Halloween Knights

By Joe Derkacht

Korum, King of Angalar-on-Beror, whose exploits match even Richard the Lionheart's, retells his first visit to the City of Darkness and how he found his true master.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joe Derkacht
• Release date: May 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476073125

Book preview

Halloween Knights

by

Joe Derkacht

Smashwords Edition

~~~~~~~

Halloween Knights

© Copyright 2012 by Joe Derkacht

All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. All names, locales, and incidents are either fictitious or used fictitiously and are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead, or to actual places and incidents, is purely coincidental.

Cover art is by the author, Joe Derkacht.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com or another legitimate e-retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

~~~~~~~

Halloween Knights

The inn, like the city itself, was neatly joined mortar-free stone—solid, thick, enduring. In contrast, the sign above its wide oak doors was mere slats of wood held loosely to an iron rod by frayed ropes. A gust of wind caught the sign and spun it halfway around the iron rod, standing it nearly on end before suddenly dropping it, letting it swing limply between two guttering torches. Blue smears of paint adorning the sign could just be made out, signifying to the denizens of the city that this was The Inn of the Well. On the porch a thin hunch-shouldered man halted and looked up. The waiting, the pacing, the cold and the wet, and especially the blasted sign, had set off his accursed facial tic. Judging that he was not in imminent danger of a braining, he clawed with one hand at his sodden mantle, bunched it around his throat and returned to the onerous task of watching for more guests.

Men from the countryside and outlying counties had begun to arrive by horse before noon that day, and shortly after noon itself, a number of men from the city began arriving on foot. Now, under darkling skies, the inn bulged with its motley visitants, but at least one other traveler had yet to arrive, and there would be other stragglers as well.

Gune, take my horse. Gune, see to my carriage. Would the good master mind the presence of my faithful dog in the tavern, Gune? Is he here yet, Gune? Is he here? Is he really expected?

Weary of their questions and requests, the longsuffering Gune had taken to replying with a tilt of the head and an inquisitive squint befitting the deaf, especially as he received their horses; more than one was sure to be a rascal who would later claim a better mount than he’d arrived on. To the last question, whether he, the one they so anxiously awaited, might be expected, Gune only shrugged. But once out of sight, with reins in hand, he muttered that the man had come on this very same night for the last fifty years. Why should it be any different now? Unless he was dead, which Gune doubted. Surely, one would have heard tell of such an event.

Hooves clattered upon stone. Gune stepped down from the porch and looked toward the heart of the city. This should be the High Prince, Lord Deron, always among the last to arrive. Gune swore under his breath, seeing three horsemen shadowing him, likely courtiers. The inn’s stables wouldn’t hold four more horses.

But they weren’t Lord Deron’s usual toadies; they were knights wearing hauberks covered by thin mantles in the orange and black of the city’s royal house, swords at their waists, and carrying shields. All three remained in the saddle as he dismounted and handed his reins to Gune.

In the morning, then, Deron said. Make it before sunrise.

Yes milord, the three knights answered in sullen unison, though it was perhaps only from boredom. The uncertain torchlight revealed nothing of their demeanor, whether smiles or frowns, as they turned and rode back the way they’d come.

Will you be serving at table tonight, Gune? Deron asked.

Aye, milord, Gune said, brushing wisps of lanky silver hair from his eyes. Bowing deeply, he led the horse away without turning, rather than to rudely show his back to the lord of the city.

See to it then, said Prince Deron, that you wash your hands after coming from the stables, or they will join those on the palace gates.

Yes, of course, milord, Gune said, blenching under the royal stare.

Before you go— the prince called after him, though he was near to escaping around the corner of the building. Has he arrived yet? Or has there been word?

"Expected, milord, he’s expected, I can tell you