Author of novels, short stories, essays, poetry, and the "Quick story . . ." blog.

The Dream at World's End

The Yellow Canary

The Eighth Power

The Knights of Thait

© Copyright 2004-2007 by Paul Lytle. All rights reserved.

Essays by Paul Lytle appear in:

I have never worked so hard on one piece of writing as I have on The Knights of Thait. But then, nothing else I have written is so big. This novel starts a series of books that tell the history of a medieval kingdom known as Thait, from the time the first men came to the land; to the revolution led by Nerten, Thait's first King; to the adventures of Nesum; and finally the fall of the kingdom after Nesum's death. Most of the books are self-contained and will make perfect sense outside of the series, but the true story is told by combining all of the books.

The first two sequels already exist in rough draft, and another score books are outlined. I plan for the series to last thirty books, and with thirty books I should be able to make a pretty complete history for Thait. The books will not be arranged chronilogically, but rather in a way that slowly unfolds the greater plot and reveals clues as to Thait's end. The first chapter of The Knights of Thait can be read below.

The snows came early that year, and hard, and travel, even travel by the King's Road, became slow after the thick blanket of death coated the ground. Thait was frozen long before the traditional beginning of Winter, so by the dark season's waning weeks did the land seem more like the uninhabitable Cursèd Lands of the north than the lively kingdom than sat upon the southeastern corner of the great island of Noraman. So it was one evening that lingered about the belly of Winter. Jonathan, Lord and Knight, would have rather been at home that evening, allowing the fire of the hearth to warm his aging bones, but his duty as one of the chosen protectors of Thait required frequent visits to the King's throne in Rosland, and that was where he had been during the preceding weeks.

The visit had been typical, with quiet days interrupted only by the lively dinners in the early afternoon. Reports from the kingdom came as regularly as always, and yet they seemed slow. Then when they came they told of nothing but peace. Dull, some of the Knights had begun to call it, but Jonathan had reached an age at which dullness was far preferable to excitement. War was exciting, as was disease and famine. Too much had been taken from him because of excitement; too many scars were upon his skin and soul. The younger Knights would learn to fear such excitement far too soon.

He had taken his leave of the court early the day before, packed his bags upon his young horse, donned his armor and bore his blade, and headed south again. Back toward Caville Castle. Back home to his sons. The King's Road was normally busy, but this Winter had been too heavy for all but the most desperate if travelers, and Jonathan was alone that evening, as he had been alone for nearly two full days.

The surrounding fields seemed almost artificial. The snow was almost too pure and untouched, the land almost too flat, and only a few trees stood beside the wide road of packed dirt. At times, when he could see no landmark about that stoic land, Lord Jonathan wondered if he was moving at all, even as his horse trudged miserably south. It was hard to know a land in Winter, when the snow changed valleys to hills and back each day, so Jonathan may have been a mere hour out of Tenan and would not have known better. But then, those lands were difficult to know without the such weather. There was no mount to mark the way, only a few streams to mark the path.

Such was the way in Caville, which sat upon the low-laying southeast peninsula of Thait. The area boasted only one forest large enough to be found on a map, and that forest sat at Caville's southeastern tip beside the sea. Besides that wood, the realm of Caville was merely shallow hills and small scattered villages, but it was Jonathan's land, and it was beauty to him. As a High Lord, one of only four in Thait, he controlled all that stretched from the town of Tenan, where the King's Road met the Rustet Road, to the Castle at Caville and the forests to the southeast. A flat land, a dull land, but Jonathan was preferring dullness more and more.

In the Summer, the trail from Caville to Tenan would take a day upon a horse, and the road father north to Rosland another day from Tenan. But that was with a clear trail, and a hard Winter could sometimes add a day or even two, even upon the road. And yet such a pace was the average, set by those travelers who were often with families or friends, and who would stop early in the evening, or have a languid breakfast before setting out. Neither was it likely that such a traveler would have the horses of Caville, who were renowned for their strength. The thought alone made Jonathan's heart swell in pride, and he rubbed his steed's chilly neck with his gloved hand. The sign of Jonathan's family was, in fact, a massive stallion, and the horses produced by his stable could work all day without tiring. They were trained for the plains, and none could best them over a field, so even the Winter had trouble slowing Jonathan's mount.

