The Dark Knights Return: Outcast of the Dark Knight Read online

  The Dark Knights Return

  I

  Outcast of the Dark Knight

  Yenpri Laypil

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Dark Knights Return by Yenpri Laypil

  2nd Edition

  © 2017 Yenpri Laypil

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  Cover by Yenpri Laypil.

  Map background by ArtsyBee.

  Pictures by Comfreak, HypnoArt, Mysticsartdesign, yatheesh

  Paperback ISBN-13: 9781521287965

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank my family and friends for their love, support and guidance throughout the writing of this book. I dedicate this book to you in appreciation of your encouragement for “free-spirited thinking” and a sense of adventure.

  Table of Contents

  A place for a beginning

  The real beginning

  A new home

  Departure

  Identity crisis

  The Next Morning

  The Hallucen Kingdom

  The meeting room

  The training begins

  Enter the Black Gates

  Enter King Braithwaite

  Vallentor’s move

  The Next Lesson

  Enter the Dark Rider

  The Toll of Burnt sienna

  A shocking discovery

  A Dream

  A Storm

  Cementing the alliances

  A discussion

  Judgement day

  Depression

  News

  A silent return

  A week’s time

  Wake up, Valkin

  The Axe of Bryce

  Tomorrow and two days

  The regret of Tereartre Levon

  Valkin Kendor

  Melody Braithwaite

  Prologue

  “My division of myself is my enemy and now I must face the demons within me. God help me to survive the night. The Dark knights have driven me to the very edge of Mt. Death where my destiny awaits me. Is there no sanity left in me now? Every time I try to fight it, it just takes over me like a dark spirit controlling my actions wreaking havoc among the innocent. It leaves in its wake a trail of death and destruction. They are almost upon me now. This darkness is weakening me, slowing me down. NOOO!!! I will not let it consume me like this. I will not be so easily beaten! It has become almost uncontrollable. That is why it must be stopped! If it carries on, who will be left to fight the impending doom? I must fight it! I cannot let it take over me like this! They are nearing! Every heavy footstep beckons for my death. I can see the end of the mountain now. It will not be long now. I can see the end.

  I release you from my thoughts, my dear Valkin.

  Take care. Until we meet again…”

  A place for a beginning

  As the sun rose, it rejuvenated and replenished the lost energy of all living things. To admire the sight was without a doubt a fulfilling hobby, and one that was religiously practiced by a young man of the town, TillMandor, located east of the great castle of Bellor. TillMandor was a vibrant city for all. The people here lived such carefree lives going about their business in a light-hearted manner and always laughed cheerfully whilst doing so. The town was frequently visited by Bellor’s nobles and on rare occasions the King and Queen themselves graced the town with their presence. The town periphery was also visited by the great knights of other kingdoms who converged upon the castle of Bellor every year to compete in a contest of bravery and courage ultimately determining the greatest knight in all the lands. However, despite all of the attention the contest attracted, the townspeople did not trouble themselves with the dealings of royalty and started their days off very early in the morning with work or simple chores around their homes.

  However, a young gentleman followed a very different routine compared to his fellow Tillmanorian counterparts. Every morning, since he was a child, he would wake up before sunrise and run to the green meadows to book his place among the king’s blue birds and scarlet red beetles to see the glorious sun peep over the horizon to greet him and all the people of the land. His childhood hobbies have left such an impression on him that still, to this day, he gets up early to watch the sun rise. That young man’s name is, Valkin Kendor.

  However, upon this day, Valkin found himself preoccupied on another mission which differed slightly from his usual routine of frolicking naked in the meadows.

  “HAHA!! This time I’m going to catch you, you little bastard, I mean buzzard! You got away from me yesterday but not today because today is not your lucky day and that means you are mine, if I can just get this bloody hair out of my eyes.” Even though Valkin’s jet black hair always got in the way of his sight, he was still intent on keeping it long and untidy just much like his reeking clothes which were always brown and filthy, full of caked mud and specks of dry grass that stuck out of it like a porcupine. His tunic was white in the early hours of the morning but by late afternoon, it was transformed into a filthy burnt brown color.

  It is known that one cannot simply eat a chicken with a fork and knife, sooner or later; affairs are going to get messy, especially for the eater, not to mention for the chicken. Armed with keen pair of brown hazel eyes are essential tools in the hunt to catch an agile rooster and Valkin’s eyes were no exception. Long, lanky, and sinewy strong arms were a natural consequence growing up on a small farm just outside the main city of Bellor. Nineteen years of creeping, crouching, and crawling strengthened Valkin’s legs allowing him to get around quickly and stealthily. The details on Valkin’s white shorts will be spared though. It is too gruesome for mortal ears to hear, but a small clue that can be revealed is that it followed the same trend as his tunic. Still, catching a free-range chicken isn’t as easy as it looks. It’s their bloody feathers that make it so difficult! They were not designed for flight, but rather for darting and evading their predatory keepers. They're fast buggers too! They run faster than the hens which makes sense if they ever wanted to catch them for a little fun in the roost.

