The Knight Marshal (The Silk & Steel Saga) Read Online Free Page B

had changed and not
for the better. Raven Pass was broken, the Octagon Knights scattered, their
king felled by deceit, but honor and courage had to count for something. He
tightened his grip on his great sword, watching as the dawn’s first light
crested the Dragon Spine Mountains, bringing an end to his vigil…but he did not
want to be released. “I never thought to outlive you.” His heartfelt words went
unanswered. Sorrow battered his soul like an enemy sword yet duty claimed him.
“For Honor and the Octagon.”
    Stiff from standing, he bowed to
his king one last time and then sheathed his sword and made his way down the
hill to the others. He found them clustered around the wagon, three knights, a
squire, and the brown-robed healer. Their weary stares speared him with a
single question but he had no answer. “The king is dead. I’ll lead the Octagon
till another is found.”
    His gruff words quelled their
question…at least for a time.
    Sir Abrax spoke for the others.
“What now?”
    “I gave orders for the Octagon to
scatter and regroup. We’ll meet at Stonehand. Sir Lothar will be named as
knight marshal if I fall.”
    Sir Abrax flashed a feral grin.
“Then we fight?”
    Sir Blaze and Sir Rannock fingered
their weapons, a deadly edge to their faces. The marshal was not alone in
wanting vengeance for the king. He gave them a slow nod. “We lost the first
battle but not the war. We’ll bleed the dark horde for the king.” Approval lit
their faces, their courage undaunted. The marshal drew strength from their
conviction. “We best be gone, we have a war to fight.” He strode to the wagon
and took up the king’s blue steel sword, Honor’s Edge, and thrust it into the
bedroll affixed to his saddle. At least his lord’s sword was safe. Mordbane lay
shattered on the battlefield, the prince’s blue sword broken by the black, but
before the fight the king had entrusted his own sword to his squire’s care, a
legacy for his heir. “Baldwin, you did well to protect the king’s sword.” The
young man burned bright red under the compliment. “But duty calls us in other
directions.” His gaze turned to the healer, “Quintus, you’d best unhitch the
horses and empty the wagon. From now on we’ll need to be stealthy.” The pudgy
healer moved to the traces, the king’s squire leaping to lend a hand. “Baldwin, to me. I’ve a more important task for you.” Surprise flashed across the squire’s
freckled face, but he was quick to obey.
    “This way.” The marshal led the lad
into the woods. In the dim morning light he scoured the ground, using his sword
to hack at the brambles.
    “Sir, what do we seek?”
    “The blade that killed the king.”
He heard the squire’s sharp intake of breath. “I think I threw it in this
direction.” They split up, searching the thicket.
    “It’s here.”
    “Don’t touch it.” He scrambled to
the squire’s side. The great sword lay among the brambles like a slash of
Darkness. Despite the dark color, it was well crafted with dragons coiled
around the hilt in an intriguing design. Dark and deadly, the sword was made for
a champion’s hand, so tempting to claim it, like a siren’s promise of power. He
found himself reaching for it till the monk’s warning blazed in his mind, not
meant for the hand of man . Snatching back his hand, he gave the squire a
stern look. “The blade’s said to be cursed. Never touch it.” As an
afterthought, he added, “Go fetch a blanket from the wagon and a length of
rope.”
    As Baldwin sped away, the marshal
used his sword to lever the dark weapon from the thorns. It fell to the ground
at his feet, deadly black against the snow. Crouching, he studied the blade,
careful not to touch it. Steel so black it seemed to drink light, but it was
the pommel that snared his attention. “ By Valin, it cannot be!”  The
sword held the shape of a legend, an octagon pommel with a pair of coiled
dragons gracing the crossguard. Beneath the guard