The Knightpunk Code Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Newsletter

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  About the author

  Books by Kory Shen

  THE

  KNIGHTPUNK

  CODE

  KORY SHEN

  The Knightpunk Code is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 Kory Shen

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  I am releasing this book at a discount for a short period. If you want to find out when I have discounted launches, sales, or other updates, please sign up for my mailing list at https://www.koryshen.com

  CHAPTER 1

  The bank's bronze bell clanged in the distance, its warning cry drawing Knight Sentinels from all directions. I scanned the street, spotting the sunlight reflecting off the closest armored guard as he approached from the east.

  A lean teenager with a cloth mask over his lower face came bounding up to me from the opposite direction. He carried a large sack over his shoulder, filled with whatever Boss Vimm's man had swindled from an unlucky bank teller minutes before. The aged actor would have vanished into the crowd after playing his part.

  Ollie, the delivery boy, crouched beside me.

  "Jakson! I've got the loot." He followed my gaze to the incoming knight. "A Sentinel!"

  "Pipe down," I spared the younger boy a glance. He clenched the edges of his burlap sack in a white-fisted grip, eyes wide, breathing rapid and shallow. First-time runner. I held back a chuckle. "And no calling out names."

  He nodded.

  "Just like the drills. Focus." The lumbering Sentinel was close enough to make out the insignia of a golden lion painted on his chest. I pulled a small pouch made of thin paper gingerly out of my pocket, jiggling it to loosen the contents. "One Blind Whore special, coming right up."

  "Blind Whore?" The younger boy blushed.

  "Watch. And stay close."

  I had mapped the Sentinel routes myself. This was the safest path, ending up right next to the Central Market, where a certain pie vendor was waiting with her covered wagon. We'd only have to beat a single Sentinel.

  Piece of cake.

  The Sentinel neared the kill zone. I could make out his armor clearly now. Power Gauntlets. Zeal Helm. The usual. I checked his feet and almost laughed. Siege Boots? Who the hell wore Siege Boots on a city patrol?

  For a split-second, I frowned. If he triggered his Siege Stance, he'd be immune to our tricks. But his limited mobility would make him a non-factor. No, we were fine either way.

  I raised my hand in a fist. Lars and Tavi would see me from their hidden positions.

  "Go!" I yelled, dashing straight towards the oncoming Sentinel.

  The knight's pace didn't slow, but a slight shift of his helmet indicated that he had seen me. No self-respecting Sentinel would deign to acknowledge an eighteen-year-old street kid in rags until it was too late. I had been counting on it.

  Three things happened at once, in a perfect display of coordination by my crew.

  A glob of sticky filth smacked the front of the Sentinel's Zeal Helm.

  Slick brown oil spilled onto the ground just ahead of the running knight.

  A chain link stretched taut across the street.

  I was three paces away as a couple hundred pounds of the king's finest went down with a satisfying crash.

  "See?" I called out to Ollie. "Blind, and tossed on his back as fast as a whore."

  I leaped over the slippery oil, landing on the knight himself. In an instant, I shoved the paper pouch into his helmet roughly, feeling it tear. Minced Elonian peppers. A delicious seasoning, an even better way to make grown men cry.

  I was already past the knight, with Ollie right behind me. The Sentinel screamed and thrashed as we raced off side-by-side down the clear street.

  "And hear that?" I grinned at the other teenager. "A gentleman always lets the ladies finish first."

  He blushed again.

  * * *

  I lounged in the chair, my feet on Boss Vimm's desk, as I bit into a ripe, red apple.

  Vimm, a rough man with graying temples, scowled from his seat across from me. "If anyone else had the nerve to put his feet on my things like that, I'd be carving him into a mirror image of myself." He thumped his club foot on the ground.

  "If anyone else had the nerve, you wouldn't need me to run interference. Although I admit I am jealous of your dashing good looks."

  "Cheeky fucker. When I grew up, kids respected their elders."

  "When you grew up, Yora Almighty was still shitting fresh mountains and pissing out the seas."

  Vimm pointed a thick finger at me. "Now don't be taking the Holy Wench's name in vain." He laughed.

  I finished the apple, core and all, spitting out the seeds into my palm. Vimm watched as I carefully tucked the seeds into an inner pouch. We might be ruffians, but Vimm had raised me to be a civilized ruffian. I lowered my legs and sat up.

  "So, the gig was good?"

  Vimm nodded. He rummaged beneath his desk, then tossed a tied bag of coins at me. "Your take."

  I caught the bag, hefted its considerable weight in my palm, then tossed it back to Vimm. He raised an eyebrow.

  "Give my share to Tavi. His sister…"

  "The best healers in Evercrown are looking at her. There's nothing more we can do."

  I looked away. "I want him to have it anyway."

  "We're family here. I'm already doing everything I can." He pushed the bag of gold back to me. "Here. I know you're saving up for a proper suit of armor."

  I looked back at Vimm. "No. This is for Tavi. But don't tell him it was from me."

