The Crooked Knight (The Path of Zaan Book 2) Read online

  Thanks to everyone who helped to make this book possible.

  Thanks to my patient and inspiring wife.

  Thanks to my editor Laura, who really pushed this book to be what it was meant to be.

  And finally, thanks to the fans. You are the ones who keep me writing, and pushing forward.

  C.K. Rieke’s

  The Path of Zaan Series

  Book I:

  The Road to Light

  Book II:

  The Crooked Knight

  Book III:

  The Devil King

  (Coming 2017)

  A Path of Zaan Tale:

  Man of the Arr

  (Coming 2017)

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  You’ll get a free copy of the short story Father of Zaan.

  http://www.thepathofzaan.com/join/

  This novel was published by Crimson Cro Publishing

  Copyright © 2017 Hierarchy LLC

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover by C.K. Rieke and Heather Brantman.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious.

  Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are 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.

  Please don’t pirate this book.

  ThePathOfZaan.com

  ISBN: 978-0-9980796-3-9

  First Edition: February 2017

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  First Printing 2017

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  PART I

  A Home

  in Barrier Cliff

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE icicles had melted away to tiny, scattered dark pools. The clear, translucent beauty of them had turned to black sludge as it lay on the obsidian-colored stones of Barrier Cliff. Spring had arrived. Hopefully, with its fresh, warm air and soft, green grass, it’d bring with it a year of less turmoil for Zaan.

  Zaan’s life had changed much since the battle with Reizenthrōgz, but people had begun to take an extra step to move out of his way as he walked down the winding pathways of Barrier Cliff. It wasn’t a form of celebrity he enjoyed. People would avoid eye contact with him a lot of the time, and there were too many thanks and praises for his comfort.

  After having left his longtime home of Fur-lol to find something new for himself out in the lands of Essill, he found more than he’d hoped. The magical power of the Azulūz was given to him, and the last year he’d experienced some of the greatest highs and lows most could only imagine. He’d helped defeat Angela Dragus the Righteous and Reizenthrōgz the Great Northern Ogre, but Armoz, the Devil King, was still hunting those that shared Zaan’s powers.

  Along with his friends, he'd saved the girl Lily from the ogre and the sorceress but lost a couple of their friends in the battle. They brought Lily back to safety of Barrier Cliff, and Zaan found himself a new hero of the people, though he didn’t like it.

  The thing that confused him about it was that he didn’t feel any different himself. After his captivity in the Black Cave, he had carried a sense of fearlessness, which was strange because he thought the opposite would be true. He remembered his time in the cave as truly terrible, but he did have weirdly fond memories of his conversations with Emilisa, his only sister.

  His sister had passed in a mysterious accident when they were both young. In the Black Cave, the best way he found to survive as a slave was to talk to his dead sister in the dark. It was the last time he’d seen her, as she felt real to him in the cave before he escaped.

  He also remembered the one thing that saved him, and many others, that were held there— his first murder. He never felt remorse for killing the red-haired guard, but he did feel angry that he was forced to kill at all. He knew that the red-haired guard had killed many others and deserved his fate. This was the same case as with the death of Reizenthrōgz. He had witnessed both of them kill right in front of him, which helped him in his fight with both of them separately, but something was growing in him. He was turning into something he feared his family wouldn’t recognize when, and if, he ever returned home.

  Zaan, with all that he’d gone through since he left his home, had begun to miss it. He remembered his adventurous-ness, and the strings he felt pulling him out into the world. It felt like it was experienced by a different person, ages ago. Fur-lol now seemed forever away from him, not only in distance, but in spirit. He would write and receive letters more frequently from his parents now that he had a stable address. The thought of the aroma of his father’s vanilla-scented tobacco was nostalgic to say the least. He dreamt of that meal his mother made him for Emilisa’s birthday the week before he left Fur-lol. The roasted chicken with those mouth-watering vegetables, fresh bread, and sweet-cream butter made him miss so many other similar moments there. The thought did cross his mind of going back home, and continuing life as it was back in the south, but he knew the truth— there was no going back. At least . . . not yet.

  His days now consisted of training with Zelestiana five days a week, his mentor in developing his powers. At night, he played with Gar, his best friend, as they enjoyed too many late nights at the local tavern. For the most part, he was happy, there was no denying that. He now had what he had longed for so long ago: purpose. Zaan’s life had direction, training was a bit like school, and he felt he had earned the respect of his mentor and teacher. It was something that made him feel proud.

  He had been doing so well, in fact, that Zelestiana had told Major Gylem, the commander of the city, about his progress. The Major offered to personally give Zaan fighting lessons because he felt Zaan was destined for something great. Zaan immediately accepted and was scheduled to start the following week.

