The Divided Knight - Chapter Eleven

The first night, they camped in the ruin of an ancient watchtower. At first, Thaddeus had been reluctant to make camp there, as the interior walls of the ruin had borne the mark of the Shadow Brotherhood. Even though the Shadow Brotherhood had supposedly been wiped out more than fifty years before, their influence was still felt in the sparsely populated lands of the kingdom's eastern marches, and anything that bore their mark was considered a potential den for thieves and brigands. Zoe had assured him, though, that the ruin was safe, warded against evil in much the same way as the abbey had been – the final battle against the Shadow Brotherhood had apparently been fought there, and, in its aftermath, the clerics who had been there placed the wards, intending for the ruin to stand as a monument to those of the Order who had lost their lives in service to the kingdom.

“There were monks here, then? Not just clerics?” Thaddeus asked as he settled down beside the small fire they had built.

Zoe nodded. “There were. One of the few times the Order's monks stood with regular soldiers in battle.”

“What made them do it? I thought the monks only fought in self-defense?”

“Normally, they do. You know how dedicated to peace the Order is. Back then, though, it seemed like the Shadow Brotherhood was growing more and more powerful. They had already organized all of the outlaw bands in the eastern marches under one banner, and it was thought that, any day, they might try and march against the kingdom in force. The Red Death had only been gone five years, and, even though it had somehow managed to survive, the kingdom still had not fully recovered. The monks chose to stand, here, because they felt that, if they didn't, the king's army alone might not have been enough to defeat the Brotherhood.” She paused, staring into the fire. “As it was, even with the monks' help, the battle was still a very closely run thing.”

Thaddeus looked at her. “You were there, weren't you?”

Zoe's eyes met his. “I was. I helped set the wards around this place, and helped bury the bodies of the monks who died. Thad, does it bother you? How old I am, I mean?”

Thaddeus smiled. “You don't look old, Zoe.”

She frowned. “I know I don't look old! I haven't looked my age in decades. Do you even know how old I am?”

“Older than fifty, if you were here at that battle.” Thaddeus studied her for a time, watching the way the light from the fire played across her features. “You're a lot older than that, aren't you?”

“I'm three hundred years old, Thad.”

Three hundred years old, and she didn't look a day over thirty. Truthfully, Thaddeus wasn't surprised by the revelation – those who could touch magic often lived longer than those who couldn't, and more than one of the mages back at the Conclave had been close to, if not more than, two centuries of age. They looked it, though, Thaddeus thought. “You've always been older than I am, Zoe,” Thaddeus said. “It doesn't bother me in the least.”

“And what about what I am? What I've become?”

“There are worse things to be than a cleric. Yes, the Conclave and the Order of Catharzen may never have seen eye to eye on things, but I only subscribed to that as much as I had to. And, as for what you've become, it surely can't be any worse than what I need to be. In fact, I have a feeling it will help me a great deal in the days to come.”

She was still holding his gaze. “I have that feeling, too,” she said. Then she frowned. “And what do you mean, what you need to be?”

“Well, what happens when I find the Wanderer? The other half of my soul? Something tells me that finding him will mean me becoming something . . . else. Something as new and different as Aylander says you are.”

The two of them were silent for a time. Thaddeus broke out the rations they'd brought – salted pork, bread, and cheese – handing some to Zoe while taking a portion for himself. They drank from their waterskins as they ate, Thaddeus finding it difficult not to drink more than he was supposed to because the meat was so salty. Even though there was clean water to be found in the eastern marches, it was supposed to be scarce, with most water sources said to be so polluted and poisoned that drinking from them brought a lingering, painful death. Hopefully there will be cleaner water in the mountains, and in the lands beyond. If there isn't, this is going to be a pretty short trip.

Have faith, friend Thaddeus, Aylander said, speaking for the first time that day. Eltara can't be as barren as we've been led to believe all these years.

Thaddeus glanced at his sword, which he'd laid on the ground next to him. What makes you so sure?

Nothing, Aylander said. But I do have faith.

Thaddeus grunted a laugh, shaking his head and taking another sip from his waterskin. Gods Above, the pork was salty.

“What did he say just now?” Zoe asked as she chewed. “Aylander?”

“He's admonishing me for a lack of faith,” Thaddeus said.

Zoe raised an eyebrow. “In what?”

“In the fact we'll be able to find clean water on the other side of the mountains.”

“Oh. Well, I'm sure we will be. Eltara can't be as barren as we've been led to believe all these years.”

Thaddeus gave her a sour look. “Have you two been talking behind my back, again?”

Zoe's eyes glittered with amusement. She took a swallow – a swallow, not a sip – from her waterskin and said, “I haven't a clue what you mean, Sir Knight.”

“Bah!”

They ate the rest of their meal in silence, then laid down beside the fire and went to sleep.

“The Eltaran's wrong, you know. She isn't really something new.”

The voice woke Thaddeus from a dead sleep. Opening his eyes with a start, he reached above his head for his sword and touched nothing but bare earth. He sat up, looking across the remnants of the fire to where Zoe should have been. Zoe wasn't there, however – in her place was a bearded man in black, holding Thaddeus's unsheathed sword in his hands and studying it as if looking for defects.

“Who are you?” Thaddeus asked. “Where's Zoe?”

The man didn't look up from the sword. “Two very good questions, but I know of an even better one.” He looked up, and when he met Thaddeus's gaze, Thaddeus saw his eyes glowed blue. “How can there be light, here, if the fire has died?”

