Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar (Ollanhar Series Book 1) (6 page)

“Then he became a monster like me,” Vorden added
quietly.

The others exchanged uncomfortable glances.

Jace blew a wobbly smoke ring, contemplating. “Not
like you, Vorden. Tenneth Bard achieved true greatness as a Divine Knight. It
was later—after he had become quite a hero—that he gave himself completely to
dark sorcery.”

Furlus waved dismissively. “Ancient history. What is
he seeking these days and how can we kill him? That’s what I care about.”

“He told us what he is seeking,” said Jace.
“The Hand of Tharnin. Now that he has obtained a physical form, he wants
the gauntlet for himself. He believes it can make him as powerful as a
god.”

“Such power can never be controlled,” said Prince
Vannas, his face darkening. “Tenneth Bard is a fool. Mortals were not
meant to be gods.” He hesitated, all eyes upon him, and added, “When
the power of the White Flamestone grows too strong, I can barely control it. At
that point, the power takes on a life of its own and begins to assert its will.
I have come close to losing myself forever. That is the future that awaits
Tenneth Bard if he continues on such a path.”

“Tenneth Bard was consumed long ago,” said Jace.
“The Deep Shadow claimed his very soul. He allowed it to happen, and he enjoys
it. And with all due respect, Prince Vannas, you are not
truly
a
sorcerer. A powerful magic user can push himself beyond what seem to be mortal
limits. The Hand of Tharnin is a defective item in that it causes madness and
loss of control, but someone as powerful as Tenneth Bard might be able to
master it—making him nearly invincible. This threat must be taken very
seriously.”

“And the Black Flamestone?” asked Furlus.

Jace hesitated, a strange gleam in his eye. “Much more
dangerous and useless to Tenneth Bard. The Black Flamestone caused massive
damage to the Blood Legion, and it is possible Tenneth Bard wants no further
part of that item. I firmly believe it is only the gauntlet that interests
him.”

“Then we must recover the gauntlet soon,” said
Furlus. “Tenneth Bard might be searching for it even as we speak.”

“Where are the items now?” asked Aldreya.

“Where we hid them,” said Furlus, “before
the battle with the Blood Legion. They are well hidden, but definitely not
secure. We must take them to Dremlock, where they will be placed in a very
secure vault of Glaetherin. Only Taris Warhawk knows how to open that vault.
Also, there is an island called Scalmfort that Dremlock has been meaning to
explore for sometime. We believe another one of the Flamestones might be
located there—a green one that represents the Flesh of the White Guardian. We
want to find it before our enemies do.”

“Another Flamestone!” Jace exclaimed, wonder
shining in his eyes. “Could it truly be? How certain is the High
Council?”

“We are fairly confident it exists there,” said
Furlus. “The Divine Essence itself revealed this to our Lord Knight.
Apparently it took centuries for our god to locate it, but the truth has been
revealed at last.”

Jace seemed deep in thought for a moment, as the others
looked on. The idea of finding another Flamestone was exciting for all, but
Jace seemed especially inspired by it. At last the sorcerer asked, “How
far out to sea?”

“A week of travel,” said Furlus, with a shrug.

“Excellent,” said Jace, grinning. “Excellent
in all ways, my friends! We could simply dump the Hand of Tharnin overboard. It
would sink to a depth that even the most powerful creatures of the Deep Shadow
could never go.”

Furlus shook his head. “Taris has ordered the gauntlet
be brought back to Dremlock. He wants to study it. You need not concern
yourselves with it. We will send Knights to retrieve it.”

Jace’s expression turned a bit sour. “That didn’t go
so well with the bones of that Great Dragon, now did it? In fact, it cost
Thrake Wolfaxe his life. Studying items of the Deep Shadow is a perilous
task.”

“This is different,” said Furlus. “Taris has
the support of the Birlote Wizards, who are sending someone to Dremlock to help
with the research. They believe the gauntlet holds knowledge that could be very
helpful in winning the war against Tharnin. We must return the gauntlet to
Dremlock at all costs.”

“Then it shall be done, of course,” said Jace,
though he looked a bit skeptical. “Hopefully, all three items will be
brought to Dremlock—if indeed there is another Flamestone to be found.”

“This will be a long journey,” said Furlus,
“into strange lands where Divine Knights are not necessarily recognized or
appreciated. Tenneth Bard and the Blood Legion may follow, and Bellis is
everywhere these days.”

“So who is going?” asked Lannon.

