The Knights

By J.T. Stoll

With enemy soldiers from Ruach expected to arrive in a few weeks, the Knights of SLO begin intense training with their soul armors. In a whirlpool of training, school, and shifting foster care, Gloria struggles with the aftermath of her mistakes. She has failed the others, but no one talks about it. Getting along with her team sometimes seems harder than fighting this war.

Meanwhile, Vero feels like her relationship with Pieter is drifting into dangerous waters, and she desperately wants to keep it from becoming the next casualty in Ruach’s war. In their battle-filled lives, do they have room for things like dates, free time, and South Obispo High’s approaching homecoming?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.T. Stoll
• Release date: Nov 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370606832

J.T. Stoll

J.T. Stoll wrote his first fantasy story when he was five. The prose was... brilliant. The accompanying stick figure illustrations... breathtaking. The lack of complex vocabulary underlies the deeper human condition.It was terrible. His mother refuses to destroy the only copy be-cause it has “sentimental value.”He has always loved fantastical stories of all kinds: fantasy novels, 16-bit RPGs, superhero movies, whatever. If reading helps to escape the real world, why not go somewhere fun?J.T. lives in San Luis Obispo County in a classy bachelor pad. He enjoys rock climbing, software development, and cooking amazing food.

Book preview

Prologue

Justin swayed with the gentle motion of Virtue—his horse. Lorane rode beside him, a radiant smile on her face, tall and slender and fair, her hair smooth, long, and black as a night sky.

I didn’t know you could ride so well, she said.

As a prince, Justin had learned to beware compliments. Over the years, he’d endured the flattery of too many self-promoters. You, as well.

I do think I could beat you at a gallop.

Would a simple flatterer be so playful? Wearing that?

She kicked the sides of her horse, and the wind fluttered out the dark blue hem of her dress as she galloped up the road. Justin kicked Virtue and rushed after her.

The hills, brilliant green with the life of spring, glowed under the empyrean’s cascading light. They followed a wide, pre-war road. Grass pushed through cracks in its black asphalt. The road led at a gentle incline into the pines of the Western Wilds: like much of the world, a region uninhabited by highlander or wildian. Here and there, they passed vine-covered skeletons of blocky buildings, memories from before the war’s desolation. Behind, Insil’s grasslands stretched to the horizon.

Terian’s policies of the last six months had thrown the kingdom into turmoil. He had argued hard for the right of the wildian. Highlander benefactors journeyed to wildian lands to establish schools, hospitals, and cathedrals. The increased interaction brought thousands of that race had migrated to the capital for work. The speed of change bewildered the nation.

And yet, despite the generous rhetoric and highlander largesse, something in Terian’s policies rang false to Justin’s ears. The equality didn’t seem quite equal; the benevolence seemed conditional. In many ways, it felt as though Terian were building an empire among the wildians—under the guise of civilizing them.

And so Justin opposed his brother with what influence he had, provoking fights even sharper than those of their childhood. Political tides were creating two islands around the princes. Justin argued for continuing his father’s work of rebuilding the highlander race. Terian sought the good of the wildians—he claimed to, at least.

And so Justin relished bouncing in his saddle and feeling the wind in his hair and chasing the rippling folds of Lorane’s dress. He wasn’t quite sure why he fought—maybe simply because when it came to Terian, to fight felt natural. Regardless, Terian would inherit the throne. Justin would have some influence, yes, but if the worry of the last few months were any foretaste, he’d rather ride through the hills. He hated admitting it, but his half-brother had the ambition and the mind to rule. He would prove a good king.

Justin passed Lorane, then slowed. When spending a day in the countryside with a lady, he’d learned to resist his competitive side. He waited for her to fly by, but she didn’t. He glanced back.

She kept pace just behind him. You can’t just let me win. She laughed as she said it.

He suddenly loved her. He loved that she was bright enough to see his ruse, meek enough to refuse it, and bold enough to taunt him for it. It was as though she had been crafted for him. Justin had courted more than a few women. Lorane, he might marry.

The sound of her pace slowed to a trot, and then a walk. Justin turned Virtue around and came up beside her. Exhilarating, she said, breathing heavily.

More so with you here.

She smiled. Shall we stop to eat?

I would enjoy nothing more.

Of all ironies, Justin’s sister-in-law, Evelyn, had introduced him to Lorane in the stiff formality of a ball filled with senators and wizards. Things had moved quickly from there.

Justin dismounted and removed slightly battered bread, cheese, and sausage from his saddlebags. They sat in a small clearing near a grove of pines and let the horses graze. Wispy clouds drifted across the sky.