And nor did Jonathan stop often for friends or rest. If he had a companion upon such a journey, he typically rode only with his squire, who had missed that particular evening due to illness. The lonely road gave the Knight little desire to linger either for supper or breakfast, and so the entire journey, from Caville to Rosland or back, would only take Jonathan two days in Winter, and usually a day and half in the Summer. It was unfortunate that he did not like the voyage more, for Jonathan's duel duties to his home and to the King kept him ever traveling between the castles.

Or so they had in the past.

He was growing older, and with each year that passed the Winter seemed harsher to him. Next Winter, he thought as he pulled his tattered cloak closer to his body, I'll not be able to visit Rosland at all. Pride, so quick to fill him when he thought of his horse, drained suddenly when thoughts turned to himself. He knew that the prediction would prove true, but the truth frightened him. He was not prepared for age, but age had struck him as abruptly as the Winter had struck Thait.

Jonathan had been, not too many years in the past, an impressive presence. He had been one of the truly greatest Knights under King Tirna, the standard bearer who led the Knights into battle with the King's flag held high. But King Tirna was two years dead, and Selren, his son, occupied the throne. Jonathan was no longer a champion of the Knights, but an almost forgotten member of the elite group, now made up of younger and stronger men. His hair had faded from a dark brown to a light grey — merely a sign of a deeper change inside of him. The mirror no longer reflected a great warrior. That was an image he could only recall because his sons mimicked it so accurately. More and more they looked like Jonathan, while Jonathan looked less and less like himself. No, the great warrior was passed, and the aging Knight could merely continue on in an attempt to find some honor in what remained.

Sometimes, too many times, Jonathan worried that the golden seal set upon his hilt was the only thing that made him a Knight any longer. Once the symbol told of his strength and skill, but lately it told of nothing but a dream.

The wind rose again, spitting snow at the traveler, and Jonathan hurried his horse along. The beast neighed in protest, but obeyed. Both needed rest. It had been several hours since the Lord had found a place suitable to stop, and his body had grown numb from the cold. Yet no tree nor hill was near to provide relief from the wind, and he forced himself to continue forward. All there was before him was whiteness, and the sight had become ugly to him. Finally, just when he had relinquished all hope of finding shelter, he saw a grove of trees along the side of the road. With much relief, he turned his steed into the cluster. The grove was very small, but tightly packed, and little wind at all made its way inside, so both Jonathan and his horse found much comfort. The old Knight started a modest fire, though he had no intention of staying at that location too long. He only wished to thaw himself, and then to move on with his journey. He needed something to brighten his spirits. He was alone, and dwelling upon sorrowful thoughts. Jonathan's humours had never been aligned properly, but while he had been sanguine in the past, he was becoming more melancholy.

As Jonathan dried his cloak by the flame, he glimpsed, through the wall of tree trunks and low branches, something in the distance, a dark figure amongst the storm, moving gradually toward him. He stepped out the grove to investigate further and discovered a figure traveling north upon the King's Road. It wasn't long before the man saw Jonathan too, and he hurried to the trees to take advantage of the fire.

"I thank you," said the man upon his arrival at the cluster of trees. Jonathan noticed a slight but distinct Riusian accent in the man's speech, giving the words a harsher ring than was common in Thait. The traveler removed his hood and sat by the flame, relieved to be out of the intense cold. His short brown hair was matted to his skull, and his long nose was clogged by the cold. He turned to his host, at last recognizing the Knight.

"Sire!" he cried out and stumbled to his knee in respect. "Forgive my ignorance. I did not recognize you."

"Up, up," said Jonathan with a smile, taking hold of the man's shoulder and pulling him to his feet again. "There is no need for that here. We are not at my court; we are merely two travelers on the same road." The man took Jonathan's hand and kissed it, and then returned to his place by the fire. Jonathan continued, "Tell, traveler, what is your name? Are you not from Rius?"

"My name is Cernet, sire," said the man. "I am from Rius, but have lived in your lands for many years now."

