Shadow Knight Read online

  Screw therapy. Better things to do with my time. I’m not a danger to myself, but definitely to others. Again, that’s part of the job description. Quite literally.

  Out into the Silent Plains, I rode the ram, enjoyed the silence. Not even the whispers of the breeze touched this place, to get lost here in the endless expanse of green and yellow was a death sentence. The ram didn’t touch the grass with his mouth, I noticed, that was probably the biggest hint that something wasn’t right with it. The only things either of us ate came from my pack, fae bread and fodder, regular bottled water from the canteen I found in Simon Panabaker’s store in the Novisarium. When a liquid was placed in it, that liquid would continually regenerate no matter how much was drunk. I’d tried it with vodka once, but I’d noticed it lost a lot of its punch and taste with repeated refills. No danger of that with water, I only needed it to keep me alive. Nobody drank water because they enjoyed it. Handy for your average explorer. Panabaker had claimed it belonged to the legendary Allan Quartermain, but I wasn’t entirely sure I believed that. Panabaker claimed a lot of things, whether you chose to believe him or not justified the prices he charged.

  I could wander here for days, not see anything. Leanna hadn’t been specific with her directions, she never was. Making specific demands in High Hall was a double-edged sword, especially where mortals were concerned. It was a place to stop and state exactly what you desired, with little wiggle room. Say you hired some fae on an expedition to watch for bandits but didn’t specify that you wanted them to alert you to their presence, they’d fulfil that request to the letter of the law. It’s the same if you asked someone to search a specific area, they’d do it, but no more. By telling me they’d been spotted out here on the border of High Hall and the Untamed Lands, it was her way of telling me not to come back until I was damn sure they either existed or didn’t. Part of me wondered if it was her way of keeping me out of the way for a bit, she did this sometimes if she had an ulterior motive. All I could do was the job I’d been tasked with, do it so damn well she had no choice but to utter begrudging congratulations and welcome me back into the embrace of her bosom.

  Either way, I didn’t have to wait long for proof. I wandered for another day, spotted the plume of smoke in the distance and urged my mount forward, hooves the size of dinner plates cutting into the earth as he jerked forward in ungainly fashion, jarring me all over the place as he ran, hurdling a rocky outcrop, going from stone to stone until we stood at the remnants of a campsite.

  Whatever else you might have to say about the troll-apes of the Untamed Lands, they don’t have good basic hygiene, the stink of them lingering in the air, like the monkey house at the zoo mixed in with shit and piss and rotten fish. There’s a reason the denizens of the two demesnes don’t get on, that stink often breaks up any sort of dialogue before they’ve even started. The fae absolutely hate the unclean, they’ll be rude and dismissive before opposition mouths have even opened. I wouldn’t say the troll-apes are stupid, far from it, but the fae view them as primitive savages more concerned in rolling in their own filth than advancing themselves. By opposite views, the troll-apes think the fae are so far up their own arses, it’s amazing they can smell anything at all.

  The remnants of a fire smouldered in front of me, the grass flattened and broken in the shape of large, distorted bodies. It didn’t take an expert woodsman to work out what had happened, they’d rested here for a spell. The smell gave their presence away. Maybe three of them, four at a push. Not an invasion force, maybe a raiding party.

  On its own, this was proof that the sightings had been true. It was probably enough to take back to the queen, though if she then tasked me to deal with it, it would mean more riding, more travel. It all goes back to that nothing for nothing mentality. When you’re immortal, like the fae, you can afford to waste time like that. I’m sure they invented bureaucracy and gave it to humanity as a bit of a cruel joke, but I’m more a man of action.

  Three to four troll-apes? I could deal with that, if I used my head. It would be tricky, but not impossible. Getting the drop on them wasn’t easy, they had exceptional hearing, but less than average sense of smell and eyesight. I just needed to be sneaky. My sword thirsted for blood, I patted the hilt and grinned to myself. If I brought Queen Leanne their heads, it’d be a grand gift for her. If it was in ‘self-defence’ too, then I couldn’t be accused of looking weak for doing something without being asked.

