Knightshade: Perdition Bleeds

By John Grover

It is the year 1412. King Gravynmere of Vanosia, in the continent of Eurone, has sent some of his best soldiers to investigate strange stories in the nearby border town of Faxon.
The men will soon learn there is more truth than fancy to these stories, for something walks in the fields, something with cloven hooves and fire dripping from its hands.

The king rallies his son, Prince Quinn, his entire army and all of the Kingdom of Vanosia to confront the very forces of darkness in an epic tale of adventure, magic and mystery as the veil between their world and Perdition grows thin.

Join the Prince as he battles for his land, his people and his beloved on a mission that will take him to ends of the world and back, through pain and sacrifice, war and horror as what is below claws its way to above.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Grover
• Release date: Jun 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463897171

John Grover

John Grover is a dark fiction author residing in Massachusetts. John grew up watching creature double feature with his brother on Saturday afternoons. This fueled his love of monsters, ghosts and the supernatural. He never missed an episode. In his spare time he loves to cook, garden, go to the theater to watch horror movies with his friends, read, talk about food, bake amazing desserts, play with his dog Buffy (yes named after the character in the TV show) and draw-badly. Some of his favorite TV shows and influences are The Twilight Zone, Tales from the Darkside, Space 1999, Battlestar Galactica, X-Files, Night Gallery, Monsters, Star Trek, and much more. He completed a creative writing course at Boston's Fisher College and is a member of the New England Horror Writers, a chapter of the Horror Writers Association. Some of his more recent credits include Best New Zombie Tales Vol 1 by Books of the Dead Press, The Book of Cannibals by Living Dead Press, The Vermin Anthology, The Northern Haunts Anthology by Shroud Publishing, The Zombology Series by Library of the Living Dead Press, Morpheus Tales, Wrong World, The Willows, Alien Skin Magazine, Aurora Wolf and more. He is the author of several collections, including the recently released Feminine Wiles, sixteen tales of wicked women as well as various chapbooks, anthologies, and more. Please visit his website for more information.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

FAXON

Bart, 5th Company Infantry, Royal Army.

Journal Entry 233

It is the 34th day of Octyber, in the year of our Lady, 1412. Lord Compton fired off his orders to us quite early on a rather frigid morn. Fifteen of us with two archers are to report to the township of Faxon, a town on the outskirts of the kingdom proper, to investigate stories of mysterious fires ravaging farms and crop fields. The men are glad for something new to do. Most of them joked as they walked, laughing at those left behind to run training exercises and labor on the King’s Pride, the walls of Vanosia.

I could not partake in their enthusiasm. The skies darken with menacing clouds. They ponder about running into thieves or ruffians or vandals, but being one of the few in the Royal Army who can read, I know better.

The parchment from the priest in service to our Lady was grim—fires were started under mysterious circumstances. A beast was spotted in the fields, walking on cloven hooves with fire dripping from its hands. My heart fears the worst. My stomach is in ropes. I secretly hope the men are right, but in my soul, I know they are not. At first light, we march out to investigate this burning town.

Stand tall, boys! called John, the captain of the company. We are the king’s finest. The township will be counting on us.

So now we put out fires? Garth called. Surely we have better battles to fight. I can’t even use my sword on a fire.

We do not battle the fire, fool, Reginald chuckled. We battle whatever sets the flame.

What do you think it is? Garth asked.

I do not know and I do not care, Reginald replied. Today is the first day I avoid scraping the pig slop that surrounds the Vanosian walls off my boots.

Laughter filled the air as the men climbed to the top of a grassy hill and looked down on the first road to Faxon. Their two archers brought up the rear.

Hoof prints and wagon wheel marks marred the road. Patches of mud stretched across parts of it. The men followed the road through farm fields and over a bridge. A small brook bubbled beneath the bridge. As they neared town, the tree line thickened on either side, their lush green leaves faded to brown, signaling the transition into the fall season. Soon, they noticed that some of the trees were black, limbs withered, trunks scorches, skeletal, and hollow.

They stopped to investigate before John urged them to move on, but they halted again when they spotted the burned farmhouse to their left. Its roof had collapsed and the supports were all but charred, appearing as if a strong wind could blow the structure to the ground.

A trail of black soot cut its way through the fields and toward the outskirts of town. The men followed, more solemn now. Some put their hands on the hilt of their swords and the archers loaded their arrows.

Windmills dotted the horizon, untouched by fire. Bales of hay, stacked into mountainous piles, crowded the side of the road. Finally, homes and wagons—filled with barrels of water and wine, tools, and sacks of grain—appeared. Horses and pigs roamed the land, chickens clucked, and dogs barked.

A bit of rain sprinkled from the gray sky and the wind howled, carrying the scent of soot. The men and women of Faxon stopped and turned to watch the armored soldiers wade into the town. A well marked the town center, as did the church with its long, tall steeple.