She sat next to him, legs tucked under her dress, nibbling on a small piece of bread. A deep red flower grew amid the grass, and he plucked it. I believe there’s never been a day as beautiful as this one. I’ve certainly never spent one with someone as beautiful as you.

Without a word, she turned her body and leaned onto his chest. His heart roared, and the colors of the landscape grew deeper and richer, the very motion of the empyrean’s light seeming to flow with the beating of his heart.

He kissed her. She had a fierceness, a boldness, and oh, her beauty. Yes, this was a woman he might marry. A gauntlet of political intrigue and worries would accompany any engagement, but at least she was a senator’s daughter. No matter the cost, he’d find a way.

She leaned back, arms behind her, dress crumpled a little and rising just above her knees. She stared at him. Justin…

Faintly, at the very edge of his awareness, he felt a soul armor ignite. Years of training coalesced into an instant of reflex. He activated Dorchad and leaped toward Lorane, dragging her away from their picnic site. The surroundings flashed as though struck by silent lightning.

She screamed and tried to push away from him. He clutched her tight—not too tight, as he could crush her with his soul armor’s strength—and tried a shallow jump. Pain seared in his leg, and he tumbled forward into the grass instead of gliding across the clearing. That first attack had pierced his thigh. Blood trailed behind him. And his sword—his sword was folded in his saddlebag.

With another flash, a white line streaked stark and clear across the landscape, missing Justin by inches. The beam led back to the pine grove. A thin bowman stood among the trees. Two more armors glowed a faint silver behind him. They must have been waiting in ambush, armors off until that first attack.

In his arms, Lorane still screamed and flailed. He was surprised to see her panic. But then, she’d probably never been in a life-and-death situation like this.

He stood, crouching and ready to spring. Be quiet. I’ll protect you.

She kept flailing as the attacker pulled back his arrowless bowstring. Justin tried to jump again, but Lorane’s shifting weight threw off his balance. Another beam seared out, piercing the air where he’d been standing.

He couldn’t fight while holding her. He tore her arms loose from his neck and tossed her into the tall grass. Stay low. I must fight. We can’t run. She screamed again.

He fell onto his stomach, with any luck throwing off the bowman’s aim. He concentrated on his sword, hoping it would be close enough for summoning. It didn’t come.

Two figures leaped from the grove. They wore tight clothing—green and camouflage—along with fabric wrapped around their heads, concealing their faces. One held a sword, one an axe. Where had these soul armors come from? Their signatures felt different from Duncan’s craft, yet they seemed well balanced. Few living men could make weapons like these.

Justin sensed the direction of his sword and ran toward it. His horse was trotting away and up a slope. Virtue! he shouted. She doubled back.

The men with sword and axe landed and dashed toward him. They attacked from a distance, faint lines of power extending beyond their weapons: ranged slashes. The attacks dug into his back, but at this distance they didn’t go deep. The bowman shot again; Justin jumped the attack, sending a jolt of pain through his injured thigh.

As he neared Virtue, he concentrated on Dorchad. A small black rod slid from one of the saddlebags and flew to his hand. He tumbled through the grass, dodging a few more ranged slashes—these close enough to do real damage—and his weapon slammed into his palm. He stood and pulled on the rod. A handle then blade expanded. The swordsman, now within reach, swung at him, and Justin parried with his half-formed sword. He danced back and yanked on the end of his blade, unfolding it to its full length and natural form: Dorchad, sword of darkness.

Duncan had forged Dorchad and its twin blade—Edrom, the sword of light—for the half-brother princes. As elder, Terian had been given first choice. Edrom fit his image: dressing in white and parading himself as Rolland’s firstborn and heir to the Light—the artifact their father had created to deliver the world from the lingering poisons of the Final War.

Dorchad—well, Justin loved the blade’s power and balance, but its character didn’t suit him. He hated the nickname that it had earned him, never uttered within earshot: the dark prince.

At the sight of the cold, black steel, both men faltered. They knew Justin. They knew Dorchad. The bowman in the grove fired again. With a flick of his blade, without bothering to turn his gaze, Justin deflected the attack.

Who sent you? he shouted, but he trembled behind his feigned confidence. He’d trained with soul armors from his childhood, but during his life Insil had known only peace. He had never fought for survival. Best if they didn’t know that.

The men simply stared at him behind the face wrappings and took defensive postures. Fools. They should have run. Normally, Justin would have begun slowly, testing their strength. But they had put Lorane in danger. He planted his sword in the ground and shouted. He only hoped that here, in a real battle, he could pull off this attack.