“It hasn’t been clearly decided yet,” said
Furlus, raising his drooping eyebrows. “You’re the High Watchman. Who do
you think should go?”

“Jace, obviously,” said Lannon. “Daledus
Oakfist as well, if possible.” He hesitated, not wanting to play
favorites. “Aldreya, of course, if Ollanhar can spare her. Sorcery will
definitely be needed.”

“The tower will be left in good hands,” said
Aldreya, “with Furlus here to guard it. I will make the journey.”

“I’m going too,” Jerret insisted. “I’ve had
enough of this dreary keep. I want some fresh air and open sky.”

Lannon nodded. “I definitely need stout warriors, so
Jerret, Vorden, and Galvia should come along. Also, we might need a highly
skilled archer and a Ranger.” He nodded to Fadar Stonebow and Lothrin.

Lothrin smiled. “Thank you, my friend.”

Fadar bowed. “My bow is in your service, High
Watchman.”

“Actually,” said Aldreya, “I would like you
to remain at Ollanhar, Fadar. Archers may be needed to defend the tower. You
could lead them.” She glanced at Furlus for approval, and he nodded.

Again, Fadar bowed. “I shall defend Ollanhar with my
life.”

“What about me?” asked Prince Vannas, looking
hopeful. “What about the power of the White Flamestone?”

Lannon hesitated, knowing the prince was going to be
irritated by his response. “I think your skills would be most useful in
guarding Ollanhar. After all, with the White Flamestone here the tower is
firmly in our grasp.”

“I agree,” said Aldreya. “The White
Flamestone should remain here, where it is close to Dremlock. And I’m sure the
High Council would never allow it to be taken beyond the borders of
Silverland.”

 
Prince Vannas
glowered at Lannon. “So you’re going on a perilous quest into strange
lands, with Tenneth Bard and his minions possibly chasing after you. Surely the
protection of the White Flamestone is required.”

“True enough,” said Lannon. “But taking the
White Flamestone into such strange lands—so far from Dremlock—is too risky.
If another war were to begin, you wouldn’t be here to defend our god and
kingdom.”

 
Prince Vannas
sighed. “I know you’re right, Lannon. But the adventure sounds exciting,
and I hate to miss it. I’m weary of this tower.”

“There will be other adventures, my friend,” said
Lannon. He knew exactly how Vannas felt, and he pitied him.

“I will remain here,” said the prince, his
expression sullen, “as duty demands.”

“Thank you,” said Lannon, though it hadn’t been
Vannas’ decision to make. “I will sleep well at night knowing Ollanhar is
safe.”

Jace’s eyes widened. The sorcerer waved his pipe in the air
dramatically as he blurted out: “Are you speaking in jest, Lannon? Leave
the White Flamestone behind? This is not wise, in my extremely humble opinion!
It might take a Flamestone to find a Flamestone. It might take the White Fire
to keep us alive when the darkness comes to devour us. Furlus, what are your
thoughts on this?”

“I, too, disagree with Lannon’s decision,” said
Furlus. “Obtaining the Flamestone from Scalmfort Island could be very
difficult. In fact, the entire journey could be quite perilous. The White
Flamestone will be needed. The High Council has already voted on this issue.
Prince Vannas must join the quest.”

Aldreya looked amazed, her green eyes wide. “Was the
Council in unanimous agreement on this, Furlus?”

The gruff Dwarf nodded. “Yes, even Taris.”

“But what about Bellis?” asked Lannon, surprised
at Furlus’ opinion and at the High Council’s vote. “Isn’t Bellis the
greatest threat of all?”

“The peace treaty will prevent an outright war,”
said Furlus. “If King Verlamer dared break it, he would shame himself and
risk the wrath of the Birlotes and Olrogs. Such a thing could doom him. He
knows that.”

“But he
is
breaking it,” said Lannon.
“Obviously, Verlamer was behind the recent Goblin attack. He is still making
war on us.”

“Yes,” said Furlus, “but only on a small
scale. He must make use of the Blood Legion and the Goblins to avoid being held
responsible—and those are threats that Dremlock can deal with. The Nine Axes
will help defend this tower while you’re gone, and rest assured, Ollanhar will
not fall.”

Lannon was impressed. The Nine Axes were mighty Dwarven
Dark Knights, nearly invincible beneath their stout armor.

“Are you certain?” asked Lannon, still amazed
that Dremlock wanted Prince Vannas to go on the journey. “It just seems
like a grave risk to take the White Flamestone so far from Dremlock,
considering what happened last time while we were in Kalamede.”

