Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar (Ollanhar Series Book 1) (5 page)

Tenneth Bard bowed his head. “Yes, I surrender.”
He tossed his swords aside. “I am beaten, Dark Watchman.”

Now what?
Lannon thought. How was he supposed to
take this mighty sorcerer a prisoner? This was the best chance he’d ever had to
kill Tenneth Bard and end a great threat to himself and Dremlock Kingdom, and
he was hesitating. He considered just slaying him, but he remembered that
wasn’t the way of a Divine Knight. “Turn around,” Lannon commanded,
“so I may bind your hands.”

Tenneth Bard didn’t move. He was smiling.

Enough of this
, Lannon thought. Sacred Laws or not,
this evil trickster was not going to snare Lannon. Lannon focused his energy
into his blade, preparing to cut off the Black Knight’s head and be done with
him.

Then Lannon heard a hiss from behind him, and a horrible
realization flooded his mind. The ball of light that had been hovering above
the trail—the false and forgotten moon—was hurtling toward Lannon’s back.
Lannon tried to shield himself with the Eye, even as the energy orb struck his
back and exploded, driving him against the tree with shattering force. The huge
oak shook, and acorns fell.

Lannon was momentarily stunned, his sword hanging limply
from his hand. He staggered away from the tree, his vision dark. Even the Eye
seemed useless to him, detached. The Eye had shielded him mostly from the
blast, but he was badly shaken. He fought furiously to shrug it off.

By the time Lannon regained his senses, Tenneth Bard was in
front of him and holding one of his curved swords. Grinning, his violet eyes
gleaming with delight, the Black Knight drove the sword at Lannon’s heart.
Lannon tried to twist out of the way, but the blade pierced his chest.

With a laugh of triumph, Tenneth Bard shoved Lannon to the
ground. Yet Lannon grabbed the blade with the Eye and tore it from his chest
and from Tenneth Bard’s hand, flinging it aside. He then seized Tenneth Bard’s
heart with the Eye and squeezed it viciously.

Tenneth Bard backed away, clutching his chest, his skin
going pale. The Black Knight fought back with his own sorcery, trying to break
Lannon’s hold. Lannon squeezed a bit more and then gave up to focus on himself.
He couldn’t crush Tenneth Bard’s heart—which like the rest of his body was
fortified by dark sorcery—but Lannon had clearly caught him off guard and
weakened him.

Filled with horrific pain, Lannon nevertheless rose to his
feet with sword in hand. With the Eye propping him up, he still had some fight
left in him—but any movements could cause his wound to become a fatal one.
Nevertheless, he couldn’t simply lay there and wait for Tenneth Bard to finish
him off.

Snarling, Tenneth Bard stumbled over to retrieve his
swords, when an enormous shadow detached itself from the forest. A heavy hand
smashed down on Tenneth Bard’s skull, staggering the Black Knight.

Tenneth Bard clutched his head and groaned, then responded
with a swift fist to the face of his attacker. The giant figure collapsed to
the ground in a heap. Tenneth Bard gathered his swords, but the blow to the
head seemed to have left him confused. He wandered about stupidly, and then at
last climbed onto his horse and slumped into the saddle. He rode down the trail
without looking back.

As Lannon watched the Black Knight ride off, he knew the
fight was over for now. He lay down in the trail, gasping for breath and
wracked by agony. He had never felt such pain before, and he thought he might
be dying. The Eye of Divinity could not help him with this injury, and so he
turned to his Knightly healing techniques to try to save himself.

Moments later, the huge figure rose from the ground and
came toward him. In the gaze of the Eye, Lannon was delighted to see that it
was Jace. The towering sorcerer seemed to be able to see in the dark.

Jace gazed down him with one eyebrow raised. “Pleasant
night for walk, wouldn’t you say?” He knelt and checked Lannon’s wound.
“Looks like he got your lung. Bad stuff, my young friend. Bad stuff
indeed! Allow me to administer a bit of healing. My skills have improved lately,
and should take away a bit of that annoying pain.” He laid hands on
Lannon’s chest.

Annoying pain?
It hurt so bad Lannon hoped he would
pass out.

“Give me a few moments,” said Jace, “and
then I’ll carry you back to Ollanhar. There is a nice stew on the table and some
bread, though I’m guessing you won’t feel like eating any this night. Who was
that sorcerer, by the way?” When Lannon didn’t answer, Jace went on,
“Well, we can talk about that later. I will say that his face looked very
familiar to me. Hmm…”

“Dallsa can help me,” Lannon managed to croak.