“Solanas?”

The bearded man smiled, and, though the face he wore was much younger than that of the spirit who had set Thaddeus on his journey, Thaddeus relaxed when he saw how familiar the expression was. “Yes, it's me,” the man said. “Or, rather, a piece of me, woven into your sword.”

“One of the enchantments Zoe couldn't identify?”

Solanas nodded. “She's a very perceptive one. Horace chose well when he decided she should succeed him as Abbott.” He sheathed the sword and handed it back to Thaddeus, who set it on the ground beside him. “Do you remember finding that sword, Thaddeus?”

Thaddeus frowned. “Of course I do. It was in the armory, just like you said it would be.”

Solanas studied him in silence for a moment. “How do you think I came to have that sword? True, it is my sword – or was, when I was still alive – but, after I died, it was lost. No one knew where it was, or even where to look. And then, more than two thousand years later, a sixteen year-old boy comes to the Royal Palace of the Kingdom of Voranar with the sword strapped to his back just like it belonged there.” He smiled, again. “You don't remember any of that, do you?”

Thaddeus said nothing. He had been the one who found the sword? How could that be possible?

“Not even I know how you found it, or where. But, when you arrived at the palace, the sword drew me to you. That was the first time you met me, the only other time before I freed you from the dungeon. You should not have remembered that meeting. The spell I placed on you should have wiped it from your mind completely. But, even then, I was sure you would remember at least some of it – if your finding the sword hadn't been proof enough, I could sense how different you were, though it wasn't until later that I learned the truth about your heritage, and your connection to the Wanderer.” Solanas paused, looking down at the remnants of the fire. As he stared, the fire suddenly flared back to life, which caused the false light that had surrounded them, before – the light of Thaddeus's dream – to fade. “Thaddeus, have you ever heard tell of something called the Nightslayer?”

“I think I heard some children mention it, once,” Thaddeus said. “It was part of a game they were playing. The Nightslayer was supposed to be someone who could slay the Bogeyman, though none of the children wanted to be him. Being the Nightslayer was supposed to be like being cursed, and the object of the game was to avoid being tagged. If you were tagged, you became the Nightslayer, and you were supposed to lie down and play dead while the other children threw flowers – which were really dandelions – on you.”

Solanas chuckled. “You think you heard some children mention it, and yet you remember so many other details about their game.”

Thaddeus shrugged. “I was bored, one day, and saw them playing in the courtyard.” He paused, staring into the fire. “Made me wish I had had friends to play games like that with when I was growing up.”

“I'm sorry you never had much a childhood, Thaddeus,” Solanas said.

“Wasn't your fault. Besides, it was all for my own good, right?”

“Indeed.”

“Why did you ask me about the Nightslayer?” Thaddeus asked. “And what did you mean about Zoe not being something new?”

“I met someone like Zoe once,” Solanas said. “Or, at least, someone like what I expect Zoe will become. As for the Nightslayer, I asked you about it because I think it might be important to your larger quest. I can't tell you why, or how, because I don't know, myself. All I can tell you is that the Nightslayer is no myth, no mere subject of a children's game. Based on what I was able to learn before I died, I think there may have even been more than one of them, when they still existed.” He gazed into the fire, his voice growing quiet. “I sometimes think, if things had turned out differently, if certain things hadn't been lost to the depths of time, I might even have been one of them.”

“The Nightslayers were demon hunters, weren't they?” Thaddeus asked, not certain what had prompted him to ask the question.

Solanas gave him a sharp look before answering, his eyes narrowing. “I think so, yes. And I don't think they all came from this world. They came from many, and were of many different races.”

“None of them were Eltaran, though.” It was a statement, not a question, and, again, Thaddeus had no idea what prompted him to say it.

“How do you know that, Thaddeus?”

“I don't know,” Thaddeus said. He frowned. “Somehow, I just do. It's like I've always known.”

Solanas looked at him for a long time, his expression solemn. Then he smiled. “You always seem to find ways to surprise me, Thaddeus.” The fire was beginning to die, again, and darkness was creeping in from all sides. “Our time, here, for now, is nearly over. We will talk again, at least once more before the end. Until then, I wish you the best of fortune, Thaddeus. Goodbye.”

“Wait!”

“Thaddeus?” Zoe asked. “What's wrong?”

Thaddeus was laying on his back, staring up through the ruined watchtower at the sky. He blinked, then sat up, looking at Zoe. “Nothing,” he said. “Just a dream.”

Zoe looked at him for a moment, frowning in concern, then said, “Well, at least I don't have to wake you. We need to get going.”

They gathered up their things and stepped outside. As soon as they were outside, though, Zoe stopped, holding up her hand, her head tilted to one side as if listening for something.

“What is it?” Thaddeus asked.

“Shh!”

I can sense it, as well, Aylander said. Something changed during the night.

Like when we sensed Atraxos's return? Thaddeus asked.

No, this is different. More immediate. Closer.

“The wards are gone!” Zoe said, dashing off around the southern edge of the watchtower.

Thaddeus hurried after her. Behind the watchtower, on the southeastern side, was a patch of ground that looked as if the earth had been thrown up and out from beneath. It was clear that, before whatever had happened, this area had been home to a number of graves. Zoe stood looking at it, her eyes wide. “Gods Above, no,” she whispered. “No!”

Atraxos has raised the first Abominations, Aylander said. His power is growing, just as it did before the Great Mage War. From here on, our path becomes much more perilous.