The Door Within: The Door Within Trilogy – Book One

Aidan ran frantically down the stairs beneath the trapdoor, but the cellar was empty. There were, however, signs of a great struggle. An overturned table, broken glass, and a toppled bookcase—but what riveted Aidan was an awful spray of blood on the wall.

Aidan flew back up the stairs. He searched and re-searched every room in the house. They were all empty.

The cold, still eyes of the dead Glimpse in the road invaded Aidan’s mind.

“No!” he roared, swinging the Son of Fury recklessly at a vertical wooden beam. The beam split and the top portion fell. Dust rained down on Aidan, and the roof protested loudly. “No, you can’t be dead, Gwenne! You can’t be.”

Aidan trembled in the cottage doorway, and all the doubts and fears rushed in and began to make themselves at home. And for a moment, it was as if they had never left. Aidan heard voices in his head.

His father’s: “Believing in something doesn’t make it real!”

Grampin’s: “If what you believe in turns out to be a lie, then you could end up humiliated . . . or worse.”

Valithor’s: “Try to understand, Aidan. What Paragal intended for evil has become the foundation for much that is good.”

Nothing, Aidan thought. There was no result, no future that could justify Gwenne’s death. How could King Eliam allow Gwenne’s family to be murdered by Paragor’s armies? How could he let her survive as an orphan and give her hope, only to let her be killed anyway—It wasn’t just unfair—it was . . . evil!

Rage boiled up within Aidan. Rage at his parents for making him move. Rage at Grampin for making him believe. Rage at Gwenne for making him think he was something he was not. And rage at King Eliam or whoever caused all of this to happen. Hot tears burned trails on his dusty cheeks, and he trembled and heaved as if he would be sick.

He could not save Gwenne, and he could not make it all go away. But there was something he could do.

His eyes smoldering, he wiped away the wet streaks and burst forth from the cottage . . . with the Son of Fury in his hand.

One of the Paragor Knights spotted Aidan immediately. With a lustful screech, the beastly Glimpse charged and raised his sword high, his intent to chop Aidan in half. But he made a fatal mistake, for he did not expect skill from one as young and short as Aidan.

The Twelfth Knight knew that his enemy would throw himself off balance with such a mighty high-to-low chop. Aidan simply sidestepped, and in one motion he snapped the Son of Fury and thrust it into the Glimpse’s side. Aidan winced as his sword went quickly in and then back out.

Within minutes, seven enemy knights had fallen by Aidan’s hand. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Aidan saw a familiar face. He still wore the long, weather-beaten cloak, and it fluttered in the wind as he barked orders to other knights. But the knights who followed his commands did not wear the silver armor of Alleble or the blue and gold of Mithegard.

“Acsriot!” Aidan said aloud. His adrenaline surged, and Aidan rushed forward toward the traitor. Several blades slashed Aidan’s way as he ran, but he brushed them aside as if swatting flies.

He came upon Acsriot like an unexpected storm, raining down blows, snaps, and thrusts. But Acsriot was not without skill. He parried each attack away, then took a quick step backward.

“You!” Acsriot rasped. “You survived as well?”

“Yes, I survived!” Aidan yelled, throwing a quick snap at Acsriot. The Son of Fury traced a circular arc from outside in. Acsriot blocked it, but Aidan’s sword slid off his block and put a notch in the black vambrace guarding Acsriot’s forearm.

“Whelp!” Acsriot spat. “Think you that one week’s training is enough?”

“I may not be as skilled with the sword, nor as strong as you, but my heart is pure, devoted to King Eliam the Everlasting, and I am not alone!” Aidan said.

Like lightning, Aidan struck with his best move, the moulinet— throwing Acsriot a half step off balance. In the split second that Acsriot needed to right himself, Aidan lunged forward with all his strength and drove the Son of Fury straight through Acsriot’s breastplate.

But when Aidan looked up, he saw that Acsriot was not dead. He was not even wounded, for Aidan’s sword had not pierced his enemy. Acsriot had, with the speed of a lightning strike, knocked the thrust wide so that it sawed across the armor rather than through.

Acsriot laughed. “You see, I saw your move in your eyes before you made it. If a moulinet is all you can manage, then you are without hope!” Acsriot’s blade seemed to come at Aidan from every angle. Aidan stumbled, blocking recklessly and unable to regain the balance to attack. Acsriot was driving him backward, and there was nothing Aidan could do but retreat. His arm ached from the blows, and he dropped his guard just slightly. Acsriot saw and stabbed forward. He missed Aidan’s eye by a fraction of an inch but opened a gash on his right cheekbone. Aidan felt the warm blood trickle down his face.

