The False Knight of the Motorway Read online

  Table of Contents

  The False Knight on the Motorway

  Book Details

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  THE FALSE

  KNIGHT ON THE

  MOTORWAY

  ARDEN ELLIS

  The world has been cursed by the gods. Their precious relics became poison long ago, and their cities radiate death. It is the dawn of a second Dark Age, if the priests and alchemists are to be believed. Ser Wright of Kenilworth doesn't particularly care how or why the world was broken. Her only concern is regaining favor in the eyes of her lord—and if a menial errand to ransom her insufferable rival is the way to do that, Wright will grit her teeth and dutifully retrieve Ser Kai to face judgement.

  But the simple errand forces Wright and Kai into a mission far more difficult: a quest for the legendary counteragent that could lift the curse once and for all. Wright's duty is to retrieve it all costs, no matter who stands in her way—even if that someone is the sarcastic, dishonorable companion who Wright doesn't hate as much as she thought.

  The False Knight on the Motorway

  By Arden Ellis

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Keith Kaczmarek

  Cover designed by J. Ang

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition February 2018

  Copyright © 2018 by Arden Ellis

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781684311798

  Print ISBN 9781684312276

  CHAPTER ONE

  Rain tapped an erratic rhythm on the hood of the ruined godsthing where Ser Wright of Kenilworth crouched, prying shrapnel from her breastplate. fGlassGGllass from the shattered windshield crunched beneath her boots. A short distance away, her horse Farstride lipped at a patch of damp grass; he knew better than to approach a ruin of the old world, and the curse they so often carried.

  It was a risk even to use the metal shell as refuge from the mud, but after four days of unceasing rain and waking up caked in muck, Wright would take her chances. In tutelage every child learned not to set foot within a stone's throw of any unconsecrated ruin, but every child also learned soon enough that to follow that rule would mean never setting forth from Lord Kenilworth's walls. And of course, some did not.

  With a sharp jerk, Wright wrenched the last shred of metal free, and tossed it to the mud. It landed with a sound like water sizzling in a hot pan; tendrils of gas rose sluggishly where it disturbed the oily slicks on the ground. Under the steady barrage of rain, they quickly subsided once more. The water continued plinking on the metal, where she crouched out of reach of the curse's touch.

  The brigand who had shot her had almost looked surprised to see her take the hit and keep coming. There were many who did not believe that armor could stop a blast like that, even now that true bullets were rare and expensive, and the guns which still functioned were most often loaded with shrapnel. He hadn't lived to be surprised for long.

  Smiling thinly, Wright tucked her metal pliers back into her travel sack. They were a relic of her family from the Blessed days, kept in careful order for as long as Wright had owned them—for once they broke, a blacksmith would charge exorbitantly to recreate the god-made work. Her armor was a simple in comparison: metal she had salvaged herself and brought to a blacksmith to be reshaped into heavy plate. When she ran her fingers over the metal she could feel the marks of old dents, the whorls of subtle color where the different metals met, all fused into armor that could stop all but the most devastating blows.

  Etched in its center, the red tower on the blue field. Years of careful maintenance had kept the colored lacquer mostly intact.

  After she had donned her chest plate and gauntlets with fingers half-numb from the cold rain, she checked Farstride's hooves, tightened his girdle, and loosened her sword in its sheath to ensure the damp wouldn't cause it to stick in a crucial moment. Only then did she remount and continue down the game trail she had followed since the river, winding around the base of the hill until it met up with the road. Wright rode through the misery of a drizzling rain, her helmet attached to her saddle, so she could pull her hood up all the way. By the time she urged Farstride out onto the cracked black godsroad, she was ready for the ambush that waited for her.

  The mounted party was five strong, blocking the road ahead. Their armor was of tightly woven leather over loose white tunics. Good to stop a slashing blow, she estimated, but vulnerable to stabbing. They wore the colors of Lord Tintagel, the black field with the white wave.

  "Halt," one of them called. A woman, older than Wright, and no knight of Tintagel's—her breastplate was marked with dents and scratches rather than an insignia. She urged her horse forward with no lack of skill, long dark hair streaked with grey falling in a tangle from beneath her leather half-helm.

  Wright kept her back straight in the saddle, yet made no effort to hide the weariness on her face. Perhaps if a worthy cause had brought her through four days of rain and mud, she could have affected more interest.

  The woman stopped a healthy distance away, out of range of any projectile. Clearly she did not trust the rumor that knights did not carry guns. "Lay down your arms. We are taking you into our custody."

  Wright smiled humorlessly. "I was invited here by Lord Tintagel freely, to bargain for the life of my compatriot. I will not surrender my sword."

  "You do not hail from Lord Warwick. It was with her that the deal was struck."

  "I am an ally. A third party."

  "We did not ask for a third party."

  Wright took a moment to force down a calming breath. She nodded her head down the road, towards what she knew waited beyond. "I know who you have up there." Wright paused, tilting her head diplomatically. "Turn me away, if you wish—I will return to my lord, who will exchange a series of long-winded missives with your lord, until I or someone like me appears right back here some weeks later once this mess is sorted out."