You’re here to stop it? one of the townsmen asked.

We are, John said. When did the fires start?

I believe one week ago.

Yes, a woman called. She stepped into the road, a basket of turnips in her arms. The fires began on the seventh day of a week passed, this very day. Please find what burns our town. Our crops are but ashes. These turnips are all I have left of my husband’s fields.

We will, m’lady. We will track the scoundrel down.

Nay, an elderly man called. He dragged himself from the crowd and supported himself on gnarled cane. It is not human. It is the beast. The beast from the flames. It walks among the fields by night and sets them ablaze. Sometimes, I hear the clap of cloven hooves upon the rooftops—even the steeple of the church!

Everyone looked up at the church steeple, including the men. The wind sighed. Thunder rumbled in the distance. A shiver ran through the soldiers. The sound of hooves clapping on thatched roofs followed the thunder.

The men drew their swords. Some of them trembled. John, the commander, heard flapping in the wind.

Hark! a farmer called as he ran down the road. His terror was as evident as the sharpness of the pitchfork he carried. I trapped it! In my barn … the beast. I have trapped it!

Onward, John yelled, spurring the men, and charged up the road with the farmer.

Armor clattered as they ran, swords swiped the air, and boots stomped on the dirt road. The farmer led them across a burned wheat field with overturned wagons and rotting vegetables. Cows groaned as the men passed and the sheep scattered. They reached the huge barn; wood and shovels braced its doors. All the windows were closed. A shriek escaped from inside.

The men stopped dead and some covered their ears. One ran off into the distance. The archers took aim at the door.

John turned back to his men. Garth and Reginald were in the front. Are we ready boys? Ready for what awaits us inside?

The men nodded.

Then, we go and stop the beast of Faxon!

John gestured for the farmer to unblock the doors and pry them open. He did as they asked, a concerned look on his face, and then ducked for cover.

John charged inside, Garth and Reginald at his side. The three of them cried out as they barreled inside and were greeted by piles of hay. They stopped and looked around. Silence swept the barn.

A creak sounded above them. They looked up into the hayloft. Shadows stretched and something sighed … a gentle sigh, almost a whisper.

Someone moved above them. A glimpse of soft flesh and a long, curved leg. The men were fixated.

Do not be frightened, a soothing, feminine voice said to them. She slid into view, slinky, shy, and naked.

What witchery is this? John said, bracing his sword, but he could not take his eyes off her. He watched her run her hands over her smooth body.

The other men dropped their guard as the mysterious woman stood, her long, chestnut hair flowing over her breasts.

Steady men, John called. ’Tis a trick. Blades up … I—

Fear not, she said with a hush. You see nothing but pleasure. You smell the lust of many women. It is like nectar.

Her words charmed the men and each looked at her adoringly. The woman floated down the hayloft’s ladder and descended to Garth. She touched his cheek with tender fingers. A smile crossed her blood-red lips as Garth’s cheek opened and a river of crimson poured.

The woman’s hand became a claw and she thrust it back with lightning speed, ripping half of Garth’s face with it. Agonizing screams escaped the man as he fell into a puddle of blood.

No! John yelled as he lunged for the woman, sword aloft.

She turned sharply and touched his chin, smiling wide. John froze in his spot as she drew back her free hand.

An arrow cut through the air and nailed the woman’s hand right through the palm.

No more, succubus! I see what you are. You cannot charm all of the faithful. An archer stood outside with a second arrow fixed on her.

The succubus howled and transformed into her true self. Perfect, milky-white flesh rippled with scales. Horns sprouted from her head and bat-like wings unfurled from her back. She screamed at the archer and launched into the air.

Another arrow whistled into the barn but missed its mark.

The men all screamed, her spell broken. They lifted their swords as she dove at them. Six men toppled to the ground but Reginald held his footing. Noting his friend, Garth, lay dead beside him, he charged the sly succubus.

He slashed at her and she deflected his blow with her clawed hands. He pulled back again but she seized him by the throat and bit into it with coarse teeth. Blood exploded and Reginald twitched, screaming for help.

John rushed to help but it was too late. The succubus dropped Reginald’s limp body and swatted John across the jaw as he jumped into the fray. He went down hard but slashed his sword at her cloven-hoofed feet. The succubus leaped into the air, avoiding the sword, and soared at John.

She grabbed him by the chest and hauled him into the air. Her wings flapped madly. An arrow zipped by them, even a sword or two was lobbed, but they all missed. The succubus violently shook John and screeched. John managed to slip the dagger from his belt and drove it into her breast. Black pus drooled from the wound.

The succubus screamed, her eyes enflamed, and threw John into a wall. Wood splintered around him as he tumbled to the floor. His men rushed to help him to his feet while the succubus eyed an escape route. She flew toward the open barn door.

