Chapter 1

Jarryd’s mother was arguing with the shopkeeper, a little man with a round head dotted with random tufts of gray hair.

“All the color washed out of this ribbon the first time I washed it. Look at it. It’s practically gray. Who wants to wear a gray ribbon in their hair?”

The little man crossed his arms and shook his head vigorously. “I’m not responsible for whatever you did after you bought the ribbon.”

“Are you saying this is my fault?” she said, her voice rising.

Jarryd flinched. He was only five, but he’d long ago learned that when his mother got that sound in her voice, it meant he should stop what he was doing if he didn’t want to get into trouble.

Unfortunately, the shop keeper didn’t seem to understand.

“It’s surely not my fault,” he said stubbornly. “All my products are the highest quality.”

“Maybe you don’t know what quality means,” she retorted.

The little man leaned forward, putting his hands on the counter. “I’ve been in this business for thirty years and I…”

The shop keeper continued, but Jarryd was no longer hearing his words. What he was hearing was the man’s growing anger.

His mother replied, her voice getting a little louder, but by then the words were all background noise. He was hearing her anger as it rose too.

Jarryd took a step back. He didn’t like being around people when they were fighting. It wasn’t the shouting that bothered him. He’d learned that people could fight without ever getting loud. It was the bad feeling in his stomach that he didn’t like.

The fighting was getting worse. He took another step back, then another. He bumped into the front wall of the shop. He turned around and saw that the door was open.

He glanced back. His mother wasn’t paying any attention to him. She was too busy fighting.

On impulse, he walked out the door.

It was a gray autumn morning, a slow drizzle falling from steel-gray clouds. The rain pressed the fallen leaves that dotted the village street into the mud. The few people out and about were hurrying about their business, collars turned up against the damp.

He looked back again. Still his mother didn’t notice.

He took a couple of steps down the street. There was a candle shop next door. He liked when his mother took him there. The candles smelled like flowers and honey.

He walked closer, thinking about going inside. Mother probably wouldn’t mind. He’d been there lots of times. But as he put his hand on the knob, something drew his attention and he turned.

Something was happening. He couldn’t see what it was, but he could feel it. It seemed to be coming from the center of the village.

He frowned as he concentrated on it. There was a low babble of voices, but that wasn’t what he was concentrating on. It was something else, something deeper. A bunch of people were over there, and they were excited and upset about something.

Normally, he wouldn’t have gone any closer, but there was something different about this, something he’d never encountered before. It was like electricity in the air. It made his skin tingle.

It made him curious.

With one more look at the shop where his mother was, he started down the street.

He passed the shop that sold clay pots and another he’d never been in. Then there were a couple of homes. The first one had missing roof shingles and a front door that sagged so badly that it didn’t close right. That one belonged to old man Potter. Jarryd didn’t like him. Old man Potter always had a sour look on his face and there were feelings coming off him that made Jarryd want to run away.

The next home had a big garden in front, though the garden had mostly been harvested already, only a few pumpkins on withered vines remaining. The woman who lived there always smiled at him. He liked her, even though he could feel that there was a lot of sadness behind her smile.

Neither of them came out as he passed by. The street took a sharp turn then. He paused at the corner for a last look back. He could still run back to Mother. He was going to get into trouble. She might even take away his favorite toy, a figure his father had carved for him from wood. His father was really good at carving. The figure was wearing armor and had a sword strapped to his hip. Jarryd played with it endlessly, sending the man out to rescue princesses from bandits and monsters. His father said if he was good, he’d carve a horse for him too.

But the strange energy coming from the center of the village was pulling at him. He really wanted to know what was going on. What was making people feel like that?

There was no way to know unless he went and saw for himself.

Once around the corner, he started hurrying. Maybe he could make it back before his mother realized he was gone. The street narrowed and curved sharply. He didn’t see any people on it. A dog rushed out from behind a house and barked at him, but it was behind a tall fence, so Jarryd didn’t worry about it. Besides, he liked dogs.

It didn’t take long to get to the main square in the middle of the village. There were a lot of people there, almost as many as on market day. Some he recognized, like old man Potter, leaning on his knobby cane, but there were also plenty of others he didn’t, people who’d probably come from outlying farms or nearby villages.

They were clustered around Rector Freckus, the priest of Creekside’s only temple. The Rector was standing on the steps of the temple, his upper body visible above the crowd.

