Shard Knight (Echoes Across Time Book 1) (22 page)

“Come on, you know what I mean,” the shield knight said tipping back his own mug.

“The younger one is Ayralen. I can smell his tree stink a mile away.” Bryson said. “The older one looks familiar somehow. Do you recognize him?”

Ronan’s jaw clenched. He gripped the blade at his belt and braced himself.

“No. Let's question them. We should separate-”

“I think I’m tired of letting Ayralens run around this village like they own the place. I’ve left the fat little innkeeper alone because the ale tastes so good, but these two are a different story. Let’s have some fun”

Ronan held his breath and shot a glance at Tyrell seated across from him.

With subtle shake of his head, Tyrell signaled to stay put.

Ronan let spirit energy wash over his flesh giving it the same protection as a suit of plate armor. His skin flashed with a faint yellow glow, and the energy sank into his flesh applying its magic.

Bryson drained the last drops from his tankard, slammed it on the bar and stood. “Come on Jeremy. Let’s show that tree-hugging bastard how it’s done Meranthian style.”

Ronan prepared for the humiliation he’d endure to protect those living at Redkeep.

Metallic boot steps thumped against the finely polished wooden floor as the knights approached their table.

He channeled more shard energy and used it to deaden the nerve endings throughout his body.

The sound of rattling armor stopped as the knights towered over Ronan’s table. “Well look here Jeremy. We’ve found ourselves a forest fungus,” Bryson said.

Ronan steadied his breathing and faced Bryson. “Monsieur. I mean no offense to either of you. If we’ve done something to offend the king’s guard, we will leave you alone.” He pitched his voice to carry an Ayralen accent.

Bryson carried an overpowering stench of body odor and heavy alcohol. “You being alive offends me tree boy.”

“I’m most sorry. We will leave. We meant no trouble,” Ronan said.

Behind Bryson, Jeremy stood with a calculated expression on his clean-shaven face. “Where did you travel from?” Jeremy said.

“We traveled from the east. From Brighthurst,” Tyrell said. “We’re headed north to Ironbarrow. The smith in Brighthurst said they need miners.”

“Brighthurst you say?” Jeremy said. “How’s old man Sherman doing these days?”

Tyrell met the shield knight’s cool gaze with one more penetrating. “I’m sorry to tell you Sir Knight, Sherman died a couple of years ago, and his son took over the smithy. Do you know Codell?”

Jeremy’s expression flattened. “I’m done with these two Bryson.”

“We’ll leave you alone.” Ronan stood.

Bryson pushed on Ronan’s shoulder slamming him back into his seat. “I didn’t say you could go. Sit your ass down.”

A loud crack split the air as Ronan’s chair splintered and sent him sprawling onto the inn’s wooden floor.

Bryson howled pointing at Ronan. “Look at him Jeremy. What’s the matter tree boy? Can’t sit in a chair?”

Ronan turned a pleading expression toward Tyrell.

“Gentleman, my friend meant no offense. I’ll take him, and we’ll leave,” Tyrell said.

Bryson spun on Tyrell pointing his finger. “Shut your mouth old man. When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”

Ronan started to pull himself free of the ruined chair.

Bryson spun and kicked Ronan’s stomach with his steel plated boot. “I told you to sit down.”

Despite the shard magic’s protection, Ronan’s stomach lurched, and his lunch threatened to spill. Bryon’s kick should’ve killed him, but he doubted Bryson had learned enough about his power to understand the inherent strength of a battle knight.

Bryson gripped Ronan’s ankle. “Jeremy, have you ever seen a tree toad jump? I want to see this tree toad climb a tree. Come on Jeremy.”

Ronan feigned pain from the kick, but if Bryson struck him that hard again, he wouldn’t need to fake it.

Bryson dragged him like a tainted corpse across the floor of the inn, threw open the door, and tossed him into the muddy lane leading through village.

Ronan suppressed the urge to strike. “Please Knight Bryson. I’m begging you to stop.”

Bryson lifted Ronan by his collar ripping his cotton tunic. “Get up you lazy sod!” He pointed toward a fifty foot blue spruce tree next to the inn. “I want to see you scramble to the top of that tree, Tree Boy!” He shoved Ronan's back.

