Knight Eternal (A Novel of Epic Fantasy) (Harbinger of Doom Volume 3) (4 page)

Two armed men sat on each
side of the table, while a fifth—a shiny mountain of steel and grit
called Angle Theta—observed from off to the side. Theta kept an eye
on the game’s progress while he skimmed through a dog-eared leather
rulesbook and studied several unused pieces.

A tiny old man not much
more than three-feet tall, of bulbous nose and big ears, shook his
head and grinned. “A bad move, Magic Boy,” he said to the
fair-haired man that sat on the other side of the oaken table. “You
should’ve moved your stinking Knight Champion while you had the
chance. He’s in range of my Mage and his back is unprotected. He’s
worm food.”

“
Excuse me, Ob,” said Par
Tanch, “but I saw your Mage and I have intentionally ignored him.
If you had been paying as much attention to the game as to your ale
you would know that your Mage is too wounded to throw a spell, so
he’s no threat. I’m afraid you’ll have to find another
move.”

Ob narrowed his eyes; an
evil grin formed on his face. “You’ve forgotten, Magic Boy, my Mage
has the Dagger of Shantii.”

Tanch studied the table and his face
paled.

Ob measured off the
distance and moved the Mage directly behind the Knight Champion—a
smug look on his face.

“
That’s a reckless move,”
said Tanch’s teammate, Claradon, a large man, clad in a sharp gray
shirt emblazoned with the crest of House Eotrus. “Magic dagger or
not, the Mage doesn’t have much chance of hitting the Knight, and
less of finishing him off, even from behind.”

“
And next turn, I’ll turn
the Knight around and hack the Mage to pieces,” said
Tanch.

“
If I kill your stinking
knight, your game is over, as quick as that. You won’t have enough
points left to be a threat.” Ob took a deep drink of ale from his
mug “Start sweating.” He picked up a pair of dice from the
table—one of bone, one of metal. He placed them in an ornately
carved wooden cup, shook it, and tossed the dice on the
tabletop.

A six came up on each die.

Ob smashed his hands together. “Yes.”

“
Arrgh!” went Tanch and
Claradon as they jumped to their feet.

“
What happened?” said Ob’s
teammate, Dolan, a pale, gaunt man of pointy ears.

“
Double Doom,” said
Claradon. “An automatic hit and double damage.”

Ob jotted some numbers on a piece of
parchment with a feather quill. “By my count, your Champion is
down, out, and dead as dead can be.” He handed the calculation over
to Claradon. “Game over.”

Claradon looked over the numbers and shook
his head in disgust.

Tanch leaned heavily on
his wooden staff. “My back has been troubling me today; I’m just
not at my best. Even so, it was a lucky shot.”

“
Not luck, Magic Boy. It
was guts. In Mages and Monsters, just as in real battle, them with
guts win the day more often than not. If you want to play it safe,
you’re hanging with the wrong bunch.” Ob looked over at Theta.
“Ain’t that right, Mr. Fancy Pants?”

Theta continued to peruse the rulesbook and
didn’t bother to look over. “Is your confidence in your courage,
gnome, or in your dice?”

“
Bah.” Ob stood atop his
chair and stretched as best he could to reach the Knight Champion
figurine near the table’s center. His fingers fell just short.
Dolan jumped up and reeled the Knight in.

Claradon’s eyes narrowed and he looked from
Theta to Ob to the Double Doom dice that still sat on the
table.

“
I thought it was a good
move, Mr. Ob,” said Dolan.

“
Thanks, boy.”

Claradon reached to pick up Ob’s dice, but
the gnome’s hand darted out and snatched them away. “Those are my
lucky dice, boy, get your own.”

Claradon narrowed his
eyes. “Let me see those dice.”

“
What? Why?”

“
The dice, Ob.
Now.”

Ob put them in his pant
pocket, a defiant look plastered to his face.

Tanch studied the exchange between his
friends. “You cheated,” said the wizard. “Those dice were loaded,
weren’t they?”

Ob looked taken aback.

“
I thought it was just
dumb luck, but you actually cheated.”