“Yes, we were invaded,” said Furlus. “But
things have changed. Currently, this is a war of expansion—a quiet war, if you
will. We are attempting to grow, to gather power, even as Bellis does the same.
Power
, Lannon. And what is more powerful than the mighty Flamestones? We
need to obtain the one on Scalmfort Island before King Verlamer does.”

“He knows of it?” asked Lannon.

Furlus’ nodded. “Not only does he know of it, but we
believe he has already twice tried to obtain it—sending large battalions out
to sea. However, his warriors never returned.”

Chills crept over Lannon’s flesh. He exchanged grim glances
with the others. “So the mighty warriors of Bellis vanished at sea…or on
the island. But what manner of doom befell them?”

“We don’t know,” said Furlus. “And that’s
exactly why the White Flamestone must go with you. Also, Verlamer doesn’t give
up easily. He will send more warriors—perhaps in even greater numbers—and
next time he might succeed in his goal. If he obtains the Green Flamestone, it
could make him invincible.”

Prince Vannas smiled. “I guess all of us are
going.”

“Even me?” asked Dallsa, rising from a chair in
excitement, bread and cheese dangling from her fingers. However, she also
looked a bit fearful.

“We’ll need a healer,” said Lannon. Seeing the
look on her face, he added, “I won’t force you to go, of course.”

“I’ll go,” she said, her face growing somber.
“It’s my duty.”

“Count me in,” said Bekka Nightspear. “You
will need Blue Knights on this quest. I can lead them. I am also a skilled
hunter.”

“Agreed,” said Lannon. “We should take at
least ten Blue Knights and ten Red with us—just a small company so we don’t
attract too much attention.” He glanced at Furlus. “Does that sound
like a wise plan?”

Furlus shrugged. “Hard to say. Maybe you’d be better
off taking an army with you, but since we can’t spare that many Knights right
now, I guess it doesn’t matter. All we can do is hope for the best. With the
Eye of Divinity and the White Flamestone, there is a chance for success.”

“When do we leave?” asked Aldreya.

“Once Lannon is fully healed,” said Furlus.
“By then the Nine Axes should have arrived. Meanwhile, I’m going to head
over to the town and check on progress. I will also let Daledus know he is
going along.”

Lannon smiled. “Thank you, Master Furlus, for coming
here to guard Ollanhar. It couldn’t be left in more capable hands.”

Furlus frowned. “No need to address me as
Master
anymore,
High Watchman. Just call me Furlus from now on.”

Lannon found it strange to be considered on the same level
as Furlus Goblincrusher. He wasn’t sure he deserved such status at his young
age. How had things progressed so quickly? It seemed not long ago he had been
an uncertain Squire of Dremlock under constant orders from those ranked above
him. The Eye of Divinity, and a strong, stubborn will, had worked in Lannon’s
favor.

“May good fortune find you all,” said Furlus,
guzzling some ale and then slamming down the wooden mug onto the tabletop to
conclude the meeting. He did not smile, his face darkened by a tense shadow.

Chapter
4:

The Tower of Riddles and
Dread

Later
that night, when most of the tower was asleep, Lannon found himself feeling
restless, eager to begin the adventure. He sat in his bedchamber, tapping his
foot on the floor and wondering what to do with himself.

It
was not the way of Divine Knight—especially one in a position of
leadership—to find time to be bored, but it was Lannon’s way. After only two
decades of life, he still had much to learn. Lannon hadn’t yet matured to the
point where he knew how to keep himself busy. He bore many great
responsibilities but often found himself bored and lacking direction.

He
felt good enough to wander around a bit, but leaving the keep was too
dangerous, considering he was still in a weakened state. Ollanhar Tower held
many areas that Lannon had not yet explored—hidden and perilous places where
great rewards might lurk. But he wasn’t sure he was fit for attempting such
explorations. Instead, he lifted a book from a nightstand. It was titled
600
Uses for Dragon Scales.
He read a bit and then laid it down again. He
sighed.

A
loud knock on the door broke the silence. A moment later, Vorden Flameblade
stood before him. Vorden was wearing his heavy armor—which was unusual for
this time of night—and his sword hung from his belt.

“Greetings,
Lannon. How are you feeling?”

“Much
better, actually,” Lannon replied. “Still have some pain,
though.”