“Yes, of course she can,” said Jace, “being
a healer and all. But right now you need a bit of what I have—some special
healing sorcery just for you.” He pulled one hand away from Lannon’s chest
and felt about his cloak. “Do you think I can carry you and smoke some
pipe leaf at the same time?”

Lannon’s only answer was a groan.

Chapter
3:
 

The Council and the Secret
Plans

Lannon did little but lay in bed for a couple of days in
Ollanhar Tower and heal from his wound. He was recovering swiftly thanks to
help from Dallsa—but only in the physical sense. Mentally his confidence had
taken a blow.

He kept thinking of the battle in the woods, how Tenneth
Bard had nearly killed him, and his chest ached from the memory of the cold
blade that had pierced it. He was deeply troubled by the fact that he’d been
caught off guard. He was supposed to be the High Watchman of Ollanhar, but he
had behaved like a mere Squire, turning his back on an orb of energy that
should have been an obvious threat. Once again Lannon felt like a fool
undeserving of his status.

The wound itself was also troublesome—infected with the
evil sorcery of the Deep Shadow. It could have been fatal based on that fact
alone. But Jace had done something to remove most of the infection (as usual,
the sorcerer refused to discuss his abilities, and so whatever he had done
remained a mystery), and Dallsa was able to deal with the traces that remained.
If not for those two, Lannon might have struggled for weeks or even months to
recover. If fact, he probably would have been forced to visit Dremlock’s Hall
of Healing. Tenneth Bard’s twin swords were devastating, and Lannon had no
desire to encounter them again.

Lannon was alone in his bedchamber. The windowless room was
lit by a single candle burning on a small table. He lay atop his blanket,
shirtless, his chest wrapped in bandages. His Dragon sword lay next to him. The
shadows hung thick about the room, and Lannon imagined insane, violet eyes
gazing out at him from the dark. Tenneth Bard would strike again eventually,
and if Lannon didn’t find a way to advance his skills, the Black Knight would
take his head. Tenneth Bard in the flesh seemed more fearsome than the phantom
of days past—a real Knight bound to this world with vengeance burning in his
heart.

If Jace hadn’t come along, would Lannon have prevailed? It
seemed unlikely. It seemed luck had saved Lannon, and luck was not what he
wanted to rely on, for eventually it ran out.

Lannon groaned. So much for the High Watchman.

The chamber’s oak door swung open and Lothrin Windbow
entered. The Blue Knight and Birlote Ranger had been away at Dremlock on
business. He closed the door and nodded to Lannon. “You’re still alive, I
see.”

“Barely,” Lannon mumbled.

In spite of being a member of the Birlote Royal Family,
Lothrin wore simple Ranger clothes, which consisted of a green tunic, brown
trousers, and soft leather boots. A long dagger with a bone handle hung from
his belt, and a hunter’s bow was slung across his back. His silver hair was
pulled back in a ponytail. He was a handsome young Tree Dweller with a strange
leaf-shaped birthmark on his cheek. He was also an exceptionally swift and
deadly warrior, his skills often underestimated by his foes.

 
“You’ll be up
and about soon enough,” said Lothrin. “You have more strength than
you realize.”

“How are things at Dremlock?” asked Lannon.

Lothrin hesitated, then replied, “There is a strange
mood there—a grim mood. At first I assumed it had something to do with Bellis,
but the High Council spoke of the Hand of Tharnin. They fear our enemies are
searching for it.”

“And with good reason,” said Lannon.

“What do you mean?” asked Lothrin. “Does
this have something to do with your battle in the forest?”

Lannon nodded. “We can talk about it later, though. I
assume we’re going to hold a meeting soon to discuss these issues.”

“As soon as we possibly can,” said Lothrin.
“Furlus Goblincrusher and a small company of Knights are here as well. It
seems Furlus will be guarding Ollanhar in your absence.”

“In my
absence?
” said Lannon. “I
expect to be at full health again fairly soon. And what about Aldreya, our
Green Knight?”

Lothrin smiled. “You don’t understand what I’m
saying.”

Lannon’s heart sped up with excitement. “I see. So
this means we’re leaving Ollanhar on a mission. Daledus will be happy to hear
about that. So where are we going?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Lothrin replied. “Jace
will know. The Hand of Tharnin and the Black Flamestone must be dealt with
soon. Yet at the same time, the tower must remain in our possession.”

Lannon sat up, eager to start the meeting.