"Cernet is no Riusian name. Few would take it there, since it is said that the Dwarf Serent of Granik brought his armies to help Nerten defeat the Riusian King."

"Yes, I have heard the tales myself. My father was Thaitian. A soldier of Rustet. It was he who named me, but I was raised in Rius."

Jonathan nodded understandingly, then said, "I know that it is difficult for you to be so far from those lands, friend, especially as this particular year wanes. Things are not well between Thait and Rius these past moons. Riusians are now often mistrusted by the people."

"It is of no surprise," agreed Cernet. "It was, after all, only two months passed that their King Chena spat upon King Selren. It was a shameful day for Rius."

The Lord of Caville waved his hand in both apathy and forgiveness. "Such things pass," he said. "When you grow to be my age, good Cernet, you will have seen these feuds birth and die, and another one is born anew, often over silly things that escalate into anger and war. Why, I remember when Thait was at war with the Kingdom of Sacnoft, and now we are the best of allies. So it will be with Thait and Rius. We must merely wait and time will heal the wounds that keep us apart."

"Would you not fight against Rius?"

"Oh, do not take my words to mean that I would sit idle if war was to come. I would fight anywhere my King asks me to, and I will pledge my armies to any cause he deems just. Many times a war is needed to heal the wounds. It is a great sadness upon me when such a thing must happen, and yet not all men are righteous, and not all men love peace, and those men must be destroyed with the sword, else they will never stop. We cannot always defeat evil with words, for words and thoughts are instruments of the good, and evil does not understand them. But I trust my King in these matters."

The young traveler sighed and said, "I am glad I am now in a kingdom with such a worthy King, for he must be just to have such loyalty from a man such as you. I was born in a place where the people did not have such faith in their ruler."

"King Selren is the most honorable man I have met, but Thait has not always been so lucky. Were you living here when King Tirna ruled?"

"'The Rash?' I was here the several years leading up to his death, but not long enough to understand why so many hated him. Or why they named him such."

"Yes, many have called him King Tirna the Rash. Perhaps he appeared to be so, but I never thought of him in such a way. I never hated him as so many did. I served him with all my strength, even when we disagreed. He knighted me, and it was under his rule that I inherited the lands of Caville from my father. Still, I will admit that he often allowed his pride to taint his rule. It is not so with King Selren. I would follow Tirna's son into what your people call Traverso, the Devils' Den, if asked. I am not certain that the kingdom has my confidence in him quite yet, but they will. Selren will prove himself to all of us, I am certain."

"And I would follow you in the same manner, Lord, for I know you to be equally as trustworthy. I would gladly fight at your side, sire, even against my own people."

"I do thank you for your loyalty. Let us hope it is never tested in that way, shall we?" He laughed and threw a small dry branch onto the fire, which crackled in delight and accepted the fuel, rising slightly for a moment in thanks. For several minutes the two men sat in stillness, enjoying the slight warmth in the hateful evening.

Cernet looked up at the sky and frowned. "It grows dark. It is later than I had thought. I should return to my journey."

"And I, friend," said Jonathan as he rose. "When you are next in Caville, please come to my court. You will be welcome at any time as a guest to my table."

The two men shook hands in agreement to the idea, and Cernet said happily, "You are most generous, sire."

"Do come when you can. I look forward to speaking with you again."

"I will, my Lord, I promise."

The traveler left the grove, and Jonathan watched as he walked steadily north until the snow blinded the old Knight's eyes of the lone traveler. Jonathan grumbled as he smothered his fire with snow, and then gave a quiet chuckle as he urged his horse once again southward. The conversation, though short, had been an unexpected pleasure for Jonathan. He had thought the evening would be extraordinarily lonely, but the meeting changed everything. It had been as a boast of strength for the Knight, and the remaining few hours of the journey would be happier because of it.