Jarryd came to a dead stop when he saw the Rector. He didn’t like the man at all. He knew he was supposed to—Rector Freckus was the mortal voice of the god Vidon after all—but he couldn’t help himself. The Rector frightened him. The feelings coming off him were dark and tangled. Whenever Jarryd got too close to him, he had to squeeze his eyes shut and try very hard to keep those feelings from touching him.

Every week he went with his parents to the temple to worship and he dreaded it every time. The things the Rector said about what Vidon did to those who sinned gave him nightmares.

But, although a little voice inside his head was saying that he should run back to Mother, he couldn’t seem to move. He felt trapped somehow, like when bugs got caught in sap on the pine trees.

“Let this be a warning to all of you,” Rector Freckus said, pointing a long, bony finger at the people crowded around them. His skin was sallow, his nose so large it was almost a beak. His white hair hung to his shoulders. He was wearing his official attire, an ankle-length black robe cinched at his waist with a piece of frayed rope. Perched on his head was a tall, pointed hat and around his neck hung the symbol of his god, a thorny branch cast in crude iron.

“When you let evil into your hearts, Vidon sees. And what Vidon sees, he punishes.” He glared at the people gathered around, challenging them to defy him. None did. Heads were lowered and sidelong looks were exchanged.

Satisfied that his audience was properly cowed, the Rector turned his head to the side and motioned. “Bring the wicked forth!” he boomed. “Let him meet his punishment.”

The temple door swung open and three men emerged. The one in the front had big eyes and was shaking. His hands were bound behind his back and the two men behind him were gripping his upper arms.

Jarryd recognized the man right away. His name was Barney. Barney helped out on his parents’ farm sometimes during harvest season, when they needed the extra hands. He worked for other farmers too and did odd jobs around the village. Jarryd liked Barney. Mostly good feelings came from Barney, who always had a big, gap-toothed smile for him. And Barney was more than happy to put Jarryd up on his shoulders and pretend to be his horse. It was more fun riding Barney than the only horse Jarryd’s family owned, an old, sway-backed nag with only two speeds, plod and stop.

Jarryd frowned. What were they doing to Barney? Why was the Rector mad at him? Barney never hurt anyone. He felt a shiver of fear and looked over his shoulder, hoping to see his mother there, come to take him away. The energy swirling around the crowd was changing, getting darker. Something bad was going to happen, he just knew it. And he didn’t want to be here when it did.

But there was no sign of his mother. There was no one to take him away. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the scene unfolding before them. No one noticed the small boy standing at the back.

“Please, Rector Freckus,” Barney said as the men pushed him up beside the Rector, “I didn’t do nothing. I’m a good sheep, you know that.” The Rector called the residents of Creekside his sheep. He treated them like it as well, telling them regularly that without his harsh guidance, they would surely fall to the wolves that waited for all who strayed from the narrow path of righteousness.

The Rector fixed him with a hard look, fierce enough that Barney, who’d been about to say something else, shut his mouth suddenly.

“Do you deny that you see demons?” Freckus said, thrusting his bony chin at the man.

Barney withered under his glare. “They…they aren’t demons.” His voice was childlike and pleading, but it had no effect on Freckus, whose glare only deepened.

“Don’t make it worse for yourself,” the Rector said. “Your only hope now is confession.”

Barney looked to the crowd for help but saw none there. He lowered his head. “I…I see things, it’s true. But I don’t think it’s demons…”

“You don’t think.” The Rector’s voice was laden with scorn. “And what would you know? Are you a rector, chosen by Vidon to guide the sheep of the world?” He didn’t wait for Barney to reply but continued ruthlessly. “No, you’re not. You’re only a man, and a simple one at that.”

Barney’s lip quivered. He looked like a dog waiting to be beaten by his master.

The Rector turned to the waiting crowd. His voice dropped to an ominous growl. “What does Vidon say awaits those who consort with demons?”

With one voice, the crowd responded, a single word: “Damnation.”

Jarryd very nearly cried out as the energy in the air suddenly took on a ravenous feel.

“Damnation!” the Rector thundered, shaking his fist, his white hair waving.

“No!” Barney wailed. “It’s not like that. I’m a good man.”