  Weird how in the Novisarium, in the human world, showing some initiative is a trait highly desired by employers, but it’s the bang opposite here. Welcome to High Hall. It’s a fucked-up place, in case I haven’t gotten that point across already. Whatever you think regular convention is for your species, just do the exact bloody opposite and you can fake your way through ninety percent of your interactions with the natives.

  My mount eyed me with barely concealed disgust at the smell, I shrugged my shoulders at him. “Sorry, pal,” I said. “Guess we’re going to have to do this a bit longer.” Sometimes I wished the fae had bred talking animals, others I was glad they hadn’t. Just because something can speak doesn’t mean that they’re always worth listening to.

  He twitched his nose at me, leaned his head down to the grass, sniffed at it and sneezed, still didn’t take a bite. I wouldn’t have either around here. Nobody knew what secretions the troll-apes had been leaking onto the local fauna. I wouldn’t take the chance of eating something they’d pissed on either.

  My ram apparently had more sense than most humans I’d ever met. Not that they’d like to admit they’re capable of being outsmarted by an oversized sheep. It’s often the dumbest amongst us that have the highest estimation of their own abilities. And here I was, about to track with the intent of killing a raiding party of troll-apes.

  Now who prides their own abilities? What does that say about me?

  Their tracks weren’t hard to follow when you knew what to look for, my mount’s hooves left distinct impressions in the grass, I hadn’t seen anything back the way we’d come, so that ruled one way out. When these things walked, they moved with a definite lack of care and caution, the grass flattened beneath bare feet as they moved single file across the Silent Plains. Didn’t take me long to spot their path, grimaced as I realised it was heading away from High Hall and back towards the border. Well that wouldn’t do. If they thought they could get away with it, they’d keep on doing it. Maybe, just maybe, if some didn’t come back, it’d make the others think twice.

  Maybe.

  I say they’re not stupid, but they weren’t exactly geniuses either. If some didn’t come back, it might be a while before anyone else ventured out, but they knew what the crack was, High Hall didn’t care overtly much about what happened out here. Even if some were caught up in a patrol, they wouldn’t last forever. If they stepped into the forest, it’d be a different story.

  Sometimes I think the only reason the fae keep hold of the Silent Plains is because they don’t want to give them up. It’s not like they give an actual shit about them. It’s like having a white elephant, it’s an absolute hassle to take care of, but you don’t want anyone to think you’re incapable of it. That’s another way of politely describing the fae of High Hall. Stubborn. Too proud to let anyone think they’re infallible. Everyone knows the reality is that they can’t be arsed policing the Silent Plains. The only ones who get put on that duty are those who’ve pissed someone off something chronic. Petty punishment duty? Absolutely. Yet you’re talking an area three times the size of the city and the forest put together with maybe a hundredth of the manpower to patrol it.

  An impossible job? Absolutely. Did they do it to the best of their ability? Well given doing just that was the only way to get away from it, the system worked. Some of the reports they sent out, I’m sure were exaggerated. The way they talk about it, they repel a raiding force every other day, it has to be bullshit. You ever hear that thing about how the fae can’t outright lie? It doesn’t mean they’re incapable of embell
ishing the hell out of the truth. When they say they’ve repelled an invasion, make sure to ask them what was invading. Because they might well be referring to a group of threatening dragonflies. Which, in my opinion, would make an incredible name for a band.

  That’s the one thing I can’t get used to in High Hall. The music. It’s all semi-classic melodious bullshit, strings and keys and no sort of beat to it. Give me something I can do a bit of head-banging to any day of the week.

  All this talk of the border patrol exaggerating their job, I wondered if this was the true purpose of Leanna sending me out here, to see for myself and report back to her the true status of things. Perhaps she wanted her borders checked for security, it wouldn’t be the dumbest thing for a ruler to do. I’d long since given up trying to work out the way her mind worked. I was fucking hopeless with women at the best of times, never mind immortal, inhuman ones.