“
A wise man makes his own
luck,” said Theta. He closed the rulesbook and turned toward the
others. “You didn’t lose to Ob’s luck; you lost to his skill, and
to your own foolishness. You lost because you counted on him
playing by the rules, and didn’t check that he wasn’t. That kind of
mistake will get you killed out there. Don’t make it
again.”

“
But he cheated,” said
Claradon.

“
His mage lives and your
knight is dead with a knife in his back. How it happened really
doesn’t matter.”

“
You condone this
treachery?” said Tanch.

Theta laughed. “Not so much in a game, but
for real, when it counts, out there on some battlefield, yes. In
battle, you must do whatever it takes to survive. You must use
whatever edge you have. Don’t play fair, don’t give your opponent a
chance, don’t play by any rules, just win, just survive, that’s all
that matters.” Theta tossed the rulesbook to Claradon. “That’s your
lesson for the day. Don’t forget it.”

“
How did you know?” said
Claradon. “How did you know Ob cheated?”

Theta smiled but didn’t respond.

“
He knew because I’m an
old warrior and old warriors play the odds or they don’t live to
get old. I played way against the odds with that move, so he knew I
must’ve had an edge: a big one.”

“
This game is too
complicated for me,” said Dolan. “I prefer Spottle.”

A soldier clad in the livery of House
Harringgold marched stiffly into the room. “Excuse me, Lord Eotrus;
gentlemen. Duke Harringgold requests your presence forthwith in his
drawing room.”

“
Is there some trouble?”
asked Claradon.

“
I fear so, sir. Your
brother, Sir Ector, is in with the Duke.”

Claradon stood. His face paled. “He’s
supposed to be at home.”

III

AMBUSH

“
You want to be a hero, boy?

Live to write the history
books
.”

—
Ob

Sir Jude Eotrus’s massive
destrier thundered forward at full gallop, adorned in steel barding
and colorful caparison. Jude wore the traditional armor of the
Knights of Tyr—a suit of steel plates tied to an undercoat and
leggings of chain links. Armored gauntlets, greaves, and boots
completed his protection. His steel helm hung from a saddle loop,
his black cape fluttered in the wind. To his left arm was affixed a
heater shield emblazoned with the Eotrus coat-of-arms.

Fixated on exacting righteous vengeance on
those that sent the messenger against his home and claimed to hold
his father captive, Jude stared forward, jaw clenched, only mildly
aware that Sergeant Balfin rode beside him. Four more armored
knights and seven sturdy men-at-arms rode behind them, dirt and
gravel flying from their horses’ hooves.

From the corner of his eye, Jude saw
something large fall from a tree on the right side of the road.

“
Pull up,” yelled
Balfin.

What?

A heavy rope sprang up across their
path.

Zounds!

No time to stop. No time
to turn or jump. The rope caught Jude’s steed high on its legs,
shattering them, just as he wrenched his boots free of the
stirrups. The horse crashed to a halt, flipped head over hooves,
and slammed to the earth. Jude rocketed forward, spun over once in
the air, and sailed some dozen feet before landing on his back. He
slid several yards along the dusty road, and aided by his momentum,
gained his feet in an instant; the crash and howls of men and
horses filled the air behind him.

Ambush!

Battered and disoriented, Jude drew his
sword and assumed a defensive stance.

Is this really happening? I should’ve been
paying attention. Sir Gabriel would have my hide.

Foreboding, armored
figures emerged from the woods. Two men clad in blood-red armor
with helms that covered their faces strode toward Jude with swords
drawn. Behind them stalked a very tall, broad man in black-enameled
armor, a dragon crest of red adorned his breastplate. Grizzled and
scarred, armor gouged and dented: a veteran killer. Jude heard the
rattle of steel and war cries of battle behind him.

No time to look.
Is this real? My head spins; get ready. Cut them
down. Quick.
Jude backpedaled several
steps to buy time to clear his head.
Behind me—something.

Jude half turned and beheld a huge figure
shaped like a man, but of brick-red skin, long fangs, pointed ears,
and bald pate. An unspeakable union of man and demon, its very life
a blasphemy and an affront to all that’s holy. Far taller and
broader than Jude, the creature stalked toward Jude, brandishing a
massive, two-handed sword, chipped and stained with the dried blood
of its last victims.