  "Can't have them knowing big Jakson's gone soft, eh?" Vimm shrugged, then took back the payment. "What about your grand plans? Buying armor, winning the Melee?"

  Now, I raised an eyebrow. "A kid's dream. No way I can save up enough for a suit. I can do math."

  Vimm looked oddly concerned. "You mean you're giving up?"

  Did he think I was going to jump ship on him? Ha. I didn't mind letting him stew for a bit. "I'm eighteen. It's time to grow up. I might even find a proper position."

  Vimm nodded slowly. "I see."

  "Anyway, I have a new plan."

  "Oh?" Vimm leaned back in his chair. "What's your new plan?"

  "I don't need
to buy armor. I'm going to get a rich mistress to buy it for me."

  Vimm stared at me. Then, he laughed. "That's my Jakson. You have grown up, haven't you?" He leaned forward with a glimmer in his eyes. "So, who's the lucky gal? Got anyone in your sights?"

  "I haven't met her yet. But I'll know her when I see her."

  "How's that?"

  "By the size of her…jewelry." I made an indecent gesture with my hands.

  Vimm snorted. "Don't be causing too much trouble with the noble ladies. Their husbands can be downright vindictive. Bad for business, I tell you, bad for business." He had the look of a man gazing into a prickly past. "And keep your hands off any rogue Sentinel armor. Even I don't dare mix with that."

  "Yeah, yeah." I got up to leave, but Vimm coughed once. I turned back to find a serious expression on his face.

  "Jakson. You know you're my boy, right?"

  To anyone else, that would have been a threat, a claim of ownership. But me and Vimm were different. He had always taken care of me, starting back from when I had needed him most. I knew what he meant.

  "Boss." I opened my mouth in mock outrage. "If I marry some wealthy bird, you'll have best seat at the wedding feast. Don't you worry, old man."

  Vimm shook his head. "Alright. Get the hell out of here."

  * * *

  Cheap wooden boards were strapped to my limbs and torso. A stuffy, hot box sat on my head.

  I rolled across the ground in a clatter, gritting my teeth as the boards battered my body. Expensive armor had cushioning, but I wasn't training to be some soft noble who only pulled out his suit for its looks.

  I rose to my feet and delivered a series of rapid punches at a bale of hay. I didn't have Power Gauntlets, just a pair of small boards strapped flat against my knuckles. My hands were used to the punching by now, but the first few weeks had left me with raw, bleeding fists.

  I paused to peek at my handiwork from between the narrow slits in my makeshift helmet. The now lumpy bale of hay had taken a thorough beating.

  I moved to my next training station. A series of wooden poles jutted out from the wall. I took a brush and a bucket of black tar from the corner of the old barn and painted the poles. The wooden boards clacked heavily as I worked. That was part of the training, becoming one with the armor.

  Once finished, I set the bucket back in the corner and stepped in front of the poles coated in glistening tar.

  I raced forward, contorting my body to twist past the tar-covered poles, striking the far wall once, then retreating. A poleaxe here, a halberd there. I dodged and weaved in an imaginary battle until I had vanquished the enemy.

  Sweat streamed down my face as I removed the box. I checked myself. A smear of black on my right thigh. Another across my left shoulder. Two marks. Better, but not good enough.

  "You look gross!" a pubescent voice creaked at me.

  A couple of the kids were watching me from the barn's entrance. I ran towards them and flicked my wet face in their direction.

  "Nasty!"

  "The fuck!"

  I glared at the three of them, Tavi, Lars, and Ollie. Three dirt-stained gutter rats. "Where'd you kids learn to speak like that?"

  Lars, a tall, gangly youth with brown hair, responded with two middle fingers.

  I nodded at the newest kid, Ollie, as I removed my training boards. "You did good today."

  Ollie gave a curt bow, his tangled shoulder-length hair briefly covering his face. He pointed at the wooden boards. "What's all that for?"

  "He's going to be a knight," Tavi said. Tavi was the oldest, just two years below me, but also the shortest. "A King's Champion."

  Ollie gave me a skeptical look. "Really?"

  "I'm just practicing. To beat a knight, you have to understand them inside out."

  Lars rolled his eyes. "Come on, we're going out to celebrate. Want to join us?"

  The others looked at me eagerly. "What do you have in mind?" Unfortunately, I had a guess what they wanted.

  "The Champions are putting on an exhibition—"

  "Nope, not interested." I continued putting away my training boards.

  "I heard the prince will be there. The First Champion," Ollie said in a reverent tone.

  "Fuck the prince!" I yelled, throwing a board across the barn. I glanced back at the others, embarrassed by my outburst.

  "He doesn't know," Tavi mumbled.

  "Know what?" Ollie asked. "That he's the prince's half-brother? I know that."

  "No," Lars said. "That he hates the prince's bloody guts."

  I flicked Lars lightly in the ear. "Quiet! Are you trying to get me hanged?" The three boys looked glumly at their feet. Tavi sniffled, his sad puppy eyes turning red. Aw, hell. "Fine, I'll go."