Acsriot came on again. His sword flashed and stabbed, forcing Aidan up a hill near one of the catapults. The Twelfth Knight had run out of room. With a swift hacking motion, Acsriot knocked the Son of Fury from Aidan’s hands. The blade flew end over end and landed with a dull clang on the road, far from Aidan’s grasp.

Aidan awaited the final thrust. Acsriot, the traitor, would win— plunging his sword through Aidan’s chest. And it would all be over.

But Acsriot did not kill Aidan. Instead, he picked up an iron-tipped spear from a fallen knight and drove it through Aidan’s shoulder armor into the heavy wood of the catapult’s base.

“I could have run you through,” snarled Acsriot. “But I have learned from my master to savor the kill. And so I will not allow you to die without watching you suffer first. Have you heard of morti-wraith venom?”

Aidan’s eyes went wide, and he struggled to free himself. But he was pinned.

“I see that you have,” Acsriot said, and he laughed. Stepping backward down the hill, he turned slightly and motioned with his sword to three Paragor archers perched on a distant roof, with drawn bows aimed directly at Aidan. “Wriggle all you want, little Dark Skin. Your end, your painful end, is near.”

Aidan watched as the archers let their arrows fly. The crimson-shafted, poison-tipped arrows were racing through the air when two dark blurs streaked horizontally through their path. Two of the red shafts were snapped, splintered in the air by the swifter arrows from Nock’s and Bolt’s longbows.

But the third red arrow flew on.

With a great shout, Captain Valithor appeared from nowhere and leaped between Aidan and the final arrow. It pierced the Captain’s armor and was buried halfway into his chest. He crashed to the ground at the base of the hill where Aidan was caught.

“Noooo!” Aidan shrieked. He wrenched all his weight against the armor, desperately trying to go to the Captain’s side, but he could not. He could only stare down at his fallen commander.

Captain Valithor struggled to reach for Fury. But Acsriot snatched up the famed blade and carelessly flung it behind him. He backhanded the Captain across the chin. The Captain, already weakened by the venom, fell on his back.

Acsriot, his cloak swirling, stood at Captain Valithor’s feet and smiled triumphantly at his prey. “I thought I’d killed you before, old one,” he said, sneering and gesturing to the sky with his sword. “And as much as I would like to see the mortiwraith’s venom twist you and run its course, there would be no glory in that for me. I want to be the one remembered for slaying the famed Captain Valithor of Alleble.”

Acsriot clutched his sword with both hands and raised it overhead. Captain Valithor looked up, his eyes darting left for the briefest of seconds before they locked with the flickering red eyes of his attacker. The Captain raised his trembling hand and opened his lips to speak. Acsriot delayed his strike.

“What is it, Captain?” Acsriot said with feigned pity. “Do you wish to beg for mercy?”

Captain Valithor, a glint in his eyes, spoke, “I told you, Acsriot, that for your treachery, you will die by my sword!”

Acsriot grinned smugly and tensed to deliver the killing stroke. But his smile vanished.

“This is Fury!” said a voice from behind. And the point of a long sword burst through Acsriot’s chest. He had forgotten the Twelfth Knight.

Acsriot writhed like a beetle on a pin as his sword fell harmlessly to the ground. With all his might, Aidan shoved Acsriot’s body off of Fury and down the hill.

With his shoulder armor torn off and hanging by a link of chain mail, Aidan knelt by Captain Valithor. Kaliam appeared, saw the crimson shaft, and grimaced.

Before anyone could speak, however, a blinding flash of light bathed the road from moat to outer wall in angry red light. And a sound like a hundred cannon blasts seemingly shook the whole world.

A shock wave of scalding hot air surged out into the road, incinerating those near the castle and slamming Aidan and Kaliam to the cobblestone.

Aidan sat up, spit grime from his mouth, and crawled back to Captain Valithor. The Captain looked withered and frail, and his breathing was too fast. Aidan carefully removed the Captain’s helmet. Then the Captain rested his head on Aidan’s lap.

Aidan looked toward the castle. The main gate was blasted, and it seemed the main wall and the battlements were bulging inward as if it would collapse upon itself. And everything, everything burned: the towers, the parapets, the keep. It all burned. Fire reached up from the moat like a molten beast, clawing, escaping from cracks in the earth.

From the moat for fifty yards nothing moved upon the road. Blackened, twisted Glimpse forms lay heaped and tangled, smoldering. Closer to Aidan, soldiers, mortally wounded, some in the dark livery of Paragory, a few others in blue and gold, lay groaning, gasping for air.

There was still the rumor of battle behind Aidan—the ring of swords, the cries of victory and defeat—but it seemed so far away.

Aidan blinked back tears. He was alive, but it didn’t matter. He had lost Gwenne, the Castle of Mithegard was in flames, and Captain Valithor lay dying in his arms.