Dead gods, what’s that? Can’t fight that.
Need help.

The red creature laughed at Jude’s look of
alarm, and then spoke in a rich baritone voice. “You look surprised
to see us, boy. Did you think to find us asleep beside the road,
waiting for you to swoop in and kill us like you did our
messenger?”

It speaks? What is
it?
“Messenger? That thing was a monster,
a demon.”

“
It was only sent to
deliver our ransom note, nothing more,” said Mort Zag, the red
creature. “If it came to blows, the first was yours. You started
this.”

“
You took my
father!”

“
We offered you a deal,”
said Ezerhauten, the dragon knight, in a deep gravely
voice.

“
A fair deal,” said Mort
Zag. “Square and honest.”

“
But you came with your
troops to cut us down,” said Ezerhauten. “You have no honor, boy,
none at all. Lord Korrgonn foresaw it; he foresaw your
treachery.”

“
And now you’ll pay
dearly,” said Mort Zag.

“
Wait,” said Jude. “We
can—”

“
No,” said Ezerhauten.
“The time for negotiation is past. We didn’t want it this way, but
you’ve given us no choice. Take him.”

The two red-armored knights moved in.

“
To victory and tomorrow,”
said Jude through clenched teeth. He launched himself at the
nearest of the two, barreled into him shoulder first before the man
could bring up his sword, and sent him flying.

The other.

Jude spun in time to parry an overhand
strike from the second knight, and launch a brutal kick to his
groin. The man stumbled back a step and doubled over, stunned.

For father.

Jude spun his sword in a tight arc, a move
taught him by Sir Gabriel, and separated the red knight’s head from
his shoulders.

Killed him. Can this be real? Behind me.

Jude turned and parried a
blow from the first knight, now back on his feet. They exchanged
several more cuts and thrusts while screams and shouts of the
nearby melee echoed in the background.

He’s good. Muscle him. Crush him down.
Where’s the dragon knight, and the red monster?

Jude pummeled the knight, smashing down with
his sword over and over, beating the man back, before executing a
dwarven overhand strike. The red knight blocked the titanic blow,
but the impact shattered his sword, leaving him nothing but the
hilt.

Got him.

“
For my father,” Jude
spat. He spun around, chopped down with all his might, and cleaved
the man from shoulder to waist.

Dead gods, I killed him.
Two down. Where are my men?
Jude wrenched
his sword free.

“
The pup has sharp teeth,”
said Mort Zag. “Your Sithians can’t match him.”

Must be quick, can’t fight them both.

Jude feigned a move toward
Ezerhauten, then spun toward Mort Zag, pulling a dagger from his
belt. He launched it underhand, just as he had practiced with Ob a
thousand times. The dagger caught Mort Zag in the throat, the
monster’s eyes wild with shock. He staggered back and clutched his
neck as the wound spouted green ichor.

In a flash, a second dagger spun toward
Ezerhauten. The knight brought up his sword and effortlessly
knocked the blade aside.

Zounds.

“
Time for a lesson,
whelp,” said Ezerhauten.

I can take him, I can beat them all.

The berserker’s fury consumed Jude, body and
soul; every ounce of his strength poured into each blow. He would
crush his enemy. He would utterly annihilate him. He would have his
revenge.

Two great swords flashed and sparked. Jude’s
sword thundered against Ezerhauten’s, but for each powerful blow he
struck, Ezerhauten struck twice, slashing and slicing into Jude’s
armor.

Jude roared in
anger.
I’m hurt. He’s too fast, too good.
Gods, help me.

Ezerhauten moved with blazing speed,
parrying or dodging blow after blow after blow.

Toying with me. No chance.
Hold out until Balfin can help.

“
To the north is Asgard,”
shouted Jude. Blood dripped from his mouth.

“
Asgard cannot save you,
boy,” said Ezerhauten. “Nor can Thetan.”

As Jude raised his sword
for another slash, Mort Zag struck him across the shoulders from
behind. Jude dropped to his knees, his strength gone. He was
stunned, numb. His sword fell from his hands.