Ronan pitched forward and caught himself before his face struck the ground.

A few inches from Ronan’s nose, a steaming pile of horse dung sat in the muddy lane.

The stink of hot dung curdled Ronan’s sore stomach, and his throat constricted as nausea swept over him.

Bryson’s meaty palm cupped the back of Ronan’s skull like a ripe melon. “Eat shit you rotten maggot.”

Ronan channeled shard magic and removed his sense of smell and taste a moment before Bryson shoved him eyeball deep in the stinking pile. Slimy heat from the dung seeped into Ronan’s eyes, nose, and mouth.

Bryson roared with laughter, and several villagers gathered around the spectacle.

“Okay Bryson, why don’t you let him go now? You’ve made your point,” Jeremy said.

“Piss off Jeremy. I’m just getting started. Why don’t you carry your skirt back to camp if you’ve a problem?”

Ronan pulled his face from the dung and gasped for air.

“Why don’t you take your friend’s advice Bryson? You have several witnesses,” Tyrell motioned toward the gathering crowd.

Bryson wheeled around noticing the villagers. “Like I give a whore’s pimpled ass about this rabble. I’m a knight of the Order.” He glared at Tyrell. “And I thought I told you to shut your damn hole anyway.”

Ronan sat back on his haunches and wiped the excrement from his face.

Bryson turned back to Ronan sliding his shard blade free of its sheath. “You picked the wrong day to visit Winter Haven Tree Boy.”

A chill ran up Ronan’s spine. He had taken this charade as far as he dared. He drew his hand toward his belt knife and braced for a fight.

Gripped in Bryson’s gloved hands, a two-handed sword radiated yellow light in an aura bright enough to blind a man. He barked out a short laugh. “You think you can run from me boy?”

A flutter of seeds drifted through the air rustling over Bryson’s dirty blond hair before settling in place at his feet.

“Seeds? Are these yours Tree Boy? Do you think a few seeds will stop this blade?” He ripped the blade through the air at speeds so fast tracers of light scorched the midday sunlight.

“Those aren’t his seeds. They’re mine,” a strange voice said from the crowd.

A man standing at the crowd’s edge extended his left hand toward Bryson. In his other hand he tightened his grip on a thick heartwood staff. A greenish glow surrounded his outstretched palm, and a layer of glowing vines, flowers, and leaves wrapped around his body in a protective sheath. The vegetation stretched and twisted writhing into a suit of living armor.

The seeds beneath Bryson burst open, and thorny black vines as thick as a man’s leg erupted from the ground. They curled and wrapped around Bryson locking him in a vice grip. More vines sprouted from those confining him and encased his arms while the thorns burrowed into exposed flesh.

Bryson howled with shock and rage as the vines locked around the shard blade gripped in his trapped hand. Exposed atop a tangle of black twisted bramble, Bryson’s bloodshot eyes blazed with fury. He twisted and pulled in a futile effort to gain his freedom. “Jeremy! Cut me loose!”

Jeremy stared in shock as the vines wrapped Bryson like a horde of hungry pythons.

Bryson’s eyes rolled back, and his head hung to the side. Drool and the froth of white spittle oozed from his open mouth as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Ronan had never seen a warden, but Rika had described them in detail. Wardens and their shape-shifting brethren called guardians used Ayralen shard magic. He gave silent thanks to whatever God sent the warden to Winter Haven.

The warden turned a ruthless gaze on Jeremy showing not the slightest trace of fear.

Jeremy lifted his palm, and pure blue energy flashed around him encasing him in a glowing barrier of protective light.

“I wouldn’t bother doing that Jeremy,” Tyrell said.

Jeremy extended his hand toward the warden as more energy formed in his palm.

A flash of dim light surrounded the warden encasing him in a shield intended to lock him in place.

The living armor surrounding the warden exploded outward displaying gleaming sharp tips at the end of protruding spikes. Dozens of the needled spikes rammed into the detention shield. The barrier shattered, and globules of blue energy shot skyward before scattering and fading.