  As for the Azulūz, a magical gift given from the forgotten gods to only a few, Zaan had begun to feel its presence more in his body. It was more prevalent then, and it could be summoned at a moment’s notice. He could not come close to moving anything as large as the fallen elm he'd toppled Reizenthrōgz, but the Azulūz would be there when he needed it. It made him feel strong, but he often reminded himself he didn’t own the Azulūz, it'd chosen him, and could leave him if it desired. He imagined that would feel a bit like what he briefly had with Tilda, a more mature woman he’d had feelings for; to have something overwhelmingly pleasurable and then to have it taken away, and to have nothing, the emptiness would be too much.

  Tilda and Zaan had grown more distant over the season. They were cordial but more formal since the funeral. Their conversations were short and predictable; it saddened him, as she’d denied their relationship because he reminded her of her lost husband. They would talk about their friends, ask how the other was doing, and then part ways. When the chance arose, Zaan would sneak a peek at her hair blowing in the wind when the whites of her eyes were hidden.

  Zaan was more interested in the new resident in Barrier Cliff, Lily, the girl they saved from the same people who hunted Zaan. She was shy and rarely seen. When too much time lapsed, Zaan would go seek her out, as he enjoyed their brief talks. She seemed to be drawn to the hills and the forest. He knew that she was to start training with one of the teachers soon, as she had yet to discover her Azulūz. Their conversations were more passionate and fun than the ones he shared with Tilda. When they talked,
it was easy to get lost in the beauty of her eyes, the curves on her neck, or the color of her lips.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE waves of the sea crashed onto the shore below, and the sun lit the sky with brilliant reds and golds. He stood three paces in front of Zelestiana, his mentor, as they were in the middle of their lesson in the early morning. She towered over him, the muscles in her shoulders glistened in the early sun’s light. Her eyes grew blue, and the ocean behind her grew dark. Zaan began to sweat, his eyes burned and his fingers grew numb. He was attempting to lift an object he couldn’t see, and he didn’t know what it was.

  The lesson was to expand his abilities, and he had to feel for the object without touching it. Zelestiana told him it was between her hands, but he didn’t know the shape or size of the object. She was hiding it from view with her Azulūz. He focused, chanted faintly, and stared at the space between them. He felt a bead of sweat fall off his eyelash onto his cheek, and he tried to remember the smoke in the Black Cave, a trigger to his Azulūz, but he couldn’t tell if he was moving the object or not because he couldn’t see it.

  Eventually, he grew frustrated and turned his back to her with a sigh of frustration. “I give up, I don’t understand how this is possible. How do I even know if I moved it?”

  “You won’t at first. But I will,” Zelestiana responded, her long black hair glistening from the light of the bright early-day sun.

  “Well, what is it? What am I supposed to be moving?” he asked.

  Her eyes went back to their normal color and shape. Before her appeared a loaf of unshapely bread.

  “That’s it? I could move that in my sleep,” he said.

  “Maybe . . . but you couldn’t now, while awake, and with full focus,” she said, handing him the bread and putting her arms behind her back. “What would you do if you were blindfolded and captive in the Black Cave with what you know now? If you were there again, how long would it take to you escape from there? Minutes? But, if you were blindfolded, would you be as helpless as a child?”

  Zaan was calmer now, and this explanation rang clear in his mind. “I understand,” he said. This is infuriating, I know she’s right, but it just doesn’t seem possible. Am I just supposed to feel the bread? I’ve only used my power based on what I can see. I don’t feel like I’ll ever get this. “How do you think I’m going to learn this?”

  “I don’t know. That is for you to figure out over time. I do know that Gildur mastered this by the time he was your age,” she said as she looked out over the Rion Sea behind her. Somberness softened her lips as she spoke his name.

  “Can I try again?” Zaan asked.

  “We will try again tomorrow. Major Gylem has requested a meeting with you soon. Do you know where his station is?” she asked.

  “Yeah, he’s stationed at the front gate this afternoon, I believe. I’ll go there now.” He bowed to Zelestiana and started off in the direction of the front gate. She stood there, looking out into the vast open sky above the sea. Standing there for close to an hour after, watching the tide roll in, she thought of her lost friend Gildur.

  ***

  Zaan approached the heavy stone archway to the office of Major Gylem Hearthstone. He knocked twice on the oak door. “Come in,” could be heard coming from deep inside the dwelling.

  He opened the door and entered to reveal a sunlit room sparsely occupied by a few pieces of worn furniture and scattered papers. Major Gylem was not immediately visible. “Is that you Zaan?”

  “Yes, sir,” he responded.

  “Well . . . ” The Major turned around a corner to walk into the room, drying his hands with a towel, “How was your tutorial today with Zelestiana?”

  “It went well, I guess.”

  “Tell me about it,” the Major asked.

  The Major was shirtless, presumably from just bathing. He was quite short, and his chest and shoulders were covered with scars. There were thin, long cuts along his arms and bulky, gnarled scars along his sides and stomach. Zaan had never seen so many abrasions in his life. “I . . . couldn’t do the lesson today. The task today was too hard, I was supposed to move an object I couldn’t see. It seemed impossibly difficult.”