The Rector ignored him. His focus was on the crowd. More than ever Jarryd wanted to run away. But he couldn’t. He was rooted to the spot. Something very bad was coming, and there was no escape.

“And what does the Iron God tell us to do with the damned?” Freckus said.

A roar came from the crowd. Mixed into the roar were two words, repeated over and over: “Burn him! Burn him! Burn him!”

Jarryd did cry out then, but his small, thin voice was lost in the roar of the crowd. He could almost see the mob’s madness, like a black wraith that swirled around them.

Barney turned white. He tried to run, but the men flanking him clamped down on his arms with fanatic strength and he got nowhere.

Without another word, the Rector strode off the steps of the temple. The crowd parted for him, the chant dying away. The men dragged Barney after him. Barney had ceased struggling. Tears streamed down his broad face.

Still frozen in place, Jarryd turned his head to follow the Rector’s progress and saw what he’d missed before. A wooden stake, driven into the ground, a large quantity of wood piled nearby.

Barney was lashed to the stake as people surged forward and began piling the wood around him. He didn’t resist. His lips moved, but Jarryd could not hear what he said.

Quickly the task was completed. The townspeople moved back, leaving Barney alone. The Rector strode forward.

“Last chance to confess,” he hissed.

“I…I didn’t…”

“Then you are surely damned.”

Barney looked around, seeking help from the onlookers. “Barrin,” he called out to a stout-looking man wearing a blacksmith’s long, leather apron, “you know me! You know I don’t have no truck with demons.”

The blacksmith turned his face away.

Next Barney’s pleading look fell on a stout woman with curly black hair and round shoulders. She wore a thick, homespun dress that reached to the ground and a bonnet.

“Orta!” he cried. “You know me! I helped you fix the fence around your garden. You know I wouldn’t have nothing to do with demons.”

Orta flinched as if struck, then turned her face away as well.

“What I see in my visions isn’t demons,” Barney said, looking at the Rector. The tears were wetting his tunic. “I can’t help it. Please!”

“It is far too late for mercy,” the Rector said, pointing at him. “For your evil you shall suffer eternal damnation.” He turned to a man holding a lit torch.

“Burn him.”

The torch was thrown onto the wood, which caught quickly, the flames spreading greedily. Smoke crept upward.

“I’m a good man!” Barney wailed. “I don’t—”

The flames reached him then and his words cut off, replaced by a scream of pain. He fought wildly, but the ropes holding him were secure, the stake anchored deeply into the ground. His trousers blackened, then began to burn.

Wild animal screams came from Barney as the flames reached ever higher. But Jarryd no longer heard. He was on the ground, thrashing, screaming. For it felt as if it was his own flesh burning, the skin blackening and splitting.

The flames crackled and spat. Barney’s shirt was in flames, tongues of fire sprouting in his hair.

“Help meeee!” Barney howled.

Somehow Jarryd made it to his feet. Still wailing, his eyes blurred with tears, he ran blindly from the square.

Then suddenly Jarryd’s mother was there. She swept him up in her arms and carried him away from the horror.

But Jarryd knew that no matter how far she took him, he would never be completely free of it.

Chapter 2

Jarryd lay in his bed that night, unable to sleep. Over and over he relived the horrible scene. Screams, both his and Barney’s, echoed through his mind. He felt the flames climbing over his body, smelled his own hair burning. The smell lingered in his nostrils, drawn in with every breath. He knew he would never erase it from his memory.

But worst of all was knowing he ran away.

Even as young as he was, Jarryd knew he couldn’t have stopped what happened. He couldn’t have saved Barney.

But he shouldn’t have run. He shouldn’t have left his friend to die alone. He felt a terrible sense of guilt and shame.

He could hear his parents in the next room, talking about him. He couldn’t make out the words, but he didn’t need to. Their fear and worry were like a thick, choking fog that he couldn’t get away from.

They’d been that way all day. They tried to hide it from him, but it didn’t matter. Their fear fed his own, for in his mind they knew everything, and if they were afraid, then something must be terribly wrong.

Jarryd rolled onto his side, drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his pillow. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying futilely to drive back all the bad feelings.

At some point exhaustion took over and he drifted off to a troubled sleep.

As he slept, he dreamed.