Vorden
nodded. “So we’re leaving soon on this long adventure. Furlus thinks it
will be terribly dangerous—to the point where he sends the White Flamestone
beyond Silverland. Yet I still don’t have a proper sword.”

“I’m
sorry, Vorden,” said Lannon, “but there isn’t much to be done about
it. How many times have we discussed this issue?”

“I
understand,” said Vorden. “You’re weary of hearing about it. But I
would like you to give it one more try. Just one more.”

Lannon
looked away. “It doesn’t matter. I know I can’t do it. Besides, I’m not
sure I would even be able to climb up there, with my injury and all.”

“With
the Eye of Divinity,” said Vorden, “you can make the climb.” He
sighed deeply in frustration. “As your best friend, I’m asking you to make
the attempt. Without a proper sword, I’m very weak. I have a great deal of
sorcery but no blade to channel it through. Such a waste!”

“You
have a sword,” Lannon pointed out.

Vorden
drew his heavy steel broadsword—an excellent sword that most Knights would
have treasured—and gazed at it with contempt. Then he held it up. He focused
on it and the blade grew red hot, smoldering with the fires of sorcery.

Lannon
shrank back from the heat.

As
Vorden shook his head in disgust, the blade began to droop into melted ruin. He
slammed it down on the stone floor. “You were saying?”

“Okay,”
said Lannon, “maybe you do need a better blade. But such swords are not
cheap or easy to obtain.”

“Yet
Jerret has one,” said Vorden. “And it’s made of Glaetherin—making it
one of the sturdiest swords in all the land.”

“Yes,”
said Lannon, “and he deserves it. He earned that blade.”

Vorden
didn’t answer, his expression sullen.

“You
have magnificent armor,” said Lannon. “Maybe the best I’ve ever seen.
A full set of Glaetherin armor fit for a king. Most Knights don’t have
that.”

“I
can’t strike a blow with my armor,” said Vorden.

Lannon
had no answer for that.

“What
about Birlote steel?” asked Lannon. “Could the sword of a Tree
Dweller withstand your sorcery?”

“I
doubt it,” said Vorden. “It might last a bit longer, but sooner or
later it would melt. What I need is Olrog Glaetherin and nothing less.”

Or
Dragon bone
,
Lannon thought. He glanced at his sheathed sword, which lay atop the
nightstand. He considered just giving the sword to Vorden, but then dismissed
the idea. Lannon also needed a powerful sword. Otherwise he had no chance
against foes like that dark rider who had nearly slain him. And the sword was
bonded to him and was comfortable in his hands in a way that no other sword
could be. It seemed like his friend and he couldn’t surrender it.

Vorden
bowed. “I’ll take my leave, then. Goodnight.”

“Wait,”
said Lannon, wanting desperately to give his friend hope. “I know I can’t
open that safe—not yet. But Ollanhar holds other treasures. Maybe we could do
some exploring and see what turns up.”

Vorden
shook his head. “Do as you wish, Lannon. I’m going to town to have a
drink. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With
that, Vorden left the room, leaving his melted broadsword where it lay. He
slammed the door behind him.

Lannon
sat in quiet frustration for a time. The truth was that weapons and armor made
of Glaetherin or Dragon bone were extremely rare. Most Knights got by without
them, relying on iron and steel. Most Glaetherin items belonged to the Grey
Dwarves or to Knights who had done something truly heroic. Jerret’s sword was
an oddity, because many questioned whether or not he actually deserved it.
Lannon’s own sword had cost a fortune—a gift from the wealthy Taris Warhawk.
Yet at the peak of Ollanhar Tower stood a safe containing several Glaetherin
swords that had once belonged to the Dark Watchmen—a priceless treasure trove
that Lannon couldn’t access. He sympathized deeply with Vorden, but High
Watchman or not, Lannon was unable to help him. King Verlamer had robbed
Dremlock of many great treasures—including Lannon’s own irreplaceable throwing
star—and nothing could be done about it.

Lannon
lay down to sleep, but found himself feeling far too restless. He grabbed his sword
and put on his leather boots. It was time to explore.

***

When
Lannon stepped into the hallway, he was surprised to find Vorden standing with
his back to the wall. Vorden’s eyes were closed, his face bathed in crimson
from the glow of a torch that was mounted above him. He looked like an armored
statue that had been standing there for time untold.

“I
thought you headed to town,” said Lannon.

Vorden
shrugged. “I was thinking.”

“About
what?” Lannon asked. “A new sword?”