  Wright paused. "I know who you're holding at that fort. And as loathe as I am to deprive you of the pleasure of that fine company for those long, endless weeks—"

  "I take your meaning," the rider snapped, and Wright had to repress a smirk. It seemed Kai was good for something after all, if only as a threat.

  For a while longer, the rider regarded Wright with an unreadable expression. Finally, she made a sharp gesture to the escort at her back and tugged her horse around. "Come with me."

  Wright followed.

  *~*~*

  The outpost jutted up from the edge of a bleak and stony cliff, the hiss and pound of the ocean far below. Another god-ruin, its sides peeling paint and its base ringed by a wall of sharpened tree trunks. If Wright's studies in history were correct, such a structure would have once been used to warn ships away from the jagged rocks below. Now, the water beyond it was empty of seacraft; the top of the tower was shattered and dark.e

  Wright followed the woman in battered armor through the doorway, pointedly ignoring the four guards who had trooped in after her, thei
r hands never far from their weapons. The woman who led her was the only one who carried a pistol; from the well-kept gleam of its barrel, Wright would even wager that it still worked.

  "I'll need to see her before I can authorize the exchange," she said.

  Her guide nodded. In the shadows beneath her half-helm, her eyes were two glinting points of light; Wright was close enough now to see her hair had feathers and even bones tied at the ends of her hair. "We treat our captives fairly here, ser. Even your incompetent spies."

  Wright said nothing to that. It was not her honor to defend.

  She was led up a narrow flight of stairs curling along the sides inside of the tower, three of the guards remaining at the base while the last crowded against Wright's back, until the stairs opened into a small room with rain-grayed windows. A ladder below a trapdoor in the ceiling no doubt led to the top of the tower; in the cramped living space below, there were only two doors.

  It was to one of these the woman led her. The cell was small, simple, and reeked of wine and rote. There were a series of plates stacked up in a corner near the chamber pot, the food mostly left to the flies and mice. On the other side of the room was the bed. In the bed was Ser Kai.

  She was in the process of trying and failing to sit up, squinting at Wright blearily. Her dark, chin-length hair had fallen from its customary half-knot, tangled with straw and filth; purple wine-stains spread over her loose white shirt. She met Wright's eyes. Recognition flared behind the dull haze of drink. "Gods. They sent you?"

  Wright stared down at her in cold contempt before turning back to her guide. She tipped an empty wine bottle over with her boot. "It seems Tintagel treats his prisoners very well indeed."

  Her guide shrugged. "It was the only way to get her to shut up."

  Wright would not argue with that. "I'm satisfied by her condition." She reached into the pouch on her belt and produced a bag that jingled faintly as she hefted it. "You'll find the ransom as demanded. Godmade, and consecrated." She tossed it at her guide's feet.

  The woman gestured to one of the guards, who picked it up and emptied part of the bag's contents into her palm: a mound of intact screws and bolts sat against her dark glove. She inspected them a moment longer before nodding, replacing them, and tossing the bag back to her guard. "Send this on to Tintagel Keep. I will see our guests on their way."

  The guard hesitated. "Is that wise?"

  "She is bound by the Code. She poses no threat."

  The guard did not question her further. The woman waited until the sound of his footsteps had faded before she reached up to remove her helm, revealing a face lined with weather and age, dark eyes which regarded Wright shrewdly. "My lord has tasked me to accompany you back to your keep."

  Wright blinked. "Why?"

  "I bear a message for Lord Kenilworth."

  "Repeat it to me, and I'll ensure my lord hears it."

  The woman only smiled, displaying a missing tooth. From the swampy darkness in the back of the cell, Kai laughed and mumbled something unintelligible. Wright bit back a couple of choice curses. "Our lords are not on friendly terms. Why should I grant you access to our land?"

  "We granted you access to ours." The woman shrugged and leaned against the wall, the bones in her hair clicking. "I am under no obligation to release your compatriot. If you do not approve of my terms, I can return the ransom to you and send you back on your way."

  Wright resisted the urge to grind her teeth, her own threat thrown back in her face. Her feet were still damp in her boots from the long, wet slog which had brought her here. This mission was both a punishment and a test, a chance to prove herself after her most recent failure. The memory surfaced unbidden, damp night air and whispered voices high with fear, the clatter of a lock being clumsily disabled, hollow eyes which rose in terror at the sudden flare of torchlight.

  No. Returning empty handed was no option at all.

  Unclenching her teeth, Wright took a breath. "You would be treated as an enemy ambassador," she said stiffly.

  "Safe passage is all I ask. And the guarantee of an audience, with as many guards as you see fit."

  Wright glanced at Kai. She did not like this woman's manner at all, and the thought of leaving Kai to drink herself to death in the care of their enemies was tempting. But Wright had her orders. She would not return empty handed. "Very well," she said shortly. "You'll have your audience, and my guarantee of safety."

  The woman's eyes were sharp. "Your oath as a sworn knight?"

  Wright's jaw tightened. "My word is my oath. I would cut down any who dared raise a sword to you, if they were foolish enough to break with the Code. But perhaps you'll find Kenilworth Keep to be more civilized than you've experienced."

