Knights End Read online

  Brad Clark

  Knights End

  The Champion Chronicles Book VI

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  ***

  Knights End

  ***

  Copyright © 2019 by Brad Clark.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other – except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without prior permission of the author.

  The Champion Chronicles

  Knight Fall

  Last Knight

  Forever Knight

  Knight Fire

  Knight Quest

  Knights End

  Sword of the Kingdom: A Prequel to The Champion Chronicles

  Other Books By Brad

  Rewards of Vengeance

  www.booksbybradclark.com

  You can follow Brad on Twitter @BooksByBrad

  All good things come to an end, but that only opens the door for what comes next.

  Prologue

  King Illichian, leader of the race of Elves, slowly sat up in his bed. A fire blazed in his chamber’s hearth, bringing some measure of warmth to the cold morning. He had not heard his servants come in to stoke the fire, as he had been lost in a sound, dreamy sleep. There had been a time when even the slightest noise would wake him, dagger in hand, ready to defend himself. Those days were centuries past. Now, sleep came quickly, and it took effort to pull himself out of bed. His bones creaked, and his muscles ached all the time. Many days the only time he was pain-free was when his eyes were closed, and he was sound asleep. His mind was still sharp, and it frustrated him that he could no longer do the activities that he once could. The days when he could train with the dagger or bow were long past. Even if he wanted to, there was little chance he could pull back the bowstring of even an Elfling’s bow.

  Anger bubbled deep below the surface of his emotions. He had brought his Elvenkind into this war, and there was little that he could do to contribute. Never had he been a great warrior, and battlefield tactics were not something he excelled at, either. His skillset was in leadership and governing his people through times of peace, but he had once been able to stand at the side of his warriors and fight alongside them. No longer could he lead from the front. He knew his warriors would think nothing less of him, but it still pained him.

  For many, many generations, he could not imagine the Elvenkind ever going back to war. As peace came to the Elves during their time of self-exile, the thought of war felt like a bad dream that would never come to reality. For thousands of years, they had lived in a safe part of the world, separated from Humans and the wars that divided the world’s two dominant races. Many Elves did not remember a time of war. They had been born in peaceful exile, innocent and naïve. What they knew of the Humans was passed down from generation to generation and shared by those that had lived through the wars. Even though the younger Elves had never met a Human until Conner and Elissa arrived, they had a notion of them being evil and dangerous, because that was how the elder Elves portrayed Humans. Born and bred in peacetime when food was plentiful, and war was unthinkable, no Elf had to fight to earn their next meal or struggle merely to survive.

  Maybe that was why so many Elves chose to move deeper into the jungles of their land of exile rather than face the reality of war. It could have been cowardice, but King Illichian knew it was more profound than that. To be a coward, they would have to know what they feared. They did not know about the ravages of war, other than through the words and stories passed down from the elder Elves. They ran away because they did not understand that good cannot exist without evil. Day cannot exist without night. They wanted to remain safe, living the same comfortable and predictable life year after year, century after century, never really struggling, or growing, or becoming the race they were meant to be. In their safe naivety, they had lost the edge that allowed races to thrive and survive through hardships.

  His heart broke from the years that were lost. He never once regretted leaving their cities for exile, because he knew that if he had not, both Elves and Humans would have destroyed one another. As time marched on, he kept his people in safe solitude, protected from the outside world. He perpetuated their belief that it was better to be safe than to take risks. He knew better, but he never wanted his people to fight in a war again. He had committed to doing everything he could to keep his people from ever experiencing that kind of death and destruction again, but in doing so, he had let his Elves become soft and comfortable in who they were.

  It wasn’t until Conner and Elissa appeared that he understood how safe, but meaningless, their lives were. While he and his Elvenkind existed, they did not truly live. The world around them grew. Humanity spread across the globe, expanding their reach to continents that the Elves had never seen. Humanity grew while the Elves became stagnant. As that happened, they lost touch with the real evil around them. They were devoted followers of the One God but had lapsed into comfort, not seeing the Deceiver sneak his way into their world.

  Magic, an art lost to the Humans, was found by Prince Tarcious, brother to the emperor of the great Human civilization called the Taran Empire. Tarcious’ jealous heart was darkened by pride and stoked by the touch of the Deceiver. Through evil trickery and poison, Tarcious took the empire from his brother and crowned himself as emperor. Although Tarcious became the ruler of the empire, he was still a pawn of the Deceiver. Pushed by the Deceiver, Tarcious started a war with a small, neighboring kingdom named Karmon. The people of Karmon had fought back valiantly, but they were no match for the great Taran Centurions who could send hundreds of thousands of soldiers into battle. Unbeknownst to the soldiers, they were being led by a puppet of the Deceiver, and when Tarcious fell during the attack on Karmon’s capital city, the ancient artifact called the Ark of Life fell into the hands of the Deceiver. Using the power of the Ark of Life, the Deceiver was able to bring himself into the world, his essence occupying the body of a Centurion sergeant. The Deceiver brought forth his own army, fierce goblins who killed with a ferocity unknown to any Human or Elf. Large Stone Ogres were raised from their mountain slumber, brought back to life after many millennia. Karmon was devastated, and the Deceiver began his conquest of the rest of the world. It was then that Conner and Glaerion had decided to come to the Elves for help.