He looked down on a gaping hole in the earth. But this was no ordinary hole. It was a rip in the fabric of reality, an opening into a place of chaos and darkness. The hole was on the shore of an unknown sea. To the side were thick, lush trees and undergrowth. Purple flames lined the circumference of the hole.

Then, from out of the blackness, something emerged.

It was huge and black and scaled. Clawed toes longer than Jarryd was tall grasped the edge of the rip, flexed, and began drawing the monstrous thing upward.

A head bigger than any home in Creekside rose from the rip. Its teeth were long and curved, its mouth large enough to effortlessly swallow a horse whole. The eyes were cruel yellow, inhuman pools of madness that drew him in, threatening to swallow him as well.

The rest of the creature emerged. Wings unfurled from its back, massive sheets of leathery membrane that blotted out the sky.

A dragon.

Behind the dragon, hordes of smaller monstrous things, all gaping teeth and slashing claws, climbed from the rip as well, swarming out onto the sand.

The dragon’s mouth gaped wide and indigo fire spat and crackled from it, a wave of chaos and destruction that swept away everything before it.

╬             ╬             ╬

Jarryd sat up in bed gasping, a cry on his lips, his heart pounding. He looked around wildly. There was nothing there. The house was dark and silent.

Footsteps sounded and moments later his door swung open. His mother hurried into the room, carrying a candle. She sat down on his bed next to him and pulled him into a fierce embrace.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she murmured, her voice husky.

She let him go and looked into his eyes. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

He opened his mouth to tell her, then stopped as he realized something.

He’d seen demons.

He knew then that he couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t ever tell anyone. If people found out, he’d end up like Barney.

“Nothing,” he mumbled. “I had a bad dream.” It hurt to say the words. He never lied to his parents. He knew lying was wrong. It was something bad people did.

But he had no choice.

His father came into the room and put his hand on Jarryd’s head. “It’s no wonder, after what you’ve been through. You’ll be all right. It just takes time.”

Jarryd looked up at him and nodded. “Okay.” Then he looked away.

That was a lie too.

He wasn’t all right. He never would be again.

Chapter 3

Teeran, Jarryd’s father, was leaving the blacksmith’s shop where he’d gone to pick up a new buckle for the horse’s harness when he saw the boxy wagon rolling into town. It wasn’t an ordinary wagon. It was painted bright red, with yellow wheels and trim. On the side in tall letters it said Tinker Theo’s Treasures.

The wagon rolled into the shade of a large elm tree at the edge of the village and came to a stop. The man who climbed down from the seat was short and compact, with a bushy white beard and sharp eyes. He wore a tall hat with a tiny brim, and a black coat with silver buttons. Around his neck was a long scarf that had probably once been yellow but was now badly faded.

Teeran walked up as the man was opening the doors built into the side of the wagon. Behind the doors were numerous shelves and cubby holes of various sizes, all of them containing some small treasure: carved figurines, polished crystals, small, wooden boxes with intricate designs painted on the sides.

“Welcome to Creekside, Theo,” Teeran said.

Theo turned, a smile crinkling his face. He’d been coming to Creekside since long before Teeran had moved there with his wife and infant son nearly five years before. He showed up several times a year as he crisscrossed the region, selling a mix of the unusual and necessary household items.

“Teeran,” Theo said, extending his hand. “It’s good to see you again.” One of Theo’s skills was remembering everyone’s name, not an easy task considering how many villages and hamlets he visited during the course of a normal year.

They shook hands and Theo returned to setting up his wagon for business. He took down a table that was strapped to the back of the wagon and set it up, then began taking objects from the wagon and setting them out on display.

“Is there anything in particular that you’re looking for, Teeran?” Theo asked. “Maybe something pretty for your wife?”

“No. Nothing for her. But I might get something for my son.”

Theo turned around, his hands full of hair pins and combs, which he set out on the table. He looked around. “Where is young Jarryd? I thought he always tagged along with you when you came into town. He’s not sick, is he?”

“No, he’s not sick. Not in the usual sense, anyway. I asked him if he wanted to come with me, but he said no.”

Theo set out a small music box and tilted his head to the side. “Jarryd passing up a chance to come into town? That doesn’t sound like him at all.”

Teeran sighed. “It’s not.”

