About The Silver Knight
by Kate Cotoner
66 pages / 15600 words
ISBN: 978-1-61040-096-1
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As the Prince Bishop's chief summoner, Sufyan is accustomed to dealing with dangerous men. When he hears tales of a wild blood-fiend and the solitary silver knight who does battle with the monster each year, Sufyan decides there's more to the situation than meets the eye. Suspecting trickery, he investigates the haunted church and meets the silver knight, Everard de Montparnasse.
Everard has been battling the blood-fiend for years. He's startled when Sufyan offers to help, and together the two men manage to drive back the horrifying monster for one night. But Everard knows the blood-fiend will strike again. He doesn't want to lose Sufyan -- but the secret Everard is hiding could mean the death of them both.
Sample
The silver knight got to his feet. Upright, he stood only a few inches shorter than Sufyan. The knight tilted back his head to continue looking at him. Sufyan stared at the line of his throat and imagined how it would feel to kiss such pale skin.
"Ah," said the knight, breaking the silence between them, "I saw you on the road today. You are the summoner. And a Saracen, too, if I am not mistaken."
He spoke English, his accent touched with the lilt of Norman French. His voice was soft, like velvet nap, and Sufyan found himself leaning forward to hear more of it. "You have me at an advantage, my lord," he prompted, "for I do not know you or your name."
The knight lowered his eyes and a small smile touched his lips. "My name is Everard de Montparnasse." He bent to pick up his helm, which he tucked under his arm, and then he walked toward the font.
Sufyan trailed after him. "Why were you following me?"
Everard gave him a coquettish glance over his shoulder. "You think too highly of yourself, summoner. I was not following you. Our paths led in the same direction. I take it you have heard of the blood-fiend that haunts this place?" Delicate winged brows lifted as he posed the question, but he did not wait for an answer. "It is my duty to destroy the fiend. Each year, it rises again; each year, I do battle with it."
They stood on either side of the font, eyeing one another across the wooden lid. Everard set his helm on top of the font. Sufyan dragged his gaze from the knight's beautiful face and looked instead at the helm. An old-fashioned thing, its visor was a slit rather than the contemporary design that reminded him of oiled traps closed together. It had no plumes or decoration save for scratches and dents where swords and clubs had battered the metal. The armor belonged to the First Crusade, if Sufyan was any judge. Everard's grandfather could well have worn this in Syria.
"You can't be a very good knight if the fiend crawls out of its tomb time and again," Sufyan said, returning his attention to their conversation. "You should kill it properly, not let it retreat to its lair to revive the next year."
Everard smiled. "Ah, but how does one kill what is already dead?"
"One exhumes the body and makes certain it cannot rise again."
Beneath the lamplight, Everard's pale face seemed to go whiter still. He reached across the font to grasp Sufyan's sleeve. "You know about such things?"
Sufyan felt a jolt of awareness at the touch. By God, he was thinking with the wrong head! If he weren't careful, his desire would get him killed. He looked away from Everard's beguiling face and scanned the interior of the church, half-expecting a gang of ruffians to leap out at him from behind the pillars.
When he felt certain they were still alone, he replied, "I have heard stories of revenants in the Greek isles and of the restless dead in the kingdom of Hungary. How strange it is that these blood-fiends seem to develop only from the corpses of Christians. You are a heathen people."
"And you are uttering blasphemies in the House of God."
Sufyan smiled. "But I know how to rid this parish of its menace, and I have the seal of the Prince Bishop to approve the deed. You need me more than I need you, Everard de Montparnasse."