Knight's Justice_Age Of Magic_A Kurtherian Gambit Series Read online

  CONTENTS

  LMBPN Publishing

  Dedication

  Legal

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  Author Notes - P. J. Cherubino

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  Social Links

  P. J. Cherubino

  Michael Anderle Books

  KNIGHT’S JUSTICE

  Tales of the Wellspring Knight: Book Three

  By P. J. Cherubino and Michael Anderle

  A part of

  The Kurtherian Gambit Universe

  Written and Created

  by Michael Anderle

  The Kurtherian Gambit Universe

  (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are

  Copyright (c) 2015 - 2018 by Michael Anderle and LMBPN Publishing.

  DEDICATION

  From P.J.

  To family and friends: those who were born on the path with me and those who choose to walk together.

  Thank you for helping me live this dream.

  I hope you enjoy the book.

  From Michael

  To Family, Friends and

  Those Who Love

  To Read.

  May We All Enjoy Grace

  To Live The Life We Are

  Called.

  KNIGHT’S JUSTICE TEAM

  JIT Readers

  Dr. Jim Caplan

  Kim Boyer

  John Ashmore

  Paul Westman

  Larry Omans

  Micky Cocker

  Peter Manis

  If we missed anyone, please let us know!

  Editor

  Lynne Stiegler

  KNIGHT’S JUSTICE (this book) is a work of fiction.

  All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  This book Copyright © 2018 P. J. Cherubino, Michael T. Anderle, CM Raymond, LE Barbant

  Cover by Ryn Katryn Digital Art

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  First US edition, May 2018

  The Kurtherian Gambit (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are copyright © 2015 - 2018 by Michael T. Anderle.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Fortress Wards, the Lake Quarter

  At six feet tall with a muscular build and long brown hair, Astrid was usually unmistakable, but none of the people fishing on the frozen lake noticed when she slipped into the tent.

  “We don’t do this back home,” Astrid told the men in the tent. “Strange way to pass the time, but it’s a good cover for us.”

  “We don’t do this in the forest either,” a man replied. He was a woods person; one of the former bandits who now formed the backbone of Astrid’s fighting force. They called themselves “the Dregs.”

  “These Ward dwellers are strange,” another Dreg added

  “Everyone’s strange when you get to know them well enough,” Astrid quipped.

  That brought chuckles all around as Astrid slipped off her furs to reveal the armor beneath. The matte-black plates of sacred steel were attached comfortably to a bodysuit woven from silksteel threads of charcoal gray.

  The plates were not much heavier than studded leather, but were thinner and stronger than ordinary steel. The cloth was flexible enough to let her move freely while keeping the plates just where they needed to be.

  She still wasn’t sure how the Pixie called Moxy and her Forge Monk husband Tarkon crafted it. She only knew that their marriage produced magical wonders.

  But the armor would make it hard to swim. That was what the inflatable pigskin pouch was for.

  “Hrrmph,” the man grunted as he added air to the float. “This might keep ya from sinkin’ like a rock.” He briefly showed her how to let air out if his estimate was off.

  “Let’s hope,” Astrid replied with a wry grin. The man slipped the float into a backpack made of fish netting with thin leather shoulder straps. A strap for her waist would keep it close to her body.

  That waist strap had to compete with the silksteel line of her rope dart. Normally, she would have one end of the rope weapon over her left shoulder and the egg-shaped dart would hang at her waist. She couldn’t swim like that, so the entire weapon was arranged more like a cummerbund than the deadly implement it became in her hands.

  Astrid gave a brief invocation to the Well, that source of magical energy that gave her strength and let her survive in the worst conditions.

  “Trust in the Well and observe its intention, for the Well sustains all life.”

  She filled her lungs with air and with a little hop, she plunged into the icy water. The shock of extreme cold made her black eyes widen. There was no light under the ice, but the Well let her operate through all her other senses.

  Orienting herself to the southeast, she paddled beneath the water but began to rise. Too much air. The float had lifted her high enough for her to bump her back against the ice. She would have cursed, but she needed the oxygen.

  Well, this is a harebrained scheme, she thought. But it’s fun.

  She fumbled around until she found the little flap on the float that was held together with a spring-steel clip. Once she’d let out just enough air to make her buoyancy neutral, she continued swimming toward her target.

  The going was slower than she’d thought it would be. Every few minutes, she had to rise up close to the ice to find an air pocket that let her breathe again.