As Jonathan rode on, the small grove was stolen from his sight in mere minutes by the storm. He forgot about the trees then, his small and only momentary haven, but once the Knight was away, those trees began to disappear, not by the weather, but by another force, and they gradually melted into the surroundings until there was nothing left but the remains of a small fire upon a white field. The event was not without witness, though, for Cernet was returning to the site even as the trees lingered seemingly between worlds. The disappearance surprised him none, for he had known the trees to be illusion, though he did not create it. He waited at the smothered fire a short time, then spotted another man approaching on horseback from the north. The traveler was clad in black, and he seemed an apparition emerging from the snow.

"I knew that he would stop," said the man on the horse in a triumphant manner, looking south as if he could still see the traveling Knight. The horseman's dark cloak covered his head, his features buried in shadow, and Cernet was glad that he would not have to look upon the man's strange face. Merely a glance from those eyes often made Cernet tremble. They were like coals and ice, those eyes. The horseman continued, "What did you discover?"

"He is loyal to the King," said Cernet, his voice altered by a sore throat and a growing sorrow. He had hoped things would have gone differently. "Even in our short conversation did he make that evident. I do not believe he will waver in that respect, no matter the cost to himself."

"I predicted as much," said the man without emotion. "Proceed with the plan."

As the man began to ride away, he waved his right hand suddenly in the air and whispered a word or two of Latin, words that Cernet did not understand, and a black horse appeared at Cernet's side. It wasn't truly conjured, as it had been there more than an hour, only magically hidden from the human eye. A Wizard might have been able to uncover its presence, but Jonathan had no talent for Magic, and so it was safe to hide the steed even upon the road itself. Cernet hurriedly jumped on its back and kicked it into a full run, traveling south on the King's Road.

*        *        *

Jonathan rode another hour steadily south without another break; he knew that he was drawing near to his home. Already he could make out the beginning of the Caville Forest to his left, and by his experience in the area did he know that it would not be long before he would spot the great castle through the falling snow. It would seem just a dark and hazy shadow at first, but even the shadow would warm him.

Evening led night by the hand into southern Thait, and a new chill invaded the air, forcing the Knight to hug his cloak even tighter to his body. It helped very little, but Jonathan knew he would only have to suffer another hour or even less, and then he could retire to his chambers and have a large fire lit and a warm meal prepared. He smiled at the very thought, and pushed his horse slightly faster to shave a minute or two off his journey.

At the time, the snow was lighter than it had been earlier in the day, and Jonathan could see many score yards in each direction with ease, and yet he did not see the horsed attacker until the knave was upon him. The horseman, wearing a black cloak that covered his face, rode with a sword raised overhead, preparing for his assault. The footfalls of the dark horse clattered against the icy road, a sudden sound that overcame the whine of the wind; the noise alerted him before sight did, and the land erupted with thunder as the man rode, almost as an apparition in the night. The man's blade came at the Knight too quickly to be parried, and it struck Jonathan squarely on the shoulder. The Knight's armor deflected the blow, but still he was knocked off his own horse by the sudden attack. The knave cursed, obviously angry that his attack had not caused a mortal wound. Nothing was certain in a battle against a Knight, and that surprise blow might be the last the attacker would be allowed.

Even as the snow padded the fall, the collision of the fallen Knight's armor and the hard road made a loud clank. It sent a wave of pain through Jonathan's back and head, and the Knight became suddenly dizzy and disoriented. His horse ran a few yards, spooked by the attack, but then stopped.

Despite his wounds, Jonathan stumbled to his feet quickly and drew his sword. Frantically he turned around, but his attacker was nowhere to be seen. Again the Knight looked, and once again he found nothing. He became impatient and anxious as he desperately tried to locate his foe, but there were few places for the man to hide, and even fewer for the large black stallion. Finally Jonathan began to relax and lower his guard.

I have been in this snow too long, he thought with great concern. I am imaging attackers. But there sometimes were attackers that could not be seen, for Jonathan had more than once fought Necromancers with the power of invisibility. The Knight lifted his sword again, doing the only thing he could to defend against such a foe — he listened.

It was at that moment that the foe chose to reappear. The horse and rider materialized from nothing no more than five feet in front of the Knight, approaching at a full run. The sword glimmered darkly in its downward swing. It was the sounds that had alerted Jonathan more than the images, and he jerked his weapon around, only just in time to divert the man's sudden attack. The blades collided with a deafening clang, and Jonathan rocked backward under the force of the blow, though he was able to remain on his feet.

