The Ransom Knight, Page 2

  “Are they ghosts?” said Tollard, his eyes wide.

  “Defend yourselves!” said Trocend.

  The ghostly warriors charged, raising their weapons.

  Mazael lifted his shield, drew back his sword, and charged. The nearest phantom raised a mace and brought it hammering down. The weapon looked immaterial, but some instinct made Mazael raise his shield. The mace struck his shield with tremendous force, the shock shooting up his arm. He stepped back, his longsword sweeping before him, and felt the blade connect with the ghostly warrior. The translucent knight faded and unraveled into mist.

  He spun and saw Tollard and Mulger fighting back to back with the efficient movements of veterans, their swords in hand. Gerald stood behind them, his shield upon his arm and his sword in his right fist. The armsmen were trying to protect him, but there were simply too many of the specters. A ghostly figure in leather lunged at Gerald with a club, and the squire got his shield up to deflect. The club bounced off the sturdy oak, and before the phantom recovered its balance, Gerald stabbed with his sword. The translucent figure dissolved into mist, and Gerald retreated at once into a defensive stance. Mazael felt a peculiar stab of pride. The boy had learned his lessons well.

  Yet there were too many of the damned phantoms for Gerald to handle, and Mazael charged into the fray. One of the specters struck at his back with a sword. His chain mail stopped the edge, though the blow would leave a nasty bruise. He used the momentum from the strike to hurl himself forward, and he cut down one of the phantoms menacing Gerald. Tollard and Mulger shifted their stance, and Mazael, Gerald, and the two armsmen formed a ring facing outwards as the phantoms swirled around them.

  “What the hell are these things?” said Tollard.

  “Ghosts,” said Mulger.

  “The hell if I know,” said Mazael, striking down a phantasmal knight. He didn’t think the ghostly warriors were undead creatures. He had never encountered an undead creature, but he had spoken with knights and wizards who had, and from what he understood only powerful magic could put the undead to rest. Their swords of steel had no trouble dispatching the ghostly warriors to mist. What were the creatures? Some sort of magical spell? Warriors who had been cloaked in magic?

  A more pressing question came to the forefront of Mazael’s thoughts.

  “Where the hell is the monk?” he snapped, parrying a sword strike and bashing his shield across the specter’s face. The phantom knight stumbled, and Mazael split it in two with a quick slash of his sword.

  “I don’t know,” said Gerald. “I lost track of him when the ghosts appeared! I…” He fell silent, blocking a strike.

  Mazael snarled a furious curse. No doubt Trocend had run off when danger appeared. Those specters would have surrounded and killed him. Which also seemed like a likely fate for Mazael and the others. Dozens of the ghostly forms moved out of the trees, and Mazael and the others could not overcome them all…

  Blue light flashed, and Mazael spotted Trocend. The monk walked forward, his right hand extended, a pale blue crystal clutched in his fist. The light from the crystal sheathed him in a pale corona, and the phantoms recoiled from the light. Trocend raised his left hand, and volleys of blue sparks burst from his palm. The sparks ripped through the phantoms, and even the touch of a single spark was enough to unravel a phantom. Within moments the sparks had shattered the phantoms, and then the mist itself vanished.

  They stood in silence, staring at the monk.

  “How…did you do that?” said Gerald.

  “The gods are with him,” said Tollard, his voice awed. “They must have sent their divine power to drive away the ghosts.”

  “The gods might be with him,” said Mazael, and Trocend’s pale eyes shifted towards him, “but that wasn’t divine favor. That was a magical spell. You’re a wizard, aren’t you?”

  “A wizard?” said Gerald, astonished. “But the lords of Knightreach do not keep court wizards. They…”

  “A polite fiction,” said Trocend, tucking the crystal into one of his pouches. “Maintaining order is a difficult task, and the abilities of the Brotherhood of wizards are a vital tool. The Justiciar Order, of course, frowns upon all magic, and the Order is one of your father’s closest allies. So to show respect to the Grand Master of the Justiciars, your father does not keep a court wizard.”

  “Instead he has a monk,” said Mazael. “One who also happens to be a wizard.”

