Shard Knight (Echoes Across Time Book 1) (4 page)

As the blue energy from Kristen’s body coalesced into a protection shard, weaves of yellow mist hung in the air an inch over Clement’s body. It hovered growing dense until it formed a thick cloud, condensed, and hardened into a jagged enhancement shard. At the shard’s dark yellow center, golden weaves orbited the core and emanated an aura of yellow light near Clement’s head.

As the last knight standing, Brunte scanned the room before sheathing his blade. He circled the bloodied desk and stood before the queen. “They’re all dead Your Majesty.”

Arianne’s white knuckled grip never wavered from Ronan’s arm. With wide eyes and an ashen complexion, she trembled frozen in the crouch she’d held throughout the savage fight.

Ronan placed a hand to his mother’s cheek, and she managed a weak smile.

“You’re such a handsome boy.” Arianne touched Ronan’s chin, and pain edged her blue eyes. “Did I ever tell you that you’re the spitting image of your father?” Her words came out hushed, and her voice trembled.

“I think you just did,” Ronan said.

Brunte knelt behind the queen and using a soft soothing voice said, “I’ll wait here with you until help arrives. I’ll not leave you alone.”

In the next heartbeat, the still air behind Brunte shimmered, and the shielded form of Merric Pride appeared like an apparition. He held a dark blue orb of spirit energy in his outstretched palm that doubled the size of Kristen’s. In his other hand, he leaned against the solid silver cane the old cleric always carried with him.

Ronan’s vision flashed red, and a wave of dizziness swept across him. He opened his mouth to scream a warning as Pride unleashed the magic into Brunte’s back.

The battle knight’s chest disappeared in a mist of red vapor as Pride’s attack tore the man in half. As his body fell to the side, the yellow light shimmering on his shard ax’s blade died with him.

Ronan pushed his mother aside before the dark orb exiting Brunte’s chest could strike her too. Pride’s magical attack burst through the carpet sending splinters of wood flying in bits and pieces across the room.

Arianne rolled to her side and pushed herself to her feet as if awakened from a deep slumber. She spun on the archbishop. “You murdering bastard!”

Pride ignored the insult. “You should have trusted your instincts Ronan. They were sound. It’s a lesson I wish you could learn from, but I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Pride said.

“Why would you do this?” Arianne said.

“Why? You ask me why? I can’t trust you with the affairs of state. You have savages running the streets, attending our churches, and even owning businesses. Your father wouldn’t stand for it.” Pride shook his head giving her a contemptuous look. “I promised him, I’d keep you contained. I wish it hadn’t come to this, but I’m not surprised.”

“You’ll hang in the street. I’ll see to it myself,” Ronan said.

Pride laughed. “Is that what you think?” With a twist of his wrist, the cane in his left hand fell away and split into separate parts revealing a needle sharp blade built into the handle. Pride’s expression twisted into an ugly distortion of the face he showed his congregation every Saturday morning. With surprising speed, he lunged forward sinking the blade into a spot just above the queen’s heart. He rammed the blade through her body until the cane’s handle touched the red stain spreading across her dress.

Ronan lunged forward and grabbed his mother before she hit the ground. Holding her in his arms, he eased her back and looked into her eyes as her life drained away. Arianne moved her lips to speak, but the words came so soft he couldn’t hear. Ronan placed his ear over her mouth. “I love you. I love you both so much.”

Hot tears streaked Ronan’s face. “I love you too mother.” His voice faltered as cold numbness spread across his body.

With those final words, her eyes glazed over, and Queen Arianne died.

Ronan eased his mother’s head to the ground and closed her eyes.

Pride shook his head. “Such a senseless death,” he said without a hint of remorse.

Ronan ground his teeth, clenched his fists, and spun on Merric Pride. “I’ll see you dead for this. Do you hear me?”

Pride smiled with contempt. “Such bravado. But, I can’t have you control the throne and continue to hand my country over to the Ayralens.” He raised his hand as another orb of energy gathered in his outstretched palm. “No. This is the end of the line for you I’m afraid. Your bit part in this drama is at an end. As he released the spirit magic from his palm, a streak of movement came from the closet door.