  All three boys looked up with bright smiles, replying in unison. "You will?"

  I smiled back. "Sure. But next time, you had better run a proper job, or I'll be beating each of your asses until you get it right."

  They looked at me with confused expressions. I sighed. Those kids knew exactly what they had been trying to do. I shook my head, trying to hold back the proud grin of an older brother.

  "Listen up. It was a good try at a Heartstring Harry, but you made a crucial mistake." I pointed at Tavi. "Sixteen-year-olds, especially sixteen-year-olds from my motherfucking crew, do not goddamn sniffle."

  "Tavi." Lars shook his head.

  "Rookie," Ollie muttered. I laughed. Yeah, that new Ollie kid was fitting in just fine.

  Tavi held up both hands. "Sorry, guys."

  I wiped my face on a rag. "Let's go watch some knights beat the shit out of each other."

  CHAPTER 2

  The three boys and I arrived at the tournament field on the edge of the city. Hawkers had already set up their wares in preparation for the upcoming Open Melee later that week, and a sizable crowd buzzed throughout. A cluster of tents sat on the far side of the field, with proud flags fluttering on high poles. I spotted the royal emblem, a yellow sun with a red gemstone placed in each of its twelve spokes.

  "Over there!" Lars cried. "The fighting's started already!"

  We headed over to the sound of cheers, grunts, and metal clanging on metal. There he was. Prince Lexley, First Champion and heir to the throne, decked out in the most expensive armor the kingdom could afford.

  He looked good, I had to admit. Or rather his armor did.

  Lexley's armor was a custom forge, not like the run-of-the-mill Sentinels. The ones on street patrol were the lowest of the low, usually geared with generic fare. No, Lexley was a Champion and prince, and he had armor fitting for his position. Black metal with intricate golden accents covered him from head to toe. As he fought, the golden marks would pulse with a soft glow. Even a layman could see that his armor was brimming with power.

  As for armorheads like me, we still didn't know exactly what Lexley's suit could do. He didn't use any stock parts, and there was no reason for him to tell us anything. I'm sure it had all the usual, boosts to strength and speed, resistances, utility spells. The works.

  Ten knights in plain steel armor surrounded him. What a joke. He might as well have been fighting ten grandmothers wielding broomsticks. Ordinary steel didn't have a chance against Sentinel-class armor. Not in a fair fight, anyway.

  The others rushed to the wooden barrier separating the onlookers from the fighters. I followed behind reluctantly but couldn't avoid getting sucked into the match.

  Lexley was skilled, no doubt. He dodged incoming blows with speed and grace, even though none of the plain weapons wielded by his opponents would have even scratched his armor. He ducked, bobbed, and spun, moving like a dancer in his enchanted armor. The crowd roared its approval at his display.

  Eight of the lesser knights used poleaxes, one a spear, and another a mace. Lexley caught a poleaxe in the crook of his arm, rolled into the man, then headbutted the hapless knight with the side of his helm. I winced in sympathy as the figure crumpled to the ground. Lexley flexed his arm, snapping the poleaxe. />
  "Badass!" Ollie cheered as Lexley delivered a kick to the chest of another knight. He wasn't even using a weapon of his own.

  Tavi looked back at me. "What if a Champion shows up on a job? Could you take him, huh?"

  I had wondered this myself many times. Part of me wanted a Champion to show up some day. Want him to show up. But another part of me didn't feel like dying.

  "You know the rules. If one of them shows up, we scram."

  "But could you take him?" Tavi pressed.

  Lexley leaned backward to avoid the incoming swing of a mace, then caught the mace's head in his palm on the return strike. His fist glowed with golden light as he squeezed, crushing the cheap weapon. His opponent stared at the headless mace before throwing the shaft at Lexley. Lexley snatched the wooden shaft out of the air and broke it as well. The crowd roared.

  "Awesome!" Ollie yelled.

  Tavi nudged me, still waiting for his answer.

  Lexley's moves were polished and slick, but he was lazy and pampered. He left openings, took unnecessary risks. He was undisciplined, the kind of fighter who had never faced a true threat. His bad habits were obvious if you knew what to look for. Sloppy footwork, a poor sense of balance.

  "Even if I could, I wouldn't. And if you're smart, you wouldn't either," I said.

  Tavi frowned and turned back to the fight.

  "I heard he's not even the real First Champion," Lars said in a whisper. "The others let him win."

  I frowned. Lexley had managed to turn the truth into mere rumors, but those of us who followed Sentinel business knew what had happened. A fellow Champion had bested Lexley in combat, leaving Lexley with a nasty cut across his right cheek. The next day, the Champion was found dead in his home, his wife and children slaughtered by the sword. A berserker's rage and grief-filled suicide, they had claimed.

  Lexley had no business being First Champion to the king. That title should have gone to Lady Dyann or Sir Hurik. Still, Lexley was a force to be reckoned with. I would have placed him at seventh or eighth among the ten Champions.

  I whacked Lars mildly across the back of his head. "You watch what you say. The prince's men aren't as forgiving as the boss and me."