The Knight: A Tale from the High Kingdom Read Online Free PDF Page A

surprise, almost bowling him over. Here, the wind was deafening and the rain came hurtling down with force. The boiling sky seemed close enough to touch with an upraised arm.
    The prisoner instinctively hunched his head between his shoulders and sought a way out. Soldiers were approaching from both directions along the rampart walk. Others were coming up the stairs he had just climbed. Behind him lay empty air, and at the end of a dizzying fall, the rocks dashed by the furious waves of the Sea of Shadows.
    The soldiers deployed themselves carefully.
    He was trapped. His eyes rolled like those of a hunted beast and anxious panting made his chest heave beneath the soaked shirt. His fists tightened around the sword’s grip.
    The circle closed in on him.
    When a soldier advanced, the prisoner prepared to charge him. The man immediately retreated and he did likewise, keeping his back against the parapet to avoid being completely surrounded.
    He waited.
    When the captain finally joined his men, he tried to say something, but the prisoner could not understand his words. He knew that flight was impossible and that he could not overcome these opponents. But he would not let himself be recaptured. He had difficulty ordering his thoughts, as though he was drunk, but a sense of desperation even stronger than fear burned within him. One way or another, tonight he would escape from Dalroth.
    At the slightest gesture by the soldiers, he retreated further.
    Towards the parapet, thin air, and death below.
    ‘Lorn!’ a voice shouted. ‘Lorn, I beg you! Don’t do this!’

    The royal envoy passed through the row of soldiers. Alone and bareheaded, he advanced with slow deliberate steps. Keeping his gaze fixed upon the prisoner, he stretched out his hand.
    ‘Lorn, it’s me. It’s me, Alan.’
    He was slender, attractive young man with blond hair, who spoke in a calm and even voice.
    ‘You there, don’t move a muscle,’ he said to the soldiers. ‘If you make him jump, I’ll have all of you executed. Understood?’
    The soldiers nodded. Some had noted the royal signet ring he wore on his finger, or even knew his identity. The captain signalled to his men they should obey and the order from Prince Alderan, the High King’s younger son, was relayed through the ranks.
    The prince addressed the prisoner again. His eyes did not leave Lorn’s for even an instant. The poor wretch stared at him, his gaze betraying doubt and suspicion.
    ‘It’s me, Alan. You recognise me, don’t you?’
    The prisoner nodded very slowly, without conviction. He still had his back to empty space, his hair whipping in the wind. With each flash of lightning, his outline stood out against a backdrop of tormented sky.
    ‘I’ve come for you,’ explained Alan, taking another step forward. ‘I’ve come to fetch you. You’ve been declared innocent, Lorn. My father ordered a second trial that absolved you.’
    Lorn frowned and seemed to lower his guard slightly.
    Memories started to come back to him.
    Lorn. Lorn Askarian.
    That was his name.
    He was slowly emerging from the twisted fog of an endless nightmare. But thinking remained a struggle. The wind and the rain harassed him. The lightning stung his eyes. His head ached and the thunder hammered at his temples.
    With the hand that he had not held out, Alan undid the buckle of his belt and let his sword fall to the ground. The soldiers exchanged anxious glances with their captain.
    ‘You see? I have no weapon. I’m your friend, Lorn. You have nothing to fear. Not any more. I’m your friend and I’ve come to take you away from here. Far away, Lorn, never to return.’
    ‘A— Alan?’ the prisoner stammered.
    ‘Yes, Lorn,’ replied Alan with a smile. ‘It’s me. It’s Alan.’
    He drew closer and saw a change come over the other man. The fear and doubt disappeared from the prisoner’s eyes, replaced by an immense weariness.
    The sword slipped from his hands.
    His knees gave way.
    Exhausted, Lorn burst