Ronan jerked backward off his feet as Pride’s attack sailed past him and blasted a chunk of plaster from the bedroom wall ten feet away.

Holding onto Ronan’s suit collar, Patron Tyrell slid the young prince behind him. A dozen rips and cuts shredded his bloodstained dress uniform. A plethora of wounds showed beneath the shredded uniform and oozed trails of fresh blood along his chest and legs. “Stay behind me Ronan.”

“You’re early Tyrell,” Pride said. “But, it hardly matters.” With little fanfare, Pride sank to the carpet, assembled his silver cane, and stretched out near the queen. “Guards!”

The door to the queen’s chamber burst open, and Bryson entered the room followed by a dozen royal guardsmen.

Pride’s shield disappeared as the guards entered the room. “Arrest that man!” Pride pointed to Tyrell. “He’s killed the queen, and the prince is next.”

Using one hand, Tyrell clutched Ronan by his jacket collar while his shard blade shimmered with yellow light in the other. “Wrap your arms around my neck and hang on.” The words came whispered and urgent.

Without hesitation, Ronan leaped onto Tyrell’s wounded back, and the shard master streaked toward the open terrace door.

Tyrell never stopped as he leaped thirty feet through the air and sped away through the busy streets of Freehold.

Safe House

“Ho’ there Mary.” The rhythmic clip-clop of steel horseshoes beating on rough cobble stopped.

“This is it Ronan. Let’s go.” Tyrell pulled his hood tight and slid from the wagon bed.

Wordlessly, Ronan slipped from the milk wagon. A light drizzle had started earlier in the evening, and now, hours later, he welcomed the rain, clouds, and midnight’s merciful shroud. He let the rain fall unimpeded over his face and stood motionless waiting for further direction.

“Your hood Ronan. Put it up,” Tyrell said.

Ronan secured his hood as instructed. His mind flashed with a vision of his mother’s body lying dead on the carpet. He squeezed his eyes tight and shook his head pushing away the memories.

Light rain ricocheted from dozens of empty glass milk bottles packed in the wagon bed. “Thank you Master Wilburn,” Tyrell said.

“What you did for my family sir. Well, it’s the least I can do,” Wilburn said.

“If anyone should ask about this evening…”

“I’ll hold my tongue. No need to worry about that. Whatever you’re hiding from is your business.” Wilburn’s eyes flickered toward Ronan. He lowered his voice. “The young master traveling with you. Is he all right? He seems…off.”

“He’ll be fine Master Wilburn. We’ve had a long day.”

“If you need a place to stay…”

“We have a place to stay, but I thank you for your offer,” Tyrell said.

Wilburn let out a deep breath, and his shoulders sagged. “Good luck to you then,” he snapped the reigns. “Get on there Mary.”

The old mare ambled ahead, and the rhythmic clip-clop started again. Master Wilburn’s milk wagon creaked along the narrow cobblestone street and disappeared around the corner.

“Let’s get you inside,” Tyrell said.

“Inside?” Ronan said.

Tyrell nodded toward the rundown townhouse in front of them.

The dark ramshackle building looked neither lived-in nor inviting, but it did appear in desperate need of fresh paint and a skilled handyman.

To the right, candlelight flickered from dirty cracked windows, and a large mangy cat sat perched on the windowsill. The townhouse on the left radiated darkness and dread the same way Tyrell’s safe house did. Dozens of homes lining the rough cobbled street appeared abandoned or in disrepair.

Ronan didn’t recognize this section of Freehold let alone ever enter one of the homes here. “Let’s get on with it then.”

Tyrell produced a key from the folds of his cloak, unlocked the front door, and entered the townhouse.

As Ronan stepped inside the dark entryway, his nostrils flared with the musty odor of mold and decay that accompanied long periods of stagnation, but he had a roof over his head keeping the rain at bay. He’d left his mother alone bleeding and abandoned just like this townhouse.

The front door creaked on rusty hinges as Tyrell forced it shut. He lit a small oil lamp sitting on a nearby table. “Wait here for a minute while I check the house.”

Ronan nodded.