  Today’s hunt took Valkin around the pen and the roost three times before some headway was made by Rocko the rooster, as he was named. The pen was not very large, more or less square in shape, maybe 6.6 feet in length and breath and still Valkin couldn’t tip the scale in his favor. Good ol’ Rocko! Valkin’s been trying to catch that bloody rooster for nineteen years. In fact, Valkin has been trying to catch him ever since he was a newborn as he learned to walk and run. That is how determined Valkin was to put that rooster out of its bloody misery. It is a wonder indeed that has baffled many that Rocko even lived that long in the first place. Perhaps, it was all in the grain or perhaps Rocko had found the legendary fountain of youth that prolonged life and he had been indulging in a tot of it every year or so. Or perhaps, it was just Valkin’s utter inability to catch a veteran of survival which suggests an answer to the great question, “Who came first, the chicken or the human?” The answer will never be known; or will lunchtime reveal it by some stroke of fate that turns the tide against the Rocko. The hens doubted it as they watched on and laughed at poor Valkin as he ran around and around in circles until he finally gave up and sat down with defeat on the muddy, moistened ground. It had rained heavily the night before leaving the ground w
et and soggy with a distinct air of refreshing dampness; wonderful for the youthful and utterly devastating for those who have to do the washing for the youthful.

  “VALKIN! VALKIN! ARE YOU STILL TRYING TO CATCH ROCKO, BOY? WHY DON’T YOU FIRST HAVE A HAIR CUT SON, THEN YOU’LL SEE HIM MUCH BETTER THAT WAY. COME ALONG NOW, BREAKFAST NEEDS TO BE SERVED, NOT LUNCH,” shouted Valkin’s mother with a motherly screech in her authentic voice from the kitchen door.

  “I’M TRYING MY BEST MOTHER!” shouted Valkin with much irritation in his tired voice. Valkin’s mother was the typical concerned mother, always alert and always caring, large and round but filled with kindness and love. She always wore her bright red nightcap and always donned a pink checked apron just after she awakes from her deep slumber. She seemed incomplete without it even though Valkin had complained to her many times about it. Valkin’s mother was always ready to do work at any time and at any place. That’s just how she was. Her twirled brown hair gave Valkin’s own hair a brownish glint in the sunlight and naturally that’s where Valkin got his good looks from. Both mother and son’s skins were smooth, except, Valkin got away with his little stubble on his chin. He claimed that he needed it to showcase his masculinity trying to portray a rough and tough image for the girls or so he deluded himself. The preferences of women differ among many girls from different lands depending upon their social status in society. Different strokes for different folks to gently rock their boats, with capsizing it of course. One would hope that humans could make up their bloody minds or perhaps they are destined to be creatures of indecision. Naturally Valkin’s claims were based on absolute nonsense and naturally they irritated his mother intensely. Nevertheless, Valkin’s mother darted around the small house in her poor turquoise bedroom sandals every morning, wearing variations of a cotton white dress with a different flower type every day. She did however, have a soft spot for the Queen’s iris flower and so she wore that particular dress at least three times a week. She leaned over the bottom half door and laughed at her poor son who was out of breath and out of luck. Valkin was seated next to the pen with Rocko proudly clinging to the splintered wooden corner pole just above him laughing at him or so it seemed if chickens could laugh.

  “Valkin, I don’t know why you even bother son. Just catch a hen and bring it along. Oh yes, some eggs too please…” requested Valkin’s mom as she returned to the coal stove, “…and don’t forget to ask for forgiveness after you have done the deed, son.” Valkin's mother emphasized their culture of respecting all forms of life. She believed in saying a small prayer whenever a sacrifice was made for food as a gesture of gratitude and respect.

  “Yes mother…,” replied Valkin and then turned to Rocko, “…your days are numbered ol Rocko. I’ll get you eventually, maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow nor next year nor in the ten bloody years but eventually I’ll get you and if I don’t get you, the bird sickness spreading across Sarcodia will!” sneered Valkin at Rocko who returned the same sneer back at him with his beady eye.

  After breakfast, it was time for to stock up on some food supplies from the market which Valkin quite enjoyed as he opened the short gate of the perimeter fence and trudged along the peaceful gravel pathway towards the Bellor city centre. As Valkin walked towards the market place, he went over the things he needed to get for his mother in his head.

  “OK! I’ve got to get some bread, milk and the most important item on the list, the cake for grandpa’s birthday tomorrow, even though he’s not so big on sugar, we’ll get it for him anyway,” laughed Valkin to himself as he merrily walked along.

  Valkin followed the usual trail that led to the market picking up a blade of grass to chew as he did. Home was not very far from the market, so in no time, he had arrived at his destination; and so, the day had begun with the usual occurrences and progressed into the marketplace, which was always busy only resting towards the evenings. You name it; the marketplace had it, from shopkeepers to bakers, blacksmiths and locksmiths. The underground slave trade was thankfully abolished in Bellor; however, there were rumours that it still persisted in other kingdoms and there was talk that some of the slaves were not human.