No you don’t! The archer who had first wounded her pulled the doors shut behind him and fired another arrow. It hit one of her wings. She screamed and headed for him.

The archer was not quick enough to nock another arrow. The succubus knocked him to the ground and crushed his longbow. She slashed his face with a pointed tail and slung the tail back to impale him, but a sword cut the tip of it right off.

She turned with a howl to see John facing her again. Come bitch, let us finish this!

The succubus lunged for him and John slashed her across the chest. She flipped over him and landed behind him. She tore through his armor as though it were paper and raked her claws down his back.

John collapsed to one knee and the succubus laughed. Blood dripped from the nails of the right claw.

The archer sailed over John and into the succubus. He pinned her against the ground. Her claw dug deep into his jugular and he died knowing he had managed to save John’s life. John quickly got up. He put his boot to the archer’s back and held the demon down. He took his sword in both hands and drove it into her neck. Giving the blade a few twists, he separated her head from her body and flung it across the barn. It landed in a pile of hay. Her body stopped flailing and her wings withered.

John wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up. Most of the men were huddled together, shivering, while others prayed on hands and knees.

Men! John called. We lost some good boys today but we are victorious! The fiend is dead! This town is saved.

The men cheered around their commander, patting and hugging him.

Was this the creature that burned the fields? one of the men asked.

I believe so, John replied.

She used no fire.

Maybe she was too weak. Come. Let us report back to the constable. He will want to tell the king.

John led the men through the barn doors. The farmer who had brought them ran to them, his face a mix of worry and excitement. Was that it? Was that the creature that burned our fields and crops?

Yes, my good man, John said. We have destroyed the fire bringer.

That was not your fire bringer! a guttural, roaring voice boomed.

The men looked up to the hill across the farm and saw a great, horned beast standing on massive, cloven hooves, its flesh black as coal, and its eyes a piercing yellow. Its snout was pierced with a silver ring. Its massive, muscled arms ended in claws the size of knives and dripped with fire. I am what you seek!

The men trembled and a collective gasp escaped the group. The farmer turned and ran. John intently studied the beast then saw two other forms join its side. Smaller and different, they were skeletal creatures hovering above the ground. They had no legs below the collection of rib and hipbones, only whirling vapor. Their eye sockets were black orbs and their mouths seemed frozen in a perpetual scream. The horned beast snorted at them and the two floating horrors bolted for the soldiers.

Wraiths! the surviving archer cried. Do any of you have holy water? Any of you?

The men shook their heads and backed away.

Stand your ground! John cried. Do not show fear in the face of the enemy.

These are not mortal enemies, one of the men cried.

The archer let an arrow fly but it passed through the wraith without a scratch.

The wraiths closed in on the men. They reached out with gaunt arms and spindly fingers. The air around the men chilled as though the cold of the grave swept up around them. The wraiths touched the first two men and wrapped their bony fingers around their faces.

John watched the men’s flesh wrinkle and pale to a ghostly shade. Armor slipped off their shriveling bodies, their hair turned white, and their mouths gaped as they fought for air.

John charged a wraith and swung his sword at its horrifying skull but the blade simply went through it. He swung again and again. Frustration set in as his arms weakened. The wraiths moved on to other men. Though they tried to run, the icy cold air slowed their movements as though they were caught in quick sand, unable to escape.

Hark! the farmer called. I brought the father! Our Lady’s servant!

The priest, in his red cloak and jacket, pulled bottles of holy water from his satchel. He handed one to the archer and threw the others to the men.

The archer doused his arrow in the water and shot. This time, the arrow tore into the wraith, crumbling bone and severing ribs. The thing shrieked and turned toward the archer.

John splashed his blade with water as his men scrambled on the ground for other bottles. John swung hard at the second wraith and smashed all its ribs. The creature screamed and John returned its call with another slash. The wraith’s head shattered from its spine and the entire abomination crumbled to the ground in a pile of dust.

The first wraith flew toward the archer but the bowman did not lose his resolve. He shot again and struck the wraith in the head once then twice until it exploded in a cloud of dust.

John heard laughter behind him and he turned to see the great, horned beast laughing at him heartily. John yelled and charged. His men were right behind him.

The beast snorted. Humans. Do you think holy water can best me! What was once below is now above! With those words, he turned and ran down the other side of the hill.

As John and his men reached the top of the hill, a wall of fire ignited and held them at bay. John peered through the flames but there was nothing to see. The great beast was nowhere in sight.

John turned back to his men. Come, we must warn the king. More is happening in our land than just the fires. Something foul is afoot.

CHAPTER TWO

THE KINGDOM OF VANOSIA

Bart, 5th Company Infantry, Royal Army

Journal Entry 234

We dragged ourselves back to Vanos, city of our king, our resolve tested and our faith shaken. The men could barely make sense of what had happened. Fear left its mark on their worn faces. Captain John held us together, encouraging us and praising our duty and our courage in battle against the things that belonged in Perdition.