The oil lamp’s greasy light showed a set of rickety steps leading up to the second floor and a thick coat of dust layering every visible surface.

Tyrell disappeared up the rotting steps and slid into the second floor shadows.

A dreary hallway stretched out beside the staircase leading deeper inside the townhouse. Overhead, exposed ceiling beams supported rotting floorboards.

Ronan pulled back his hood. Why had he believed Pride? He should’ve trusted his gut instinct.

From the shadows of the first floor hallway Tyrell appeared. “All clear. Follow me.”

Ronan’s brow furrowed. He didn’t recall Tyrell coming downstairs.

Tyrell picked up the oil lamp, walked along the narrow hallway, and past the stairway.

The lamp’s light revealed a small living room empty of furnishings save for a pair of tarnished wooden chairs and a small end table. In the far corner, a well-used iron stove sat dark and empty. Beside the rusty stove, a short pile of fresh-cut firewood stood neatly stacked appearing oddly out of place amid the decay.

Tyrell placed a few pieces of firewood inside the stove as Ronan sagged into the nearest chair.

“What happened to Sir Alcott? Is he okay?” Ronan said.

With his back facing Ronan, Tyrell lit the stove and shut its door. “He’s fine. Don’t worry about him.”

“What happened Master Tyrell?”

Tyrell’s hand froze on the stove’s door handle. A moment later, he stood and pulled the remaining chair near Ronan. He sat and cleared his throat. “After I left you and your mother, I received a message that Bryson wanted to speak with me. I assumed he wanted to discuss the tournament, and I thought he might have something to confess, so I went to his room at the citadel.” Tyrell shifted and adjusted his cloak. “Bryson wasn’t there. Instead, three shard knights attacked me. I fought off two of them but not the third. I was near death when Sir Alcott arrived. He caught the shield knight off guard and healed me. After that, I went straight to the palace, but I wasn’t fast enough.”

“How deep does this go Master Tyrell?” Ronan leaned forward. “Who can help us?”

“I can’t answer that Ronan. If we approach the city guard, they’ll arrest me and turn you over to the palace. I believe Pride has convinced many of the palace guard with his charade. You’d be a marked man I’m afraid. Pride wants the throne, and he’ll do anything to keep it.”

“How’s that possible? He’s the archbishop not a member of the royal family,” Ronan said.

“The line for the throne ends with you Ronan. The order of succession includes the archbishop when no members of the royal family are living to accept the crown.”

“He’s going to take us back to the policies of my grandfather isn’t he?”

Tyrell paused for a few moments before answering. “It’s clear from the archbishop’s statements this evening that he’s hidden many of his feelings toward the Ayralen immigrants. I fear dark days ahead.”

“We have to stop him Master Tyrell. He can’t get away with killing my mother in cold blood. I’ll die before I let that happen.”

“We have to think this through Ronan. We can’t plow ahead without some help. I don’t know who to trust in Freehold. The city is too dangerous.”

“You have a plan don’t you?”

Tyrell nodded. “I have friends in Ayralen that will help us. We’ll be out of Pride’s reach there.”

The wooden chair groaned as Ronan leaned back. “Master Tyrell, what do you know about my father that you haven’t told me?”

Tyrell’s brow furrowed. “Your father? Why are you asking about him?”

“When you stopped by my room earlier this evening, my mother was ready to tell me something about him. She said it was beyond time I knew. Do you know what she meant?”

Tyrell raised an eyebrow. “Did she?” He leaned back in his chair. “That’s a long and sordid story Ronan, and it’s not my tale to tell. But, once we’re out of Freehold, I’ll tell you what I know. Okay?”

Ronan wanted more details, but he let it go. Tyrell had seen too many people he loved either die or betray him this evening. “Okay. How do we escape Freehold?”

“Sir Alcott is arranging passage. I’m to meet him tonight, and we’ll come back here to pick you up.”

“To pick me up? I’m coming with you,” Ronan said.

“No. The risk is too great. Your survival is all that matters, and your mother would never forgive me if anything happened to you. There’s a bed upstairs with fresh linens. Sleep. You’ll need the rest. We have many days of traveling ahead of us.”