03 Sky Knight

THE SKY KNIGHT
– Book Three of The Legend Riders –

By Kevin Outlaw

The Sky Knight
Copyright Kevin Outlaw © 2013

Published by Kevin Outlaw August 2013

The right of Kevin Outlaw to be identified as the Author of the work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any format.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, dragons, or other mythological creatures, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover design by James Lloyd, based on an original drawing by Kevin Outlaw.

Find out more about the author at www.thelegendriders.com
and www.facebook.com/thelegendriders

This is a book about unity, and as such it is dedicated to you – the people who have bought my books, and joined me on this incredible journey.

With a special thank you for the love and support of my family.

Also with thanks to James Lloyd, for all his hard work.

And with a special mention to all the honorary Legend Riders, who helped to spread the legend:

Carol Adlem, Lauren Clark, Clair Cross, Steven Earl, Edward Fielding, Nic Fielding, Sarah Fielding, Jamie Gates-Mutton, Amanda Hargrave, Amy Harrison, Julie Harrison, Ben Hillier, Antony Johnson, Mark Kemp, Michelle Leigh, Dale Lewis, Victoria Pocklington, Jamie Spencer, Emma Thomas, Armando Torres, Steve Trott, Amy Wallis

CHAPTER ONE

Flint Lock Fort, brooding silently on the fringe of the Western Borders, was out of bounds.

Once, proud soldiers had walked the battlements of that fort, ever–watchful for an ancient, almost–forgotten threat that lingered among the craggy teeth of the Spine Mountains. But only too late had people realised how terrible that threat truly was, and the strength of the fort had wilted before the onslaught when it finally came.

Now, the battlements were lined with silver–armoured creatures who were neither human, nor something entirely alien; monstrous fiends who did not live as men live, and kept secret, spidery limbs tucked beneath the folds of their cloaks.

But the dead, mindless soldiers were just the beginning of the horror; for along the ramparts, the hunched forms of wyverns perched like gargoyles. These last twisted children of the black dragon, Sorrow, cut dark silhouettes out of the evening sky, snapping at passing pixies, and flapping their leathery wings.

Only recently, elite soldiers from the city of Crystal Shine had marched on Flint Lock. Their orders had been to form a defensive perimeter, and to stop anyone – anything – getting in or out of the fort. What happened to those soldiers, nobody knew. The perimeter was never established, and the soldiers were never seen again.

Since then, nobody had approached within three miles of the fort. Nobody, until now...

***

Weaving through the clouds, astride the mighty dragon Cumulo, Nimbus squinted, and craned his neck for a better view of the fortress and its inhabitants.

‘What do you think?’ he asked, patting his dragon’s scaly neck. ‘It’s dark, I can’t see a thing.’

‘Four wyverns, and at least forty of those soldiers,’ Cumulo said.

‘Is that it? I thought this rescue mission was going to be tricky.’ Nimbus drew Venom from its sheath. The spirit sword’s blade glittered in the same way a starving man’s eyes might glitter at the thought of one last meal. ‘Shall we drop in to say hello?’

Cumulo grinned toothily, and his scales turned silver–blue as he descended through the clouds. Armoured soldiers scuttled into hiding, so by the time Nimbus dismounted, the fortress seemed all but deserted. Only the four wyverns squatting along the half–built walls served as a reminder of the danger.

‘Not much of a welcoming committee,’ Nimbus said, alert for the first sign of an attack.

‘Did you expect a red carpet?’ Cumulo asked.

‘I expected a fight.’

In the shadows of archways, and in other dark recesses, spidery limbs started to twitch. The soft hiss of swords being drawn could be heard above the rustle of wyvern wings. ‘Oh, we’re going to get a fight,’ Cumulo chuckled.

Nimbus gripped Venom tightly. ‘So what are they waiting for?’

The wyverns clucked and hissed, their pointed heads bobbing up and down on the end of their long necks.

‘They want to see what you’re going to do.’

‘Oh,’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. I didn’t realise there would be formalities. I just thought we would get straight to the bit where I start hitting them.’

‘How about you lay down some terms?’

‘Good idea.’ Nimbus cleared his throat. ‘My father is here,’ he shouted. ‘Bring him out to me, unharmed, or everybody within these walls will die.’ He paused, then added, ‘Again. I mean, everyone except me and Cumulo, of course. And my dad. If he’s here. Which I’m sure he is.’

Cumulo’s tongue flickered. ‘Okay, Nim. I think they understand. That should get things moving along nicely.’

The wyverns cocked their heads, chomping their jaws as if they had a particularly unpleasant taste in their mouths. Then, on some unspoken command, they rose from their perches and scattered.

‘Cumulo,’ Nimbus said, ‘make sure those wyverns never bother anyone again.’

‘With pleasure.’

Cumulo hurled himself into the sky, roaring with the thrill of being back in the thick of the action after so long spent sleeping off the hydra’s poison. He hung motionless over the fortress for just a second, his wings spread wide, his eyes blazing; and then he vanished into the cover of the clouds, chasing and snapping at the squealing wyverns.

Nimbus pulled on his helmet.

‘Do you think he will be able to deal with four at once?’ Captain Spectre asked, his slightly muffled voice projecting from the fragment of stone hanging around Nimbus’s neck.

The sky was illuminated by a sudden flash of lightning that stuttered the shadows of the clouds across the landscape. Not far away, a charred shape dropped out of the air, screaming in pain and thrashing its smoking wings hopelessly. ‘I think Cumulo will be just fine,’ Nimbus said. ‘Worry about us instead.’

Spectre materialised on Nimbus’s right. The ghost’s jaw was straight and serious as always beneath the visor of his shining helmet. ‘Do you think I’m...? I mean, do you think it’s here? My body, I mean,’ he said.