The enemy did not again disappear, but rather turned his horse abruptly for another charge. The Knight was more than ready for this attack, and he, despite the disadvantage of being on foot, lunged against the masked foe. The unexpected move worked well, for Jonathan was able to not only block his foe's swing, but also to score an attack of his own, which struck the man's side, cutting the man's dark cloak and leather tunic enough to draw blood.

Almost immediately another attack came, but this one far more successful for the horseman. With a strong hack he knocked the aging Knight's sword from his dumb hand, and another thrust found a gap in Jonathan's armor. The blade dug into his side, the pain throwing him to the snowy ground.

The attacker dismounted quickly and ran to his prey, pulling the hood off his head before drawing a long dagger from his belt with his left hand. There was a long moment of silence as Cernet hovered over his Lord, but he broke that silence by saying, "I do wish there was another way." There was genuine sorrow in his voice as he looked upon the wounded Knight, and his sorrow made his accent thicker. "We do what we must, no matter the bad taste it leaves within us, and no matter the good man who dies."

"Why?" the Knight managed to spit out. Blood was quickly spilling his body through his wound. Jonathan was experienced enough to know the wound was mortal, for no Healer was near enough to save him. And yet, knowing death was so close, all the Knight wished to know was why he had to perish.

"A better Thait, my Lord," said the assassin. "It will be a better world. Cett is returning to us."

He started at the Knight with the dagger, but as he did, Jonathan weakly crossed himself and began to pray, though it was impossible to tell whether his prayers were for his own soul, or out of fear for the words the Riusian had just uttered. Cernet stopped his advance and stepped back. There was no less conviction in his eyes, nor any tremble to his blade. The job would be done, but there was no hurry to deny a man's final prayer to his God. Cernet knew he would have such a moment at his own death, and so he willingly gave one to the dying Lord.

Jonathan finished and nodded to Cernet. "I thank you," he whispered weakly. "We all do what we must, I suppose."

And Cernet slit his throat.

"Gods forgive me," he cried as he collapsed, beginning to wallow in the snow. "I did this for you, just as was asked of me. Do not judge me too harshly for it."

Only a moment did he allow his guilt, for more work needed to be done. He dragged the body to the middle of the King's Road, where it would for certain be found, even if the snow covered the body in the night. Already tiny white flakes were burying the dark red stain that had tainted the snow and forming a blanket over the mess created by the fight, as though Nature was trying to clean up after the follies of humans. Cernet watched the snow fall a moment, then turned away in disgust and mounted his horse.

The horse galloped southeast, faster and faster to the forest there. As he rode, Cernet tore off his bloody cloak, despite the cold. He would not need it much longer, anyway, as he was very near his destination. He merely wanted the acrid smell of blood removed from his nose. It wouldn't be, though, for the stench tainted his very soul.

The Forest of Caville was well lit during the Winter when the trees shed their leaves, letting the snow and the sun in for a season. Even in the beginnings of night, seeing was no more difficult there than it had been on the open road. Eventually, Spring would bring back to life these trees, and the leaves would shut out the day and make an eternal night under the branches, only to succumb to the next Autumn, and the fallen leaves would be so thick a wind would make sight almost impossible through the army of dead foliage. But at the time that the assassin rode through the wood, the path was clear of leaves, and only the pure white snow blocked his way.

Cernet did not slow when he entered the forests, but rather he kicked his horse faster. His mission was nearing its end. Another ten minutes he traveled until he arrived at a small clearing where the snow was piled high. He had no real planned destination, but that clearing seemed to him the best place to stop. There he dismounted and hit his horse away. The animal ran back the way it came, probably to eventually wander to Caville Castle or another of the towns nearby. No matter, the Riusian would no longer need it.

Reverently Cernet drew out his dagger, still red with the blood of Lord Jonathan, and made one final plea to the gods, "fergé Terienké yek," and hurriedly he stabbed himself in the belly.

© Copyright 1999,2004 by Paul Lytle. All rights reserved.