For a heartbeat, nothing. And then a black sphere expanded from his blade. The two men finally tried to leap away. Too late. The sphere caught them in midair, and Justin knew what they would feel—he’d experienced this attack once himself during a training session, so that he’d know his own weapon’s strength. Their world became slow, their movement labored as though the very air were a strong current working against them. Unless they were true masters with their soul armors, in touch with their weapons at the deepest level, they were also blinded.

Before their jumps could carry them beyond the sphere, Justin left his sword sticking in the ground and reached out, grabbing both by an ankle and pulling them back and smashing them into the ground. He took up Dorchad and bore down on the swordsman, nearly cutting him in half before the man could so much as raise his blade.

The one with the axe swung, but his movements were slow and easy to dodge. Justin aimed for the right arm, where he wore the armband of his soul armor. Dorchad sliced clean through skin and bone, removing the soul armor, arm and all. The man collapsed.

A bright beam pierced Justin’s sphere and hit him in the side. The bowman. He had to be strong, seeing into Dorchad’s cloud clearly enough to score a hit.

Justin dissipated the sphere and sucked the dark energy into his blade. He struck, a black beam searing across the meadow toward the last assassin. The bowman dodged, but in the wrong direction—the beam caught him in the chest.

No! Justin had wanted him alive. He needed answers.

He leaned down to the one-armed axeman. Who sent you? Tell me! How did you know we’d be here?

The man shook his head and stopped moving.

Across the field, Lorane stood. Is it over? she shouted.

They’re dead. Justin’s leg and back and side burned. He tore the shroud from the man’s head but did not recognize the face.

She ran to him and embraced him gently, avoiding his wounds. I’m sorry. I don’t know why, I just…I was so afraid.

He held her for a moment, still careful not to bruise her with his armor’s strength. Don’t worry about it. But we need to retrieve our horses and get out of here. There may be more. Can you get the soul armor from the one back in the trees? Do you know how to recognize it?

I do.

They gathered the armors from their fallen opponents. Lorane held the bow and its ornament, Justin the other two. He bound the cut in his leg with the face shroud of one of the fallen men. He mounted Virtue and chased down Lorane’s horse. With that done, he finally deactivated his armor—the pain of his injuries intensifying—and searched through his saddlebags.

What are you looking for? Lorane asked.

A token my father gave me for emergencies, an artifact to create a gate and get us back to Insil. I could have sworn that it was in the bottom of this bag.

As Justin dug through his bag, he felt stupid for nearly dying in that ambush. He was the prince. He shouldn’t have come so far alone. Yet it was a time of peace! The royal family was loved. And he should have been safe with his soul armor. Only someone with incredible wealth and influence could have armed those killers.

Wealth and influence like Terian. And Lorane had suggested they come on this long road. She had suggested they stop in this exact spot. Her father was a supporter of Terian.

And Evelyn had introduced the two of them.

He spun around.

She ignited the soul armor, bow aimed straight for his heart. He grabbed the weapon and pointed it skyward, shooting its bright beam into the air.

He ripped the weapon from her hands. You? You were…

You fool. She spat in his face. Did you really think that these peaceful days could continue, that the thirst of our race for power would go unquenched while both brothers still live?

All a lie, then, he muttered, wiping his face. All a lie…

He wrenched the armband from her and sped away on Virtue. His gate was nowhere to be found—she must have somehow dropped it along the road. His leg ached, but he would have taken a thousand times that pain compared to the agony in his heart.

And yet, on that, the worst day he had ever known, a curious thought emerged. If it really was Terian who had hired these killers, well, the king wouldn’t simply overlook that. Justin very well might inherit the throne.

1. In the Dunes

Gloria could imagine fighting to defend her world from Terian. If only she could do it with different people.

Her feet sank with every step in the deep sand, and she used her staff for balance. Her leg bent stiffly due to Theodore’s bandage—Theo, rather. Pieter’s nickname for the highlander had already stuck in her mind.

Sand dunes tall as houses rose on either side, and waves crashed in the distance. It was late afternoon but still hot—the dunes blocked the ocean breeze. Sweat soaked into her light, long-sleeve top. It was too warm for the weather, but it hid the scabs from two nights ago.

Neil and Theo led the way, Pieter and Vero behind them. The couple held hands, but begrudgingly, as though they’d rather not. Gloria trailed in back.

Okay, so, like, how’s magic work? Neil asked Theo.

That’s not what we’re here to discuss, the highlander said. It’s not relevant right now.

How is that not relevant? We’ve got magic weapons, a magic portal. You’re a wizard!

The highlander turned to Neil. I’m here to teach you to use your armors, not to answer your every curiosity.