  I dug my heels into my ram mount, demanded he pick his speed up and we try to catch up with them. The remnants of the fire still smouldered; they couldn’t be far. Maybe twenty minutes to half an hour out at most. If we hurried, I might yet catch them. My ram wasn’t the swiftest of creatures, but he was sturdy, packed a hell of an endurance and even after the days of travelling, he’d shown no signs of exhaustion while I sat astride him.

  Four.

  Once, I didn’t think that I’d make much out of my life. I’d spend my life in the gutter, I’d die there, someone would do unspeakable things to my corpse and I’d be too dead to care, unless I fell into the hands of one of the many necromancers in the Novisarium. That didn’t bear thinking about. I’d been dealt a shit lot in life, to not enjoy death either would be, well that’d be inconvenient, I guess.

  That’s the funny thing about the gutter though, you never know what’s going to inevitably wash through. Everything sinks to the bottom eventually; everyone has one destiny and it’s about grabbing it when opportunity knocks. I firmly believed that then, still do now. I remember like it was yesterday, I guess I’d been a man for a number of months, the memories blending together in one long frenzy to survive. I’d been cut and bruised, I’d not broken. I want to say that the truth is, I’d probably given up on life back then, going through the motions, cold and hungry and alone.

  If I’d been half a step ahead, I’d have missed my opportunity. If that isn’t fate, I don’t know what is. I remembered the clink as the toe of my tattered shoe met the metal in the murky water, a glint caught my eye and curiosity got the better of me. I bent down, picked it up, wiped it against my jacket. It looked shiny, valuable even if it could be cleaned up. Hell, out on those streets, we’d sell anything to anyone who’d give us something for it. Often, we were ripped off, given a fraction of the true value because they saw us coming, they knew how desperate we’d be for anything. Chances were that we didn’t care. We were happy for anything to push away the nagging hunger for a little while longer, some of us so painfully thin that our ribs scraped against our stained clothes.

  If I’d been half a step ahead, I’d have stepped on the brass pocket watch and my life, or what was left of it by then, would have turned out drastically different. Fate, huh. I popped it open, didn’t care too much about the time, it could run backwards for all I cared. A tattered photograph stared back at me from inside the door, a forest bathed in sunlight and I studied it curiously, wondered what it’d be like to live there. A forest surrounded the Novisarium, but not like in the picture. It was cold and wet, I imagined, with none of the amenities of civilisation. As bad as sleeping rough and having nothing is, there are always ways to make it a little better. In the woods, no chance.

  It had to be a better life than this. After all, it couldn’t be much worse, could it? Around me, the stink of shit and fetid cooking fat lingered in the air, of all the sewer pipes in the Novisarium, I didn’t know how I’d wound up in this one, but I knew I’d do anything to get out of it.

  I pocketed the watch; didn’t know why. Maybe I harboured hope that it’d turn out to be valuable and I could sell it on. After all, hope is the thing that kills you in the end, I guess. It feeds us, pushes us to keep on going. A little flicker of hope is infinitely more dangerous than a gallon of despair. The moment you believe, it’ll inevitably crush you when those embers are snuffed.

  Maudlin, right? I think I’ve earned a right to be that way. The Novisarium streets do much for crushing optimism.

  If I’d known then what I came to know later, what picking that watch up would have done for my life, would I still have done it?

  Well that’s a stupid fucking question? I’d have started playing about with it sooner.

  It turned out that all we needed to do was follow the scent, the closer we got, the worse it became, and I found my face in danger of setting into the permanent rictus of a scowl as I tried to avoid breathing as much as possible. I almost laughed aloud at the notion. A long damn time since I was a child and yet some things just stick with you it appears. Eventually the lumbering gaits of the group appeared in the distanced, four black blobs on the horizon, not moving swiftly but still I set my ram to move even faster, hooves kicking up grass and soil as he bounded across the plain.