  She reached the muddy shore and began to crawl up the slope to leave the water where the ice was thinner. At least, she hoped it would be.

  It was thinner at the beach, but barely. She used the last of her breath to push, punch, and kick through the ice. By the time she was done, her arms and legs burned and tingled. She was grateful to be free of the float pack as she slipped it off her shoulders and dropped it behind her without a second thought.

  She took a moment to breathe freely again,
then made her weapon ready. One end she draped over her left shoulder, while the other wrapped twice around her waist with the dart hanging by her right hip.

  Staying low, she ran up the rocky beach toward the high defensive wall that surrounded the expansive estate where the plotters were holed up. She scaled the craggy rock surface in minutes and pulled herself up onto a narrow walkway.

  There was only one guard on this side of the wall, and he happened to be five feet away. He gasped when he turned to see Astrid rising like a living shadow. The rope flashed out and wrapped around his neck twice. With a fierce pull, she broke his neck and threw him over the wall. The sound of the body hitting the rocks below hardly carried.

  As she’d suspected, they hadn’t planned for anyone to attack from this side. They were fools

  But she’d killed one of them. Foolish as they were, they would notice that. She had to hurry. Someone would raise the alarm soon.

  According to her intelligence network, many of the guards here were formerly members of Protector Lungu’s Civil Guard.

  With Lungu gone, the market for bad deeds had dried up. The people hiding in the compound wanted to get that market going again. They were in there hatching ways to cause more bloody pain to the Protectorate. Astrid was there to snuff that business out in its larval stage.

  Motion on the opposite wall caught her attention. She had to get out of sight, so she took two running steps and jumped without a second thought. The drop was high enough for her to revel in the feeling of freefall. She landed in a shoulder roll, then popped back up with a silly grin. Just weeks ago she wouldn’t have been able to make a jump like that without breaking a bone, but the magic that had kept her alive during three days of torture in Lungu’s dungeon had stayed with her long after her bonds were broken. She was able to draw from the Well as never before. The ordeal had changed her. It felt as if the parts of her body that had been damaged or destroyed had been replaced by something much stronger.

  But now she had to focus on the job at hand. She could not afford to contemplate her new abilities.

  A voice from her early training came to her. “Don’t be so damn impressed with yourself,” the Knight Master had told her, “or your enemy might be impressed with your pretty corpse.”

  Fuck it, though, Astrid thought. I love stealth missions. Her usual fighting style involved handing out direct and overwhelming ass-kicking. It was fun to sneak around for a change.

  If her contacts were correct, her main target was in the compound’s largest building. He also owned the place. Rupert Danut was a prominent merchant who wanted to restore the rule of cruelty and greed.

  Of course they would hide in luxury, Astrid thought as she slipped between the smaller and far shabbier buildings that obviously housed servants and guards.

  She found an unlocked basement door and slipped quietly into a storeroom. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. As she drew from the Well to tune and heighten her senses, her eyes turned from black to aquamarine.

  She was moving toward the only door in the room when a man opened it.

  Shit, she thought. Wasn’t expecting non-fighters so late at night. I should have, though…

  The man gasped and dropped the ceramic bowl of freshly-kneaded dough he was holding. Astrid jumped forward instantly, spun the man around, and kept him in a choke hold until he passed out.

  “I’m sorry,” she told him just before he went limp. “I don’t want to hurt you. Just sleep for a while. This will all be over when you wake up.”

  A pang of guilt put a knot in her stomach as she hoisted the chubby man with no more effort than giving a toddler a shoulder ride. She carried him into a corner and laid him down quickly, taking precious moments to make sure he wasn’t in an awkward position.

  For good measure she removed his apron, folded it, and put it under his head as a pillow.

  Another tenet of her code sprang to mind. Respect all weakness and always defend the weak.

  The code was more important to her than a tactical advantage. The house servants didn’t have much choice in how they made their living. They had families to feed.

  Rupert, his partners, and their hired goons were the problem. Those were the ones Astrid had come for.

  She slipped through the door into the kitchen and crouched behind a counter, listening for motion outside the room. A ringing bell brought her attention to a small door in the wall beside a hulking, cast iron wood stove.

  Astrid cocked her head when a muffled voice came through a copper horn protruding from the wall beside the door.

  “Where are the refreshments I ordered!” the petulant speaker demanded.