  King Illichian would never forgive himself for not immediately sending his army to help the Humans. When the Deceiver broached this world, the king could feel his presence, but he did not believe what he felt. He had sent Glaerion to seek out the source of the magic, and kill whomever it was that was using it. Magic was not meant for Humans, for it would only corrupt their minds with power. He should have known that the source of magic was not a power-hungry Human, but a greater force of evil. Fortunately, Glaerion had come across Conner in a seemingly accidental way, but the king knew it was the One God putting the two of them together. For it was only through that friendship would they return to the land of the Elves and ask for help.

  They were all here, now. Elves and Humans together behind the walls of Neffenmark Castle, a fortress that had never been breached. But, he had seen grander castles and greater walls fall to lesser armies. No force on earth could defend against the might of the Deceiver. The only power that they could use would come from an even greater place. The One God.

  King Illichian pulled a thick fur blanket around his shoulders. Although the fire was blazing hot, his old bones were still chilled. His legs were
wobbly, and his back was stiff. Soon, a young servant would come in and give his muscles a rubdown that would allow him to get through the day. He hated being old, and he hated the symptoms of old age even more. Many times, he thought about just giving up and letting death come to his doorstep to take him, but he knew there was still too much to do. There was a war to fight and a world to save. Once the Deceiver was disposed of, he could think about letting another of the younger and brighter Elves take his place. Until then, he had the responsibility of serving all Elvenkind as their leader.

  With short, painful steps, he made his way across the room to where a plain wooden chest sat on top of a table. He lightly touched the chest, and his lips mumbled the spell to release the magical locks that held the lid of the chest closed. It was rare that he used magic these days, especially in such a menial manner. Elves were discouraged from using magic for everyday tasks, as the power that came from the Web of Magic was not something to be trifled with. It could take life, and it could give life. To use it for simple tasks demeaned that power. However, in this case, the magical lock was used to protect the one weapon that could potentially kill the Deceiver.

  He strained to pull enough power to release the magical locks. It was a simple spell that a young child could cast in his sleep. His hands shook as he closed his eyes to focus once again on the spell. His heart pounded hard as he had lost his connection to the Web of Magic. Even though this logical side of his brain told him that it was impossible, he still feared it might be happening. All Elves lived with a permanent connection to the Web of Magic and knew innately how to access the power of the Web of Magic in order to cast spells. This inability to access the Web of Magic had happened before, but he had dismissed the event as merely an anomaly. But now it had happened twice, and it caused a real fear to sweep over him. If he lost that connection to the Web of Magic, he figured he would cease to exist. In truth, he had no idea what would happen. He was the eldest Elf, and all those that had come before him had perished in the wars with the Humans. An Elf dying of old age seemed but a myth, but he was beginning to realize it was actually reality.

  The third time he tried the spell, he squeezed his eyes closed and shut out all distractions. Taking in a deep breath, he let the air in his lungs out slowly as he mumbled the words of the spell. Instantly, he felt the connection once again as if it had never left. There was an audible click as the magical lock released the physical clasp that kept the top of the chest from being able to be opened.

  King Illichian pushed the top of the chest back until it stopped and looked down at the Spear of Salvation. It fit into the chest only because it was broken into two pieces. He picked up one of the pieces with his left hand and the other with his right. Bringing the sharp obsidian tip close to his eyes, he could see the razor sharpness of the spear’s tip. Unlike a typical spear that had two edges, this spear had four edges, and each one was sharp enough to slice through his skin just by touching the edge. There were no marks or scratches that indicated it had ever struck another object. He knew it had been used only because Conner and Glaerion had said so.

  They told him that the king of the Hurai had sent them to find it. Their guide, a Hurai princess named Nikki, had gone with them on their quest. After they recovered the Spear, Conner and Glaerion had traveled back with a small contingent of Dwarves. Nikki remained behind to lead her Sak’Hurai warriors from their homeland to Karmon so they could join the fight against the Deceiver. It pleased him to hear that soon they would have more help, but the idea of Sak’Hurai joining their ranks concerned him. It had been many, many years since he had last dealt with the Sak’Hurai, and it had not gone well. However, those times were long past, and no Hurai from that time was still alive. He would have to have the same trust in them that he had in Conner, Elissa, and all the other Humans. The past was past, and it was time to move on.

  The Spear of Salvation needed to be powered by magic to kill the Deceiver, for even the sharpest of weapons would not touch his essence. Cold steel could kill the body that the Deceiver inhabited, but it would not touch the Deceiver. This broken weapon was likely their only chance to kill the Deceiver, and it needed to be repaired so that it could be reconnected to the Web of Magic.