  By the time they realised I was there, I was upon them, my mount lowered his head and drove his huge horns into the side of the one bringing up the rear, hard diamond-coated bone driving into flesh and a squeal escaped him, though not for much longer as I drew my iron blade and separated his head from his shoulders, only slight resistance as it bit through his fat neck.

  The rest of them were already moving into attack positions, each nearly seven feet tall with dark skin coated in oily black fur and matted dirt, their bellies protruding over the filthy loin cloths they wore. Their faces reminded me of a bastard blend of ape and pig, pointed tusks sticking from their lower jaws, the eyes small and dull, ears curled over the side of their heads. Each of them had six nipples across their prodigious man boobs, I wasn’t sure why, wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to know.

  The smell hit me like a punch, made me want to gag. All of the remaining three carried huge clubs, great stone constructs clutched tight, dents and nicks running across the business end of the weapons. One swung at me, I flung myself from my ram and he carried on going, tackled the troll-ape right in the guts, I jumped to my feet and focused on the other two, sword between me and them.

  They might be ugly, but they weren’t stupid, already they were starting to circle me, moving in circles around me, I did my best to try and keep my eyes on both of them, knew immediately I was going to fail horrifically. As one attacked from the front, the other would come from behind.

  I mentally muttered a word, touched the silver amulet around my neck and the armour raced across my clothing, enhanced silver intended to be unbreakable, a lot lighter than you’d think. Again, magic. Every little helped when it came to defence. One of those clubs might still break me in two if it landed It might well be the difference between living and dying, between feeling a whole lot of pain and feeling the sweet kiss of death. The only downside of the armour was, with it being fae-made, it wouldn’t really stop anything made of iron. It might shield someone from the worst effects of it, if say, they were allergic to it, but a bullet would punch through it just the same.

  I know, I know, I’ve told Queen Leanna that the royal armoury needs upgrading as soon as possible. Does she listen? Do any of them? A Kevlar weave inside the armour would do wonders when it comes to facing a bunch of people with guns. Because as we all know, magic is going to let you down sooner or later. A hunk of metal never does. There’s something reassuring about a length of sharpened metal in your hand, knowing that its true purpose is to maim and kill.

  I ducked the first club, ran him through with my sword, put all my weight behind the pommel as it went through him, his eyes widened with surprised as he stared at the length of iron in his guts. They weren’t pure fae, the blade still hurt, but it wouldn’t be toxic to them the way it’d affect a pure blood resident of High Hall. I al
ways found that ironic, if I’m honest. That they’re so convinced their breeding makes them superior, it also makes them more afflicted by something so base as iron.

  He dropped, I pulled my sword free with gravity’s aid, didn’t pay attention as he hit the grass. I didn’t think he was dead, but I couldn’t afford the split-second to finish him off, not with his buddy thundering towards me from behind. That wasn’t happening. I jumped back before another club could batter me into the ground, the troll-ape’s weapon leaving a huge dent in the earth where I’d stood a moment earlier. It grunted at me, hooted and then hefted the giant weapon, swung it one handed like a baseball bat, I had no choice to weave back and evade it. Going toe to toe with it would end badly, I didn’t have to be a genius to work that out. I grinned at him, my helm formed over my face, just for that added protection and the moment he followed through on his swing, I rushed in close. A weapon like that, however strong he might be, it still took a decent bit of effort to swing. I doubt he had the finesse to jab it like a rapier, a much more effective tactic than blindly hurling its weight around. My blade flashed, I drove it across his grimy flesh, left shallow gouges and he bellowed in pain, grabbed at me with his free hand and I evaded, separated his hand from the rest of his arm at the wrist. Bellows were replaced with screams, he clutched at the stump, his club falling to the ground and comically, I thought, landing on his foot, crushing it into the mood. The sound of smashed bone echoed around the plains, the screams intensifying. I smirked to myself, raised my blade to deliver the final blow while he was distracted, a mini freight train hit me from the side and for a moment I was airborne.