Jeremy’s eyes widened with fear, and he eased backward stepping away from the warden. “That’s impossible.” His slack jaw hung open in amazement.

The warden raised the polished burgundy staff and pointed it toward Jeremy’s chest. “It’s not impossible. Your king has simply led you astray.”

Ronan watched the exchange with growing fascination, and he’d forgotten the dung clinging to his face. He’d listened to Rika’s stories, but thought she’d exaggerated.

The heartwood stave shimmered under the warden’s direction. Green flows of energy circled the stave causing the wood beneath to appear as red liquid. The warden directed his staff toward Jeremy, and its end shot forward racing with a crossbow bolt’s speed before smashing into the knight’s shield. Jeremy’s spirit shield blazed with blinding blue energy but held strong.

Ronan covered his eyes as the sphere’s light flashed across the village.

The heartwood staff’s tip lodged into the knight’s shield like a harpoon, and its liquid form began oozing across the surface.

Fear touched the corners of the shield knight’s eyes as he staggered backward. Knights often sparred with each other to hone combat skills, but never faced enemies with equal strength intent on harm. Jeremy lost his footing in the mud covered lane and slipped landing on his backside.

The heartwood spread like hot wax over the spirit shield until it covered the entire surface like a red eggshell.

The warden raised his left arm toward the sky, palm open, and squeezed.

A muffled boom rattled Winter Haven causing the gathered crowd to flinch in unison.

“I tried to tell him,” Tyrell shook his head staring at Jeremy.

Ronan hadn’t even noticed Tyrell’s approach. “That’s a warden?”

The heartwood surrounding the sphere sagged inward losing its circular shape. It collapsed and oozed over the shield knight wrapping him in a heartwood sheath. The heartwood retreated from Jeremy’s face allowing him to breathe.

Tyrell nodded. “A warden carrying a fair amount of strength and experience. Poor Jeremy never stood a chance.”

The warden strolled toward Jeremy with his staff extended, and it shortened as he approached. With a flick of his wrist he tossed a few seeds beneath Jeremy.

A mass of twisted black vines burst from the seeds wrapping Jeremy in a prison of tangled weeds. Unlike the ones containing Bryson, these vines carried no thorns.

Jeremy’s ashen complexion and sunken eyes signaled a knight sapped of energy. The act of holding his shield drained him like a barrel with a hole drilled in the bottom.

“Do you know him?” Ronan said.

“No. Although I know a few of Lora’s Guard, and it’s been several years since I visited the Heartwood,” Tyrell said.

The inn’s front door burst open. Monsieur Marez scuttled outside wearing a look of concern. “Oh, Monsieur Ronan. I’m so sorry. I watched everything from the window.” He held out a warm wet towel to Ronan. “Please. Take this cloth. You are welcome to clean up further inside.”

He took the towel from Monsieur Marez and gave a slight nod of thanks. “Thank you Monsieur Marez, and you have nothing to apologize for.”

“I insist that you and Monsieur Tyrell stay at the inn tonight.”

“We can’t do that Jacques.” Tyrell motioned toward the trapped knights. “When these two escape those vines, they’ll be plenty angry. I think it’s a good idea you come with us. These knights might give you trouble after we leave.”

He stared open mouthed at Tyrell. “I can’t leave my inn.”

“While Merric Pride is king, this country isn’t safe for Ayralens,” Tyrell said.

Ronan finished mopping the dung from his face. “You saw what they did to me. We can’t leave you behind with these thugs.”

He nodded. “I love my inn, but if you say it’s too dangerous to stay in Winter Haven then I trust you. I’ll need a few minutes to gather my belongings. Please excuse me.” Monsieur Marez bowed and disappeared into his inn.

The warden walked over and offered his hand to Ronan. “Are you okay?”

The warden spoke with a light Ayralen accent that reminded Ronan of Rika’s accent. He shook the warden’s hand. “Yes. I’m fine. Thanks for intervening. I’ve never met a warden let alone see one do that.” He gestured toward Bryson and Jeremy. “My name is Ronan Latimer.”

He bowed and offered a warm smile. “It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Kelwin. Kelwin Finn.”