  “Alas,” said Trocend with his thin smile. “I never claimed to be a monk. I am uncertain how people keep coming to this incorrect conclusion.”

  “This is a dishonorable deception,” said Gerald, “to masquerade as a monk…”

  “We have more immediate problems,” said Mazael. He sheathed his sword and pointed at Trocend. “You knew we would encounter something like this. That’s why Lord Malden sent you, isn’t it?”

  Trocend said nothing.

  Mazael snapped his fingers. “Wait. When Tollard came back, you said we would reach Castle Highstone by noon. You’ve been there before, haven’t you?”

  “I have,” said Trocend.

  “I suggest, master wizard,” said Mazael, “that you tell me what is going on. It’s more than a simple ransom, isn’t it?”

  Trocend stared at him for a long moment, and Mazael felt a prickle of alarm. His instincts screamed for him to cut down the old monk before he could cast a spell. Physically, Trocend would be no match for Mazael, but if the wizard brought his magic to bear…

  “Very well,” said Trocend. “But you shall keep my secrets, sir knight.” He pointed at Gerald. “You have to learn the truth of me sooner or later, squire.” His pointing finger shifted to Mulger and Tollard. “You men, as well, by risking your lives have earned the right to know the truth. But you shall keep this truth a secret. Breathe a word of it to anyone, even your own wives, and you shall suffer a mysterious and accidental death soon after. Am I understood?”

  Both armsmen agreed quickly. No one in their right mind wanted to cross a wizard.

  “Now that we have the threats out of the way,” said Mazael, “perhaps you can tell us what is happening.”

  “I am not entirely sure, not yet,” said Trocend. “Suffice it to say, Sir Edmund blundered into a situation far more dangerous than a simple abduction. Castle Highstone is…old, quite old. Older than Knightcastle, even.”

  “A Roland has ruled in Knightcastle for almost three thousand years,” said Gerald.

  “You see that I do not overstate the matter,” said Trocend. “It has changed hands and been destroyed and rebuilt a score of times over the centuries. Sir Traeger Highstone is merely the latest tenant to occupy the castle. It is my belief that Sir Traeger found a relic of magic within the ruins and attempted to use it.”

  “And this relic…conjured those spirits?” said Mazael. Trocend nodded.

  “What manner of creatures were they, begging your pardon?” said Mulger. “A man needs to know what a creature is to kill it properly.”

  “There is wisdom in that,” said Trocend. “They were not human, if that puts your mind to rest.”

  “It doesn’t,” said Tollard. “Sir.”

  “They were minor entities of the spirit world,” said Trocend. “Dangerous, but only in the way wild dogs are dangerous to the weak and the unprepared. They took the forms of armored men in mimicry of us. Had they been more powerful spirits, weapons of steel would not have harmed them, and we would likely have all been killed.”

  “Can Sir Traeger summon these more powerful spirits?” said Mazael.

  “I do not know,” said Trocend. “I suggest we press on before he learns how to do so.”

  Mazael stared hard at the wizard, who met his gaze without flinching. There was more that Trocend was not telling him, he was sure of it. He was tempted to tell Trocend to go to hell and to return to Knightcastle with Gerald. Yet he could not leave without Sir Edmund, or at least without learning of his fate.

  “Let’s go,” said Mazael.

  Chapte
r 3: Haggling

  White ruins covered the slope of the hill.

  Whatever the ruins had been, there wasn’t much left. A cluster of slender white columns here, a crumbling white wall there. Once, Mazael suspected, a city had covered the slope. Certainly the hill looked as if it had been terraced long ago. Yet time and weather had done their damage, and only a few stone blocks remained of the white ruins.

  Yet the ruins were identifiable nonetheless.

  “Dark Elderborn,” said Mulger, his hand never straying far from his sword hilt.

  “Aye,” said Tollard. “Lots of Dark Elderborn ruins in the Stormvales.” He spat. “Cursed places, all of them. Those spirits were likely lurking within.”

  “Probably not,” said Trocend. He glanced back at Gerald. “A knight must also know the history of the realm, squire. What do you know of the Dark Elderborn?”