  Closing his eyes, he reached out with his mind to touch the Web of Magic, hoping that he could find the strands that led back to the weapon. Despite squeezing hard and focusing all his power on the two pieces of the spear, he could not find the strands that were bound from the Spear to the Web of Magic. Glaerion had suggested that the breaking of the spear’s shaft had broken the spell. Although he was skeptical, there was still a chance that Glaerion was right. The war would come soon, and he would have to be prepared so he could not delay much longer in trying to put the Spear of Salvation back together. He had imbued other weapons with spells, so it was not beyond his skills to do that with this weapon, but if it wasn’t done just right and with the right spell, the Spear of Salvation would merely be a very sharp spear. It would be a formidable weapon in battle, but certainly, not one that could defeat the Deceiver.

  A light knocking on the door to his chamber broke his concentration. He cleared his mind and frustrations with a long exhale.

  “Come,” King Illichian called out.

  The door opened, and the beautiful form of Hallendrielle appeared in the doorway. She slipped in, glancing down the corridor to be sure she was not seen. Then, she gently closed the door.

  “Did you tell him?” the king asked.

  Hallendrielle shook her head. “I told Glaerion nothing.”

  “He is your husband. He should know.”

  Hallendrielle’s eyes narrowed. “He is my husband, not my keeper. He will know soon enough.” She took a long look at the spear and then added, “We will all know soon enough if the spell was successful or not.”

  “He will never forgive you if we fail.”

  “I will be dead, so what do I care.”

  King Illichian smiled. Most Elven females were quiet and docile. Hellendrielle was as far from quiet and docile as one could be. It was why the king liked her so much.

  “Are you ready?” the king asked.

  Hellendrielle stepped forward, nodding her head. “I am.” She looked more closely at her king, and then asked, “Are you?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “You do not look well.”

  King Illichian smiled and gently shook his head. “You do not worry about me.”

  She took him for his word. Looking down at the Spear of Salvation in his hands, she asked, “How will we know if it works?”

  “When the spear is plunged into the chest of the Deceiver, and he dies, then we will know for sure. Hopefully, though, we will be able to sense the power of the Spear after it has been imbued with the spell.”

  “That is quite a risk. If the spell fails and we don’t know it…” she let her words trail off to silence.

  “We have to just take that risk,” he replied softly.

  ***

  Immerallis glided through the opening to the cave and came to a quick, graceful stop. Outside was a steady, sleety, messy mix of ice and snow, typical for this time of year in the high altitudes of the mountains. With a shake of body and tail, he cleared himself of ice that had stuck to his scales while he had been flying through the early spring skies. He had not realized a thick coating of ice covered him until he heard ice droplets splash against the cave’s walls. Underneath his scales was a thick hide that kept his body warm, which allowed him to comfortably fly in altitudes so high, he could not be seen from the ground.

  He walked forward on all fours. The darkness of the cavern was not too dark for his eyes, which allowed him to pick out the still form of Myllia, the golden-eyed Dragon Queen. Her head rested on the ground, eyes closed. Rhythmically, her belly slowly expanded and contracted as she breathed.

  “You do not need to walk so tenderly,” Myllia said. “I felt your presence some time ago, and it brought me from my slumber.”

  The wo
rds were soft and motherly but did not echo through the cavern, as the words were only spoken through their thoughts in the native language of Dragons. Their kind did not have the physiology to speak aloud, but their ability to cast their thoughts to others allowed them to communicate with any creature that they could see. It was one of the many advantages of being tied directly to the Web of Magic. Another important one, which could also be considered a curse, was that their life force never ended. Dragons did not age as other animals did. Thus they did not die from natural causes. They lived forever, or until they were killed, which is what had happened to all their brethren, many thousands of years ago.

  The two Dragons in that cavern were the last of their kind. They had survived the purge Humans had inflicted upon their kind by exiling themselves to a cavern very similar to this one. The Great Mountains that ringed the northern territories had been their frozen home while they hibernated for thousands of years. It was only when the Deceiver had called them forth that they awoke. Infused with unresolved anger that had boiled for those thousands of years, Myllia laid waste to the first Human city she came across. Fueled by the Deceiver’s deception, she continued her assault on the race that had destroyed hers. Uncounted Humans had been burned by her fiery breath and razor-sharp teeth. Her wrath was fierce and unmerciful.

  If not for Queen Elissa, Myllia would have continued in her quest to kill as many Humans as she could. The queen’s strength and courage showed Myllia that maybe Humanity had changed. She would never forget the screams of dying Dragons, but she had been able to forgive the Humans and vowed to help them fight the Deceiver. It did not take long for Myllia to realize that the Deceiver had used her long-held rage for his own purpose. Too late for the lives of many hundreds of Humans, she realized that the Deceiver was simply stoking anger towards a race of people, rather than the individuals who had actually participated in the purge of Dragons. The Humans of today did not even know of their kind, other than through legends and children’s stories. Humanity had grown and evolved into a race that was no longer worthy of her anger and wrath. They did not deserve what she had done to them, and if she could go back in time and change her actions, she would have.