Theo’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“There was an…incident. He saw something he shouldn’t have.” Teeran felt reluctant to talk about it. He’d truly liked Barney. The man had been simple, sure, but he’d always been kind to Jarryd, and he could be counted on to put in a hard day’s work when he was hired. He always did it with a smile on his face, too. “Since then, Jarryd has been staying in his room a lot. He doesn’t go outside. He barely eats. I was thinking that maybe if I bought him a gift, it would help him pull out of it.”

Theo nodded, concern marking his face. “I’m sure I have something that would help. Hold on.”

He turned to the wagon and opened a small drawer. From it he took two lead figurines. “How about these toy soldiers?” he asked, setting them on the table. The soldiers held swords and seemed to be on the verge of charging into battle.

Teeran looked them over, then shook his head. “I don’t know. After what he saw, maybe it shouldn’t be something violent.”

Theo turned the crank on the side of the music box and a peppy tune played. “Does he like music?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think that’s it either.” Teeran’s gaze roamed the shelves and cubby holes in the side of the wagon. He noticed a slim, clothbound book standing on one of the shelves. What he could see of the title caught his attention. He pointed. “Can I see that?”

“Sure, but I don’t think it’s something your son will like.” Theo laid the book on the table. The Code of the Dragonwatch Knights it said on the cover. Under that was a drawing of crossed swords.

For a moment, Teeran simply stared down at the book, a mix of conflicting emotions washing over him. Seeing it dredged up old memories, along with secrets he’d never shared, not even with his wife. Especially not his wife. It was as if this one book was a doorway back to a whole part of his life he’d put behind him. Buying this could open something he’d thought closed forever. Probably he should tell Theo to put it back. Probably he should buy the boy the soldiers or some other toy that would distract him.

But instead, for reasons he couldn’t quite have expressed, he picked it up.

“How much is it?”

╬             ╬             ╬

Later, at home, he showed the book to Hennah, his wife. She was outside the farmhouse hanging up some clothes to dry.

“Is that a good idea?” she said in a low voice, looking around to make sure no one was nearby, even though they were alone on the farm, the only other person there Jarryd, who was still in his room. “You don’t think it will raise suspicions?”

“I don’t know,” Teeran said.

“It’s probably okay,” she said. She had her arms crossed and was rubbing her upper arms, something she did when she was nervous. Which was quite often. “It’s been five years. There’s no reason for him to still be looking for us. If he ever was. What do we matter anyway?” She looked at her husband with her soft eyes, imploring him to soothe her fears.

Teeran glanced away, the secrets crowding around again. Maybe he should have told her. Maybe he should tell her now.

But he knew how she would react. Hennah was a good, loving wife and mother, but she worried. She could tie herself in knots for days over the littlest thing.

He couldn’t tell her. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“We don’t matter,” he said. “He isn’t looking for us.”

Her eyes went to the book. “Maybe it will help. I don’t know what else to do. I’m frightened.”

“I’ll go talk to him.” Teeran entered the farmhouse.

It was a good, solidly-built home of split logs, consisting of three rooms since they’d added on bedrooms. Much better than the abandoned shack they’d lived in when they first moved to Creekside, while Jarryd was still a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths. They might not have survived that first winter if the other farmers hadn’t come together and helped them build this place. They were good people here, the kind who looked out for each other and lent a hand when it was needed.

Which made what had happened to Barney that much harder to deal with. How they could have gone along with such an atrocity bothered Teeran deeply. Some of those who’d been present as Barney was burned were from distant communities, but most were from right here. Like Barrin, the town blacksmith. He was a good man, hot tempered for sure, but generally friendly and helpful. He’d extended credit more than once to Teeran when he didn’t have the coin to pay for a tool or repair he needed. How could Barrin have participated in such an act? And he wasn’t the only one that Teeran knew who had. It was like a curtain had been pulled aside, revealing a dark, ugly side to the community that Teeran had never dreamed existed. He’d thought they’d left such ugliness behind forever when they fled here. Finding out it was here all along was shattering.

It was the Rector’s doing. That was what Teeran tried to tell himself. He’d had a bad feeling about the man ever since he arrived in the village nearly three years before, moving into the empty temple and converting it to Vidon, the god of justice and retribution. There was something dark and a little disturbing about the man. Both Teeran and Hennah hated going to the services he conducted, but they missed them only rarely. It was important to fit into the community, he’d told his wife more than once. And since nearly everyone in and around Creekside went to Vidon’s temple every week on Rest Day, their family should as well.