“Relax, my friend,” said Lothrin, motioning for
Lannon to lay back down. “We’re not in that much of a hurry.”

“I can attend the meeting,” said Lannon, using
his power to help him stand. He was sore and probably should have stayed in bed
for a few more days, but he wanted to hear what Jace and the others had to say.

“Very well,” said Lothrin. “Allow me to get
everyone assembled in the Dining Room, and then I’ll summon you.”

Lannon sat back down, gnawed by impatience that he knew a
Dark Watchman shouldn’t experience. “As soon as everyone is gathered, I
want to be informed. In fact, ring the Meeting Bell in the Library. It’s about
time we used that thing.”

 
Lothrin bowed.
“It shall be done.”

After the Birlote Ranger left the room, the pain from
Lannon’s wound began to throb again and so he stretched out on the bed.

Tenneth Bard was seeking the Hand of Tharnin—perhaps
hoping to make himself even more powerful—and somehow Dremlock was already alert
to his plans. But Lannon was experienced enough to know that in the war against
the Deep Shadow nothing was ever exactly what it seemed.

***

Lannon waited for over an hour. Then he heard the Meeting
Bell ring. He rose, put on his tunic, and fastened his sword to his belt. It
was time to learn what Dremlock expected of him. He was the High Watchman, but
he was still under orders from the Divine Kingdom and would do as commanded.

Lannon’s bedchamber was on the tower’s fifth floor, along
with eight other small bedchambers crowded together along a short hallway. It
wasn’t the most ideal arrangement, but at least Lannon had his own room. The
lesser Knights—those not part of the Council of Ollanhar—slept on the sixth
floor in rows of beds placed in spare rooms. The tower was large, but there
wasn’t a lot of space for living, which was an indication of all the secret
chambers that could be found throughout the keep. The walls, which were
strangely bulky in places, told the tale for the keen observer. Ollanhar was
designed to house a handful of Dark Watchmen, and not a small army of
Dremlock’s Knights, and that was why the nearby town was being built.

Lannon walked slowly downstairs. Ollanhar had undergone a
lot of remodeling since Dremlock’s Knights had moved in, with paintings and
suits of armor displayed here and there and comfortable rugs on the stone
floors. It now resembled one of the great towers of Dremlock on the inside—but
this tower lay under a shadow of darkness. Evil sorcery from the age of the Dark
Watchmen infested the keep, leading to dreary nightmares and other unpleasant
happenings. Lannon was used to the strange events—the groaning and shuffling
noises from behind the walls, the laughter and whispers that one could just
barely hear, the chills that crept over the flesh. The Deep Shadow was always
trying to assert its control, but the Knights of Dremlock knew how to resist
it.

Lannon moved down to the fourth floor—to storage rooms
filled with crates, sacks, and barrels. Each room in Ollanhar had a high
ceiling, which seemed like a foolish design. It meant the tower had a lot of
empty space. Lannon guessed there had once been a good reason for this, but he
couldn’t imagine what it was, and the Eye of Divinity failed to reveal the
answer.

The Dining Room lay on the third floor. Seated at the stone
tables were members of the Council of Ollanhar: Furlus, Jace, Fadar Stonebow
(who had recently been appointed to the Council), Aldreya, Prince Vannas,
Bekka, Lothrin, Jerret, and Galvia. Dallsa, who was serving bread, cheese, and
drinks, smiled when she saw Lannon walk down the stairs, her face lighting up.

 
Furlus
Goblincrusher sat at the head of the table—the strongest Grey Dwarf in all the
land and a famed Tower Master of Dremlock. He was second in command of the
Divine Kingdom and a master of warfare. His dark beard was as wide as the
table, his grizzled face sullen in the sunlight that streamed in through the
window. He liked to present his best appearance at meetings, and so he wore
heavy Glaetherin armor and a huge battle axe was strapped to his back.

“Greetings, Lannon,” said Furlus, giving the High
Watchman a nod. “Good to see you up and about. How are you feeling?”

Lannon bowed. “Good to see you as well, Master Furlus.
I’m feeling much better, actually. And I have Jace to thank for saving my
life.”

“Nonsense,” said Jace. He paused to light his
pipe and then added, “You were holding your ground when I happened
along.” The sorcerer was a true giant by Norack standards—standing a
half-inch shy of seven feet tall with huge shoulders and hands. In spite of
being two centuries old, Jace retained a youthful appearance—his broad face
smooth and his black, curly hair containing no hint of grey. His eyes held a
twinkle of great intelligence—and perhaps a bit of insanity.