  Nevertheless, all the stalls were very busy this morning. Fortunately, Valkin was quite a tall fellow and so finding what he was looking for was not too hard to do as he peered over the much shorter citizens of Bellor. Valkin was at the wild, rebellious age as his mother had called it with his long hair, recklessness, and immaturity. She often wondered when her son would eventually grow up and become a man, but she never attributed her wrinkled, prickly features to her son's reckless ways, not once. She loved him dearly as all mothers would love their sons.

  Valkin was strolling along when unexpectedly; his shopping spree was hampered by a loud trumpeting procession making its way through the market. The people started to make way for whatever was coming through them as Valkin ran towards the blacksmith’s shop where both he and the blacksmith watched in awe and wonder at the coming procession. The blacksmith had his hammer in mid-strike as he gazed upon them with a little bit of drool seeping out from his salivating mouth.

  Fourteen men, each bearing his own charcoal black stallion and each armed to the fullest were striding along through the market making their way swiftly to the King’s palace. They rode in a neat and deadly single file, one behind the other with black helmets tinged with red and grey embellishments that demarcated the different ranks among them, grey being the lowest and an abundance of red the highest. They were the elegant knights that hailed from the great kingdom of Sarcodia. These were indeed, the legendary Sarcodian Knights. The Knights have protected the western borders of Bellor for centuries. King Braithwaite is current king of Sarcodia. Each knight was trained as a royal guard and the first line of defense to the kingdom of Sarcodia, south of Bellor. For years now, they have been competing in the great knight games hosted by the kingdom of Bellor, and for years they have been winning. They were undefeated now for ten years in a row. It was an incredible record and no nation has ever come close to challenging them. There have even been rumours that they were “enabled” but nothing was ever proven.

  Valkin watched in wonder as the light cloud grey & black knights proudly strutted towards the great gates of the Bellor castle which was located high above the countryside on the great green hills of Belloran. As the procession moved off beyond the boundaries of the market, the village people slowly resumed their daily business and routine as if a short summer rain had blessed them and now moved off into the distance to bless another kingdom. Valkin sighed with sorrow filled in his eyes and reluctantly packed the patchy tin can of fresh milk into his old brown satchel and moved off towards the bakery to pick up some bread and the cake when he bumped into his good friend, Regan, who was making sure that the baker had given him the just right amount of change for the bread he had just bought. Regan was a good friend of Valkins. They had practically grown up together since they were wee lads on the farm. A tall and handsome boy was Regan, a true ladies man. They simply loved him and went wild for his attractive visage. Everyday, he would visit Valkin with a different girl. He often remarked that his life was both a blessing and a curse in this regard. Regan was built well and harbored a keen interest in the affairs of money and wine, but not in a greedy manner. He was genuinely interested in how it was made and how to handle it, especially the wine.

  “Good mornin Valkin, how ya be doin today, my good friend?”

  “The same as always, Regan!” smiled Valkin with a mischievousness look upon face.

  “That good hey. Haha! Then I’ve got some interesting news for you brother!”

  “Give it to me, Regan.”

  “Alright, so have you heard the latest about zafrith. The zafrith collectors are changing the rules on the way the zafrith is being handled.”

  “Regan, what are you talking about, brother?” asked Valkin who was utterly confused by the “gibberish” that his friend was blabbering to him.

  “I'm talking about the money y
ou have in your pocket, chap. Ten years from now, that same money you used today to buy grandpa’s cake won't be able to buy you the same things it did today.” Regan then stood still with a look of disappointment on his face and then looked at Valkin once again and quietly murmured, “It's called the rising!”

  “The rising!” Valkin was amazed and horrified at the same time and wanted to know more and Regan could see this.

  “Yes, the rising! It happens when there is an increase in the price you pay for items or services say from the blacksmith or carpenter provided over time. This means that the money you have will be almost worthless, a few years from now.”

  “Okay, that's interesting and depressing Regan, not to mention illogical! And what causes this rising, Regan?”

  “There are many factors, one is too much money floating around drops the value of the money itself.”

  “That's interesting but that doesn't make any sense at all,” replied Valkin not satisfied at all.

  “Why not!” asked a perplexed Regan fully understanding his explanation of the dilemma at hand.

  “You are telling me that just because there's too much money floating around, these money collectors change the value of the money and make everything more expensive. It sounds like a bunch of nonsense to me.” Valkin shook his head in disagreement.

  “No Valkin, it makes perfect sense, okay, let me give you another example that contributes to this rising, supply and demand. When something is in short supply and high in demand, the price increases accordingly and so this has a ripple effect in our kingdom, the grocer will have to pay more for the potato he got from the farmer who had increased the price of the potato and thus you and I will have to pay a little more for that very potato. Makes sense?”