  Gerald looked at Mazael, and he nodded at the boy.

  “The Imperium of the Dark Elderborn once ruled all the lands between the two oceans,” said Gerald, sounding as if he was reciting a lesson. “They were cruel lords and powerful sorcerers, but in their pride they constantly warred against each other. The western lands of the Imperium collapsed into squabbling princedoms, and the Rolands of Knightcastle and the others lords destroyed their realms one by one. Now the Dark Elderborn are extinct, and only their ruins remain.”

  “Is that what this is, then?” said Mazael. “Sir Traeger found some relic of the Dark Elderborn, and now we have to fix his mess?”

  “Perhaps,” said Trocend. “We shall see.”

  “Someday you’re going to give a straight answer to a question,” said Mazael, “and you’ll die of surprise a few moments later.”

  Tollard snickered. Trocend gave him a blank look, and the young armsman fell silent.

  A moment later they reached the top of the hill, and Mazael looked upon Castle Highstone for the first time.

  A broad, rocky valley stretched before them, mantled in green pine trees. A massive fist of rock rose from the valley, and atop that fist of stone stood a small castle. A gray curtain wall encircled the top of the crag, and within the wall rose a single delicate tower of white stone. A narrow wooden bridge stretched from the edge of the valley to the top of the crag. The castle was a strong place, and a small number of men could hold it against a much larger force.

  The white tower held the entirety of Mazael’s attention.

  “The castle’s built around a Dark Elderborn ruin?” said Mazael.

  “You see, then,” said Trocend, “why I was concerned?”

  “Strong place,” grunted Mulger. “Be a devil to siege.”

  “You’d need the entire host of Knightreach to take it by storm,” said Mazael. “If you tried to starve it out, the castle can be held with so few men that any besiegers would run out of food long before the castle did.”

  “It might take only a few men to hold the place,” said Tollard, shielding his eyes as he looked at the curtain wall, “but I don’t see any men upon the ramparts.”

  “Nor do I,” said Mulger.

  “It is possible,” said Trocend, “that Sir Traeger has employed guardians of a more…spectral nature, shall we say.”

  “Splendid,” said Mazael. “It’s time to make up our minds, Brother Trocend.” The wizard raised his thin eyebrows. “Are we here to ransom Sir Edmund, or are we here to kill Sir Traeger?”

  “We are here to ransom Sir Edmund,” said Trocend, “and to determine if Sir Traeger is a threat to Lord Malden’s lands.”

  “Fine,” said Mazael. “Wait here. I’ll head onto the bridge and demand Sir Traeger send forth a herald. We can negotiate terms, make the exchange, and get the hell out of here before Traeger or whoever else is in that castle summons up an army of spirits to kill us all.”

  “I should accompany you, Sir Mazael,” said Gerald.

  “No, stay with the others,” said Mazael. “If they take a shot at me, I don’t want you catching an arrow in the throat.” Gerald frowned, but nodded and planted himself next to Mulger.

  Mazael took a deep breath, adjusted his shield, and headed for the bridge. He watched the battlements of the curtain wall as he drew closer. No one stirred on the walls or upon the tower, yet Mazael could not shake the feeling of unseen eyes. Perhaps those phantom warriors would spring out of nothingness and attack when he approached the gate. He strode upon the narrow bridge, the planks thumping beneath his boots, and stopped halfway between the hill and the curtain wall of Castle Highstone.

  “I am Sir Mazael Cravenlock!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Knight to Malden Roland, Lord of Knightcastle and liege lord of Knightreach! In his name I have come forth to negotiate for the release of Sir Edmund Redmane, a vassal of Lord Malden. I charge Sir Traeger Highstone to dispatch an emissary that we might negotiate!”

  No answer came, so Mazael repeated his challenge again, and then for a third time. Still no guards appeared on the walls, and Mazael suspected that the castle was deserted. He considered simply walking up to the gate and climbing over the wall when a postern door swung open and a cloaked figure stepped out.

  Mazael blinked in surprise.

  The emissary was a woman.