What went unsaid was the fear that if they didn’t go, Rector Freckus would turn his hot gaze on them. If that happened, they might have to flee here as well. Teeran didn’t think he could go through that again. He was sure his wife couldn’t.

Teeran tapped on his son’s door. When there was no answer, he opened it and went in.

The room was dim, the only light coming through the closed shutters. Jarryd was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“I got something for you,” Teeran said.

Jarryd didn’t respond.

Teeran opened the shutters to let some light in, noticing how Jarryd winced as he did so. The sight of it cut clear to Teeran’s heart. He walked over to the bed and held out the book. Jarryd ignored it.

“It’s a book about the Knights’ Code.” Teeran said, sitting down on the side of the bed. It was painful to see how haggard his son looked. How long had it been since he slept?

For the first time, Jarryd responded. His eyes flicked to the book.

“Knights?” he asked.

“The Dragonwatch Knights,” Teeran said.

“I never heard of them.”

“Maybe it’s time you did. Would you like that?”

“Maybe.”

“The Dragonwatch Knights were formed long, long ago by the gods Mymos and Ulena, also known as the Lord and Lady.”

Jarryd perked up a little. “There’s other gods than Vidon?”

“Lots of them.”

“Are they like Vidon?” The boy sounded fearful.

“Not at all. They want to help people. That’s why they started the Knights. You see, there was a great danger threatening the world. For the Dragon Queen of Chaos had once again awakened and was trying to escape her prison.”

“There’s a Dragon Queen?” Jarryd’s little eyes grew very round.

“Not anymore. The Lord and Lady found ten great champions. To those champions they gave their power and they named them the Dragonwatch Knights. The Knights were very powerful. They were stronger than other people. They could run faster and jump higher. Their swords could cut through stone. Fire came from their hands.”

“What did they do?”

“They fought the evil Queen. They used the power given to them by the gods to drive the Queen back into her prison for all time.”

Jarryd’s mouth formed an O as he thought about this. Then he asked, “Where are the Knights now?”

“They’re gone,” Teeran said, feeling a great sadness at speaking the words. It had been five years now since the Order was destroyed by one of their own.

“So there’s no one left to fight the dragon,” Jarryd said sadly.

“No one needs to. I told you, the Knights already defeated her. They drove her and all her demons back into the Abyss.”

“Oh.” The little boy didn’t look convinced.

“We still have the Code,” Teeran said.

“What’s the Code?” Jarryd asked.

“It’s like a set of rules,” Teeran replied. “Well, maybe rules isn’t the right word. It’s a guide, something to help the Knights navigate through life. A way for them to stay good and use their power wisely.”

Jarryd sat up, several emotions mixed on his face. “The Knights followed the Code so they could stay good? So they could fight demons?”

Teeran nodded. “The early Knights knew how hard it was to make it in the world without losing their way. The Code was meant to help them stay on the true path so that they could serve the Lord and the Lady as they were sworn to do.”

“Read it to me,” Jarryd said.

“I will,” Teeran said. “Later. I have to—”

“Now. Please?”

Jarryd gave him a pleading look and Teeran knew he couldn’t refuse him. There was still some winter squash that needed harvesting, but he couldn’t find it in him to say no to his son. Especially not now. He opened the slim volume, tilting the book so it would catch the light, and began to read.

“A Knight holds fast to the righteous way.

“A Knight is a bulwark against the forces of evil…”

╬             ╬             ╬

After his father finished reading the Code, he put the book on the table beside Jarryd’s bed and left the room. As soon as the door had closed behind him, Jarryd got out of bed and knelt on the floor. He clasped the Code in his hands and bowed his head like he’d been taught to do at the temple.

He was still frightened and confused, but now he had hope.

With the power of the Lord and Lady, the Knights drove away the Dragon Queen, surely the same dragon he’d seen in his nightmare. Maybe, if he was good, if he tried very hard, the Lord and Lady would keep him safe from the Queen and her demons. Maybe he would be saved.

 “A Knight holds fast to the righteous way,” he whispered. “A Knight is a bulwark against the forces of evil.” He couldn’t remember any more of the Code, and he didn’t know what some of the words meant, but he repeated those two lines over and over again, clinging to them as if he were drowning.