  A speaking horn, Astrid thought. There must be another horn upstairs with a pipe connecting the two. And some kind of small box to send food up?

  She smiled when the bell rang again. Her target had revealed himself quite nicely.

  “What am I paying you lazy peasants for? My guests require sustenance! Chop chop!”

  She stepped over to the horn and lowered her voice to sound gruff and deep as she spoke loudly into the device. “I’ll send it right up.”

  She covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  It took her a few seconds to figure out the arrangement. The lift box was not quite large enough for her to get into, but the shaft it traveled through was. After some fiddling with ropes and pulleys, she lowered the box below the door.

  Still repressing snickers, she pushed through the opening and began to climb. She stopped at the third floor when she heard voices.

  Now what? she thought. Then she saw a string connected to a lever. It was the bell.

  Astrid pulled on the string.

  The same petulant voice declared, “Finally that lazy cook sends up my refreshme…"

  She braced her feet against the opposite wall of the shaft and pressed her palms against the brick on either side of the door, hovering in a strange horizontal crouch. As soon as the little door began to open, Astrid launched herself forward with her legs. She hit a soft body and felt ribs crack under her shoulder.

  She tumbled head-over-heels and rolled quickly to her feet when she sensed other people in the room. That was the problem with a blind attack—she didn’t know who or how many she would be up against.

  She found out quickly there were two Movers in the room, a man and a woman. Two soldiers were there as well, but by the looks of their weapons and uniforms they were ordinary soldiers without magic. Someone else was on a couch, but his high-pitched screams of panic told her he was of no concern at all.

  The male mover hit her with a telekinetic blast that connected squarely with her chest plate like a horse kick. The other Mover charged in close with her sword as Astrid stumbled back, now on the defensive. She had no time to get her rope dart moving, so she blocked the blade with the forearm plate of her armor.

  A clumsy but effective lunge kick gave Astrid some room, but she danced backward just to be sure. Now she had the distance to bring her rope dart into play.

  Astrid whirled the rope above her head and released the dart to whistle through the air at the male Mover, who was now charging her. To her frustration, he easily blocked it.

  She pulled back on the line, bringing it in toward her leg as she executed a side kick. The line traveled down her shin and she sent the dart out again with deadly force.

  He hadn’t expected that move, and it cost him his life—the dart caught him squarely in the chest. His light armor plate did not help him at all.

  The fight with the Movers gave the two guards a chance to fire their crossbows. Astrid dodged one bolt, and the other glanced painfully off her armored shoulder.

  As she began to square off against the guards she recognized the screaming man, who bolted off the couch. It was the dungeon warden who had overseen her torture.

  “You!” she bellowed, then swung out with the rope weapon again. The line wrapped around the fleeing man’s ankle and she pulled him down. He landed hard and f
ace-down with an oof, then laid there wheezing.

  She ignored the other Mover, who shouted at the soldiers. “Not crossbows, you morons! Get in close! Her weapon is no good up close!”

  “Stay there, coward,” Astrid hissed at the warden. “I made you a promise!” He had laughed at her while she was being tortured, taken joy in feeding her rotten food, and teased her by withholding water while she was dying of thirst.

  But she shared her anger with many other people he had tortured. Astrid had found the meticulously-kept records that described what he called “correction techniques.”

  She wanted to kill him for all the victims she had seen in those records.

  But her sweet retribution would cost precious time. The Mover was closing in, flanked by two soldiers. They formed a semicircle as they inched forward. Astrid slung one end of the rope dart over her shoulder and secured the other end at her waist.

  “You’re right,” Astrid said with a shark-like grin. “Soft weapons usually work best at short range.” She dropped into a fighting crouch and brought up her fists. “But I’m just as good close-in.”

  She beckoned the Mover with her left hand, and the woman screamed as she thrust with her sword.

  Astrid turned sideways, left shoulder forward. The sword scraped against her chest plate as she pulled the blade to her body with her right hand. She used her left palm to strike the flat of the sword, a perfectly-executed leverage move which disarmed her attacker. Astrid let the sword drop to the floor.

  She ignored the deep cut to her right palm. The Well was already healing it as she transitioned into a spinning leg sweep that felled the guard to her left like a sapling.

  She kept spinning, turning the leg sweep into a reverse roundhouse kick. She just missed the Mover’s head. When she planted her foot again she found herself face-to-face with the other guard, who stood there trembling with his sword at his side. She met his wide and terrified eyes and gave him a wink.