enough,” she whispered.

  The pain was insignificant. She knew how and where to place the blade. Soon her eyelids grew heavy as more blood spilled onto the floor. And as she faded, a vision of her precious boy entered her mind. His smile was bright and warm, and his love unquestioning and complete.

  She smiled back and her spirit reached out to him.

  Still together, they passed into memory.

  * * * * *

  As he neared the location of the sword, his thoughts turned to Orias. Would he be there? Of course he would be. He was the guardian. Yet still there was a part of him that longed for his old friend to have abandoned his duty, so making the inevitable confrontation unnecessary. But this was a futile hope. Orias was still blinded by his faith and a slave to the will of the gods. And now fate was upon them both. A final death to cause…and his ultimate sin to commit. He pressed on.

  It was all the Dark Knight could do to keep his teeth from chattering. The chill mountain air was thick with a dense fog that soaked into his skin, making every movement of the wind feel like torture. The only sounds were the crunch and clatter of his horse’s hooves and his own labored breathing.

  He could feel that he was drawing near to his destination, yet could see nothing but dull gray fog and the gnarled, vicious shadows of long dead trees....

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Gewey rose from the slithas and landed gently on the sandstone terrace that surrounded the vortex. He stared into its depths for a moment, marveling at the sight. As the rushing sand flowed down it changed from the light beige color typical of the desert into a luminescent blue, then vanished completely into a well of nothingness. The flow was so strong here that it took his breath away. It was several seconds before he was able to adjust and focus his vision.

  The surrounding area was broad and smooth. Shadows danced and flickered from multiple directions, yet the only light here was emanating from the vortex itself. His memory, or rather, the memory of Gerath, told him that this was whe
re all life had first spawned. At least, that was what the gods believed. He was still shocked at how, in spite of their vast knowledge, there were still numerous mysteries that remained elusive to them. In many ways they were no different from humans or elves. Both were limited in their wisdom, and both continuously sought the meaning to their existence.

  But this was not the time for such contemplations. He took a deep cleansing breath and stretched out with his spirit. In an instant he knew that his foe was near. Gewey smiled and centered his mind on what his human eyes were unable to see.

  Then he saw him. The Dark Knight. He was sitting on a large earthen chair he had created with the flow. His form was that of a man. He was broad in the shoulder - nearly as broad as Gewey himself - and even through the gleaming black armor, the sinews of his powerful arms and legs were obvious. His dark curls fell down his neck, pulled away from his face by a thin golden crown resting upon his brow.

  But it was his face that was startling. His penetrating brown eyes, square jaw and handsome nose would have made most women swoon. But his flesh…if that’s what it could be called, had all the appearance of polished marble. Pitch-black, and veined with thin crimson lines, it was like looking at a superbly crafted statue of an ancient warrior. Only the fact that his eyes blinked occasionally indicated that he was indeed alive and not made of stone.

  “Does my appearance bother you?” he asked. His voice boomed and echoed with unrelenting power. A mortal man would have fallen to his knees in terror, but Gewey easily dismissed the display. “I’m afraid that the sword’s power has had some unanticipated effects.” He held out his hand and the Sword of Truth immediately appeared there. The ghostly light from its blade spilled down and drenched the floor with its energy.

  Gewey used the flow to create another chair facing his enemy. His eyes never left him as he sat down. Then he noticed the body of a woman on the ground behind the Dark Knight.