  "Perhaps." Her eyes slid to Kai, a mocking edge touching her smile. "Ready your companion. I will wait with the horses."

  Wright held out a gauntleted hand to arrest her path to the door. "Your name?"

  The woman met her eyes. "Silva."

  "Is there a title or lord to go with it?"

  "They never seemed to stick."

  "Ah." Wright's lips curled in distaste as her suspicions were confirmed. "A mercenary."

  "I prefer the term 'sellsword'—rolls off the tongue better, no?" Her eyes slid back to Kai. The unfriendly amusement quirked Silva's lips again, and she gave a short, mocking bow. "We will leave at your convenience." She exited the cell, closing the heavy wooden door with a thud.

  At last Wright could turn to Kai unobserved, and let her neutral expression fall away. Kai remained sprawled on the bed, the heels of her hands pressed into her eyes. The smell of wine was stronger with the door closed; sweat glinted on Kai's skin in a sickly pallor. If Wright did not know better, she never would have believed that this pathetic creature was as skilled a knight as she'd ever known. Wright still had the scars to remind her of Kai's swordsmanship. Everything had been simpler when Kai was no more than an enemy.

  "Well?" At long last, Kai lowered her hands to fix Wright with a bleary-eyed gaze. "Is this the part where I throw myself at your feet and offer you my eternal gratitude? Or shall we skip it?"

  "Shut up, Kai."

  "Ah, so we're skipping it."

  Wright did not step any closer. Her lips pressed into a thin, furious line. Kai was a failure, both currently and by constant practice—Wright knew nothing about the mission which had brought her to these lands, but it was enough to know that she had utterly botched it. "Unrepentant as always. eYou're a disgrace."

  Kai laughed thickly. "If you say so, Ser. I can only imagine what you did to earn yourself duty negotiating for another lord's hostages."

  Wright tossed her waterskin onto Kai's stomach, where it landed with a slosh. "Sober up as much as you're able. We ride within the hour."

  Before the sun had sunk much lower in the sky they were readying to leave. Wright had to help Kai into Farstride's saddle lest she go toppling out of it—Kai's horse Jolie watched dispassionately, her reins tied to Farstride's saddle until Kai was sober enough to ride on her own. By the time she had Kai situated, Wright was angry enough to promise herself that the first time Kai fell Wright would bind her hands and march her behind their mounts like the prisoner she had become. But Kai's training took over once she was ahorse, and as Wright climbed up in front of her Kai leaned her head forward onto Wright's shoulder, a warm weight.

  "I can ride my own damn horse," Kai mumbled petulantly into the fabric of Wright's jerkin. Her hands fumbled around to clasp across Wright's stomach, and Wright very carefully did not think of it as an embrace. In her armor, she could scarcely feel it.

  The three of them left the crumbling lighthouse behind, Silva exchanging no more than a few words with the guards there. From there they picked up the game trail Wright had followed that morning, the rain pattering down on their cloaks. Though Kai was only half-conscious at the best of time, her grip on Wright stayed strong. Her forehead pressed into the crook of Wright's neck, each breath stirring the damp hairs at her nape.r />
  It was a very long ride.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Wright had grown up on the old elegends. They were whispered over cradles to infants as they slept, told at children's bedsides, shared around the fire when the wine started flowing. Tales of the way the world had been before the gods released the curse which almost consumed it. And so they all began: Once upon this very ground…

  They were pretty tales, to be sure. Stories of how once the automobiles littering the road like boxes of poison had once flowed down the asphalt three times faster than a horse could ride, how gods flew the sky in metal birds or summoned light with the flick of a finger. The loremasters were always arguing with the priests as to whether the gods' curse was an accident or a punishment, at which point the alchemists would begin babbling on about "bio-engineered pseudo-mechanical decomposition accelerants dispersed in aerosol form." By that point, Wright had usually stopped listening. At least the priests and the loremasters kept their stories entertaining.

  In truth, Wright was not over-fond of any of the old tales. What mattered was that the world had changed. They could pick the bones of the old world for whatever they could scavenge, but they could not bring it back.

  The rolling green eland which she, Silva, and Kai traveled bore the mark of the curse everywhere. Rusting cars on the sides of the roads were most common, the tell-tale shimmer hanging in the air around them like a mirage. The strange shifting iridescent colors bled into the ground or the metal, inert particles that could surge into the air like a swarm of hornets the moment it was disturbed. Some said the curse was alive in the mindless way of insects, all hunger and no thought. Wright did not hold with such ideas. If it were alive, then it could be killed.

  After four days of coping with Kai's sullen return to sobriety and watching Silva with constant suspicion, Wright had never been so glad to reach the familiar edge of her lord's domain. The path rose steeply, and the thickets of trees gave way to open fields—before long they reached the crumbling stone wall and border guards which marked the outer territory of Lord Kenilworth's land. Beyond it the last of the trees turned to fields of potatoes and cabbage and wheat, and they caught their first glimpse of the keep sitting upon the grassy hill, its ancient stones gleaming red-gold in the sunlight.