“
Holding my ground?
” mused Lannon, shaking
his head. He sat down next to Aldreya. “Hardly. I think I was pretty much
done for.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself,” said Jace,
sending a piercing gaze his way. “In the most desperate moments, the Eye
of Divinity is at its best.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” said Lannon, not
caring to argue the point (though he wasn’t convinced in the least).

“Regardless,” said Furlus, “you’re on the
path to recovery, and Dremlock can breathe a big sigh of relief. I strongly
suggest you avoid traveling alone. In fact, I’m tempted to order another Divine
Shield placed around you.”

Lannon groaned. “Not another Divine Shield. Surely
you’re joking.” He had come to love his freedom, and the thought of being
under guard night and day—everywhere he went—did not appeal to him in the
slightest.

Furlus chuckled. “You’re the High Watchman now,
Lannon. You would have to approve of such a measure. And, yes, I’m only
speaking in jest. I think you’re quite capable of looking after yourself,
however you see fit.”

 
Aldreya frowned.
“I’m not as confident as you are, Furlus. I don’t mean to question
Lannon’s skill, but that was a dire situation in the forest. Lannon could
easily have met his doom.”

Lannon told himself Aldreya was simply being realistic, but
he wished she had a bit more confidence in him.

The others voiced their disagreement with Aldreya,
insisting that Lannon would have prevailed. Yet Lannon remained doubtful,
plagued by the belief that he would have died in that trail if Jace hadn’t come
along. In truth, as much as he wanted Aldreya to show it, he didn’t deserve her
confidence.

Aldreya nodded. “Yes, we all know Lannon is quite
skilled. He has proven himself to be a great Knight many times over. He
earned—beyond a doubt—the title of
High Watchman
with his victory over
King Verlamer. Nevertheless, he was almost defeated.” She fixed a stern
gaze on Lannon. “As Green Knight of Ollanhar, I must insist that you be
more careful.”

Lannon noted the deep concern and hint of fear in her eyes.
It was rare for Aldreya to worry about him (or anyone else, for that matter),
which meant she took the threat to his life very seriously. Perhaps the
pressure of being Green Knight of this remote tower kingdom was getting to her,
making her dread the thought of losing Lannon and being forced to face the
struggle alone.

“This as gone on far too long,” said Galvia.
“We need to kill this Tenneth Bard fellow once and for all.” The
young Grey Dwarf had an angry scowl on her broad face. “Why wait for him
to attack us? I think we should hunt him down and put an end to him. We need to
become more aggressive.”

“Nothing would please me more,” said Jerret,
smiling at her.

Galvia and Jerret clasped hands briefly—two warriors who
were the best of friends and always ready to charge into battle together.

“Perhaps,” said Prince Vannas. “But what are
the chances that it was actually Tenneth Bard—in the flesh—who attacked
Lannon? He could have been any sorcerer with a boastful, lying tongue.”

“He wasn’t just
any
sorcerer,” said
Lannon. “Far from it.”

“He is a very powerful foe,” said Furlus.
“We know that for a fact. He claimed to be Tenneth Bard, and was able to
convince Lannon of it. Why should we doubt him? It seems he would have no
reason to lie.”

“I will answer the good prince’s question,” said
Jace. “Yes, I believe it was Tenneth Bard. He has never been properly
dealt with, so why should we believe he isn’t still scheming against us?
Obviously, he has grown stronger—taking on a physical form that binds him
securely to our world. His goal is to open the way for the Deep Shadow, to
start another war on life not seen since the age of the Barloak Demons. We have
done well at thwarting his plans, but as long as life flows within him he will
continue to serve the will of Tharnin. He must be destroyed.”

“Easier said than done,” Lannon pointed out.

“Certainly,” said Jace. “Tenneth Bard was,
in my opinion, the most powerful Knight since Kuran Darkender. He was an
amazing talent—like Vorden Flameblade…before the Hand of Tharnin did its
work.”

Vorden lowered his gaze, a pained look on his face.

“Vorden is still a great warrior,” said Lannon,
in an effort to cheer up his friend. But Vorden didn’t respond, retaining his
troubled expression.

“Of course,” said Jace, smiling “but things
have changed. So as I was saying, Vorden possessed that level of talent—that
brilliant mind and ability to dominate at Knightly pursuits, just like a young
Kuran Darkender. Tenneth Bard was once like that, and all of the other Knights
lavished him with praise. But then…”