  “Gildur could’ve done it,” the Major said, picking up a green apple from the table next to him and taking a bite. “May Ojiin look over him.” Then he went into the next room and reappeared shortly wearing a weathered cotton shirt the color of fresh wheat.

  “Yes, I heard that he moved things that he couldn’t see,” Zaan said.

  “He really was the best of us . . . Gildur, you know,” the Major said. “Have you heard much of his rearing, and past?”

  “Not really, I guess, bits and pieces. I know he was a Crusader, like me. I assumed he was born in Auracity, but I’m not sure,” Zaan said.

  “You got one out of two right so far. He was a Crusader, like you.” The Major gave a short burst of laughter. “Take a seat, son, let an old soldier educate you about a great man.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE Major motioned for Zaan to sit at the table by the stained-glass window at the side of the room, closest to the old fireplace. The window was filled with deep blues and golds that reflected the colors on the maple-wooden floors of the room. The Major opened a bottle of light white wine. Zaan caught a hint of strawberries from the bottle. He poured Zaan a glass, poured one for himself, and began to tell of their friend.

  “Gildur Titanus was born of peasant means in one of the greatest cities in Essill, Vallenhalen. He was born in the time of the construction of some of its largest sweeping bridges. It was an age of great industry and prosperity— for some. His parents both worked building these bridges, and they were the ones who spent great time and energy while the wealthy sat and grew fat with their greed and sloth.”

  “His parents worked separate shifts, each taking time to raise their son. Until one day, Gildur’s father never came home. It was explained to Gildur as a young boy that his father was in a better place. This made little sense to him. He watched as his mother sat and cried for a long time. And years later, passed to what seemed to be grief and despair.”

  “Gildur began himself by working on the bridges at the age of eight. For years, he worked the dirtiest jobs available, the ones only a young boy could do. He was given the most remorseful and heinous job available at the time. He would crawl into the crevasses of the Iron Spider, which was what they used to call the insides of the iron bridges they built.”

  “So he would crawl into these dark, desolate places to retrieve lost limbs from unfortunate workers, or worse, the body itself. He gained the nickname ‘Little Dead Hands,’ which he hated. Usually when someone hates a nickname, the cruel make it stick.”

  “Little Dead Hands lived in squalor, in a tiny shack, if it could be called that. Until he was twelve, he worked and ate with few friends, and no relatives. There is a saying that some of the greatest men and women are born from great misfortune. Those four years indeed shaped his character and forged Gildur into a great man later on.”

  “One day when Little Dead Hands was going to retrieve a set of fingers high in one of the towers of a bridge, he lost his hold on the slick interior and began sliding down. As he did, his hands bled from scraping at the iron sides to stop his descent. A few of his fingernails even came off. Panic gripped the young boy, who knew there were no exit holes in the lower parts of the towers.”

  “That’s when he discovered it— the Azulūz. It had been born into him, a gift from the Forgotten Gods to an infant with the destiny to become a legend.”

  “He sat in the dark hole in a small crevasse of the tower. He couldn’t see. He had no food, and no water. At some point while he was stuck in that terror, he escaped. The story goes that he tore a hole with his bare hands through the iron, just big enough to breathe the fresh air. Sometime later, the hole ended up being big enough for Gildur to squeeze through.”

  “When word of this emerged in the ghettos
of Vallenhalen, people were frightened by him. They threw stones at him and burned things in front of his hut— he was even beaten. So, he left Vallenhalen, the only home he ever knew.”

  “During his travels, he lived in Auracity for quite a time. He worked in some different mines but not like the one you did, Zaan. He was allowed to leave every day. Eventually, he did so well he was given work in a factory, mass producing items for soldiers and guards. He made things like boots and gloves, which taught him the basics that would someday produce his own forge.”

  “All the while, he trained himself to use the Azulūz to great benefit. Stories ran around the cities where he lived of people being saved by an invisible force; sometimes they described an angelic blue glow of things being pulled off of them to free them, and such. There was even a story of a flying house that garnered attention from the kings themselves.”

  “He didn’t know the identity of his power or its origins until he met Mäezer Palanzal. They met on the road on the eastern plains of Essill. They were traveling in the same direction, both on foot, so they traveled together for a time and became friends. They met while Gildur was still a young man, around eighteen, and while Palanzal was quite old. This may have been coincidence or Palanzal may have sought him out, hearing of the angelic ghost saving people.”

  “Palanzal gave Gildur the training and direction he needed to wield his powers and, unintentionally, acted as a father figure to Gildur— something Gildur had not had in a long, long time. Years later, they went to Barrier Cliff, a long ago abandoned city, and they rebuilt this fortress together. They trained some very powerful and important people, and they gave a name to the coalition here: The Order of the Azulūz.”