‘I don’t know.’

There was a second flash of brilliant, white lightning, and a rumble that Nimbus would have mistaken for thunder had he not known it was Cumulo. In the flare of light, Nimbus could see monstrous spider–soldiers lurching out of hiding, scuttling across the courtyard in sickening, crablike movements.

‘There are a lot of them,’ Spectre observed. ‘And, need I remind you, I’m far too dead to be of assistance in a fight.’

‘I know.’

The closest of the soldiers stopped his crawling advance, and allowed his grim spider–legs to curl up beneath his cloak. ‘You should not have come here,’ he said, in a voice that sounded like it had bubbled up through layers of slime.

‘You would say that,’ Nimbus said. ‘Now, I’m going to ask you one more time to bring my father out, or I start hurting people.’

‘We are many. You are just one,’ the soldier said.

‘Thanks for pointing that out. I’m glad you can count. You can count your legs as I cut them off.’

Captain Spectre smirked. ‘I think it’s time I got out of your way.’

Nimbus felt the spirit returning to the stone around his neck, and for a moment his confidence wavered. He was totally alone in a courtyard full of soldiers who wanted to rip him apart.

What on earth was he thinking?

He flexed the fingers of his left hand; Venom shone in another burst of lightning. ‘Time’s up,’ he said, masking his self–doubt expertly. ‘I don’t see my father.’

‘You should not be here,’ the soldier repeated, drawing his sword. ‘The master will be obeyed.’

Nimbus took a step to his right, carefully gauging the distance between himself and his adversary. He kept his sword low, almost inviting the soldier to attack. ‘You can tell your master,’ he said, ‘I do not take orders well.’

The soldier, suddenly and silently, made his move. He leapt forwards, sword flashing, spidery legs spreading wide like a grasping, four–fingered hand. Nimbus knocked down the visor of his helmet and then, rather than retreating, he stepped into the soldier’s charge. The spirit sword moved like a glimmer of moonlight, smashing through the soldier’s defences.

The other soldiers sprang into motion, swarming across the courtyard. They fell on Nimbus in a mass of hatred and spitting fury.

Venom hungrily cut through armour and flesh, phasing in and out of existence with each swing and parry. Soldiers screamed and fell, only to rise again and continue the fight, completely unconcerned by wounds that would have been deadly to a mortal warrior.

Nimbus fought with the courage of a hero, and the determination of the worst demon known to humankind; but he was seriously outnumbered by creatures that did not tire, and would not die. It was only a matter of time before he made a mistake. He misjudged one of his attacks, leaving himself exposed; and one of the soldiers took full advantage, striking with such force that his sword broke the left shoulder plate of the Wing Warrior armour and cut into the arm beneath.

Nimbus staggered, dropping to one knee. His sword slipped from his grasp.

‘The mighty Wing Warrior falls,’ the soldier hissed.

‘I’m not beaten yet,’ Nimbus said. Blood was pouring between his fingers. A few more minutes and he would probably go into shock from blood loss. He couldn’t let that happen. Not yet.

Not now.

The soldier moved nearer. ‘How sad,’ he said. ‘How sad to come here, so brave and mighty, and to fail so utterly.’

Nimbus sagged as the last remnants of his strength threatened to leave him completely. The world danced in and out of focus. His whole left side, not just his arm, was numb and lifeless. His fingers were like lead. ‘I have not failed yet,’ he spat, tasting blood in his mouth.

The spider–soldier lifted his silver visor, to reveal black, mocking eyes. ‘Look up,’ he said. ‘There is one last thing you should see in this world before I take your life.’

Nimbus raised his head. Cumulo and one of the wyverns were spiralling down through the sky, coiled around each other in a deadly embrace. They tumbled over and over, biting and clawing, as they rushed towards the ground.

‘No!’ Nimbus screamed, but the word was lost in a thunderous roar from Cumulo, accompanied by bolts of lightning that shot from the dragon’s mouth and crackled across the sky.

The wyvern squealed and thrashed and frantically tried to break free from the larger dragon’s grip.

‘Cumulo,’ Nimbus cried. ‘Get out of there. Let it go.’

But Cumulo didn’t let go. He smashed through the top of one of the fort’s towers, bringing everything crashing down around him and the screeching wyvern. Nimbus choked back a cry, and turned his face away. He squeezed his eyes shut to stop the tears from flowing.

The last sparks of lightning fizzled out of existence, and the world was plunged into a new type of darkness. There was a rumble of thunder, and flat sheets of rain began to fall.

‘That must have really hurt,’ one of the soldiers said. ‘And now, to finish off the Wing Warrior. You were a fool to come here alone, Little Boy.’

Slowly, his body wracked with pain and his vision swimming, Nimbus removed his helmet. He was smiling coldly. ‘Who said I was alone?’

All around there was the swish and clatter of grapnels latching onto stone battlements, and moments later, triumphant shouts as shadowy figures scaled the outside of the fortress and took up position along the walls.

‘Have you met my friend Hawk and his class of archers?’ Nimbus said. ‘They’re very good at what they do.’

The soldiers barely had time to realise what was happening before the first arrow slashed out of the darkness. The silent projectile struck one of the soldiers with such accuracy that the horrible, black parasite creature inside of him came flopping out into the mud. The spidery–limbed creature writhed and gurgled, desperately attempting to drag itself towards Nimbus; but it was punctured by two more arrows, and withered until all that was left was the rank smell of rotten earth.

Nimbus’s smile widened, and he reached for his sword. All but one of the soldiers were running for cover. The courtyard was filled with the zip and thud of countless arrows.

‘Not running?’ Nimbus said, dragging himself up to face the last soldier.

The soldier touched the flat of his sword against his helmet’s visor in the memory of a salute he may once have made in life. ‘I will not run,’ he said.