Thank the Lady for our homeland of Vanosia, after which our king’s city is named, for as we walked through its rolling green hills and luscious farmlands, we understood well what we fought for. We are blessed to have one of the most beautiful lands within the continent of Eurone, with its majestic trees that change colors in the fall, as it is now. The treetops crowned with gold and rust are a beacon of hope.

The twin rivers of Holm and Haln meet here, in Vanosia, forming a waterfall that is used by the locals for festivals and worship of the Lady. Fishermen sail up the massive rivers and back, crossing from the kingdoms of Carpace and Havendore. Windmills dot the riverbanks and aqueducts fuel the farmers’ fields.

The city of Vanos is like any other but it is truly a pity that the outskirts are home to the commons—a stretch of slums filled with beggars and harlots. Cutthroats and thieves hide in the shadows. Drunkards fall through the windows of the many taverns. Stray dogs roam the streets for scraps. And hired swordsmen search for the poor souls who have crossed one too many noblemen or who have lost too many rounds of dice in the gambling halls.

Once you clear the commons, the city proper, with its markets and shops that sell fine wears, furs, and jewelry, is quite nice. Farmers sell their bounty of vegetables, fruit, nuts, and meat. Wagons ship supplies out to the poorer areas of the kingdom. Blacksmiths shoe the Royal Cavalry horses. Craftsmen fashion the goblets and plates used in the king’s feasts. And bards play for a coin or two.

Thatched roofs rise on either side of the roads, home to most of the city’s citizens, and wells draw from the twin rivers at each intersection. A warrant officer oversees each quadrant of the city in the name of the king, commanding patrols to keep the city in good affairs. Of course, everyone believes that the warrant officer of the commons takes bribes on a regular basis to look the other way.

Lord Compton had long returned to Havendore by the time we reached the wall of Vanosia. It is up to John to go and warn the king.

Once John reached the Wall of Vanosia and the Royal Guard lowered the drawbridge over the moat, the men entered the courtyard of Gravynmere Castle. The castle was named after the king’s family and had been the capital of the city for more than five hundred years.

King Harlequin’s grandfather had built the great wall and moat around the castle over a hundred years ago to protect the fortress and his family. It had served them very well. No invading army had ever penetrated it. The defenses at the wall were the best in the kingdom; archers and lance throwers stood guard in shifts and rotations. Axe men and swordsmen served as backup. The infantry barracks were inside the wall and the men were no more than a few feet away from the battle assembly positions.

Even if the enemy breached the wall, Castle Gravynmere was heavily enforced and had some of the tallest towers in the kingdom. John looked up at the towers and their balconies and windblown banners. He dismissed his men and headed for the castle gates.

Hail, John called. Captain John of the 5th Company. I bring news to the king.

The mammoth gates opened slowly and Perno, Lord Constable and commander of the Royal Army, greeted John with open arms and a smile. Although Perno was equal peers with Lord Compton of Havendore, Lord Farron of Carpace, and Lord Cedric of Londale, they owed him allegiance, for King Harlequin was their liege-lord.

John, so relieved at your safe return. What news do you bring to King Harlequin?

I’m afraid it is grave. I must see him right away. Half my men did not survive the mission to Faxon. There is danger in our land. It rises against us. We must stop it before it reaches Vanosia.

Very well, Perno said. If it is as serious as you claim, I’m sure the king will be interested to hear from you. He is currently holding court with some nobles from Tavernmill.

Thank you, m’lord.

Perno scratched his white beard and led John into the marbled halls of Gravynmere Castle. John did not often venture inside the castle. He wasn’t high up enough in the ranks—mostly, only lords and knights were allowed inside. Today was no ordinary day, and with Lord Compton no longer in the area it, it was John’s duty to do the right thing.

The walls were decorated with tapestries depicting the heroic battles of the king’s father against the undead legions in the War of the Gorshun Crypts. Some of the older tapestries depicted the war against the Mills, mainly Shadowmill, home to the fierce Shadow Thrall.

Shields bearing the family crest—the long extinct River Raven—hung in the next hall where John turned the corner. Red carpet greeted his steps and pillars reached for the cathedral ceilings. Their steps echoed against the cold walls and a draft made the flames in the candelabra flicker.

Perno led John up a flight of stone steps to the war room, where the king held council with his lords and knights to discuss strategy, defense, and the destruction of plots against him. It was also a room of diplomacy. Many agreements and treaties had been signed here and many negotiations and secret plans had been launched. Unions and alliances had been formed, cities had been bought and sold, and land had been used as bargaining chips.

Inside the room, behind windows too narrow to see anything of consequence, a massive, rectangular table dominated the space. A huge map of the entire continent of Eurone was carved