  She looked about thirty, and wore a peculiar mixture of clothing - a leather vest laced tight over a white shirt, leggings, heavy boots, and a dusty brown cloak. A variety of pouches hung from her belt, and she wore a baldric similar to Trocend’s. She had close-cropped black hair. Mazael had never liked short hair on women, but her face was pretty enough to pull it off, and the vest and the leggings fit her well.

  The woman stopped a few paces away and stared at Mazael, arms crossed over her chest, her face suspicious.

  He waited for her to speak first.

  “So,” said the woman at last. She spoke with the accent of Knightreach. “You have come for the fat old knight, yes?”

  “That I have,” said Mazael.

  “What are your terms?” said the woman.

  Mazael cleared his throat and started to shout. “I am Sir Mazael Cravenlock, knight to Malden Roland, Lord of Knightcastle and…”

  “Yes, yes,” said the woman with an irritated swipe of her hand. “I heard all that the first time, thank you. As I said, what are your terms?”

  “That depends,” said Mazael. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Atalia,” said the woman. “Lord Traeger has appointed me to act as his emissary in this matter.”

  “Lord Traeger?” said Mazael. “He’s a lord now? I thought it was just Sir Traeger.” He gestured at the valley below. “The lord of rocks and pine trees, is that it? Little wonder he needs to take hostages. I cannot imagine rocks and pine trees pay much in the way of rents.”

  Atalia blinked, and then let out a little laugh, as if against her will. “I suppose not.” She stared at him for a moment, her right hand opening and closing. The woman looked…strained, and after a moment Mazael realized that she was terrified. She was putting up a brave front, but he saw a muscle twitching near her eye. “So. Lord Malden sent you to deliver Sir Edmund’s ransom?”

  “He did,” said Mazael.

  “You came alone?” said Atalia, craning her neck to look at the hilltop behind them.

  “I came with an appropriate escort,” said Mazael. “The hills of the Stormvales are a dangerous place to travel alone.”

  “This is true,” said Atalia.

  “Especially of late,” said Mazael.

  “Yes,” said Atalia, meeting his gaze without blinking.

  “What with the murderous phantom warriors and all,” said Mazael. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

  The muscle near her eye started twitching harder. “One hears rumors.”

  “One does, I imagine,” said Mazael. “One rumor says that Sir Traeger was digging around in Castle Highstone, and found something…unpleasant. Something that might call up phantoms?”

  “What sort of phantoms?” said Atalia. “Ghost sto
ries are common.”

  “The sort of phantoms,” said Mazael, “that are actually creatures summoned from the spirit world.”

  “How did you know that?” said Atalia.

  “Perhaps I’m well-read,” said Mazael.

  “A lord’s household knight?” said Atalia. “If you can spell your own name, I shall be amazed.”

  “I’m a surprising sort of fellow,” said Mazael. An idea occurred to him. “You, though, are utterly predictable.”

  She scowled at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “His lordship Traeger Highstone is a brigand,” said Mazael. “Which would make you…what, his concubine? His whore?” He snapped his fingers. “A local village girl, is that it? Thought you would seduce the great Lord Traeger and ride him to fame and fortune? Instead he’s sending you out to talk to armed men because he’s too cowardly to do it himself…”

  “Enough!” said Atalia, her black eyes blazing with fury. “Do you think I would take a wretch like Traeger into my bed? I am no whore, as you shall learn!” She lifted her right hand, the fingers spread, and the air began to ripple and blur around it.

  “No,” said Mazael. “But you are a wizard, aren’t you?”

  She blinked and looked at her hand with chagrin.

  “No, not quite,” said Mazael. “You’re an apprentice wizard.” Something else occurred to him. “A failed apprentice.”

  “Shut up,” said Atalia.

  “A failed apprentice of one Brother Trocend Castleson,” said Mazael.

  Atalia flinched. “How did you know that?”

  “I don’t know,” said Mazael. “I’m just an unlettered rustic knight, ignorant and rough...”

  “Oh, shut up,” said Atalia. She blinked several times. “Trocend is with you, isn’t he?”

  Mazael grinned. He had knocked her off balance, but she had recovered quickly. A clever woman, and one with magical skills. That made her dangerous.