Vorden’s
shot him an irritated glance. “No, not that. Just things in general.”
He sighed. “I was wondering if…if I’m in the wrong business.”

“What
do you mean?” Lannon was gripped by sudden concern. He always hated to see
his friends begin to doubt themselves.

“Face
it, Lannon, I’m not who I used to be.” Vorden lowered his gaze. “I
can’t get over what happened to me—how I turned against Dremlock and all my
friends. The evil sorcery is still within me, trying to break free.”

“But
you’re extremely valuable to Ollanhar,” said Lannon. “You’re one of
the best fighters we’ve got. You’re a Divine Knight, Vorden. You swore an oath
to defend this tower and what it stands for.”

“You
could release me from that oath,” said Vorden. “And as a friend, you
would do so if I asked it of you. Am I right?”

“Don’t
ask it,” said Lannon, dreading the thought. “Ollanhar needs you!
We’re about to go on a long and perilous journey, into lands we know nothing
about. I definitely want you at my side.”

“But
I’m practically useless,” said Vorden. “What good is a Knight with no
blade?”

Ah,
so it was indeed about the sword.
Relief flooded through Lannon. This, at least, was
something he could deal with.

 
Lannon nodded. “I’ll try again to open
the safe. But I can’t promise anything. I very much doubt I will succeed.”

Vorden
hesitated. “I don’t know. If you do manage to open it, I’ll be compelled
to stay and fight on.” He stood in silence for a few moments and then
added, “Maybe it’s time for me to quit, to retire from Knighthood
forever.”

“How
can you just walk away?” asked Lannon, in disbelief. “You’re making a
name for yourself as a great Knight. You’ve been given a tremendous honor by
being made part of the Council here. Your future is bright, my friend.”

“No,
my future lies in shadow,” said Vorden. “Using my abilities causes me
to lose myself. I think I would be better off settling down in some quiet town
and avoiding trouble. I’m serious about this, Lannon.”

“You’re
afraid,” said Lannon, suddenly realizing the truth. Vorden was feeling the
same fear that Lannon often felt—fear of being lost to the Deep Shadow. The
darkness was always hungry to enslave souls, and exceptionally talented Knights
like Vorden and Lannon were prime targets.

“Yes,”
said Vorden. “Very much so. I fear turning evil again and causing massive
destruction. It haunts my dreams, Lannon. And the Hand of Tharnin whispers to
me in the night. I’m constantly reminded that I was once a raging
monster.”

“But
Taris Warhawk has faith in you,” said Lannon. “He believes you can
resist the evil and use your abilities for a noble cause. I wholeheartedly
agree with him. Your will is very strong.”

“Taris
is a great sorcerer,” said Vorden, “and an extremely wise man. But he
doesn’t know everything. He has been wrong before.”

Lannon
had no answer, so he simply stood in silence waiting for Vorden to decide. He
wondered if Vorden was right. Maybe the only way Vorden could save himself from
the Deep Shadow was to stop using his abilities. Lannon faced the same
peril—the possibility of losing his soul to Tharnin as the Dark Watchmen had
so long ago. Who was he to tell Vorden what choice was best for him?

They
stood in silence, as the torch flickered above.

After
several moments, Vorden stepped away from the wall and smoothed out his dark
hair. He adjusted his armor. “Well, I guess I’ll carry on.”

And
that topic was laid to rest.

Vorden
smiled. “So you’re going to give it another try, huh?”

“If
that’s what you want,” said Lannon.

“You
know it is,” said Vorden, patting him on the shoulder. “I only ask
one thing—that you believe in yourself. I know you can do it.”

“I’ll
do my best,” said Lannon. With each failed attempt to unlock the safe, his
confidence diminished, making him wonder if he truly deserved to be the High
Watchman of Ollanhar. The glorious treasures within the safe were his for the
taking, but only if he was fit to possess them. Somehow, he had to convince
himself that he was indeed the High Watchman and not an imposter.

Lannon
grabbed a torch and they ascended the stairs past more rooms filled with
sleeping Knights, until at last they stood in the tower’s Sky Chamber with its
smooth marble walls and dome-shaped ceiling. Sixty feet above them was a hole
in the ceiling, from which a rope hung down. Lannon placed his torch in an iron
holder on the wall and then gazed up at the hole, dreading the lengthy climb,
his injury throbbing with pain. The shadows were thick in the chamber, flicking
on the marble walls—remaining Lannon that evil sorcery lurked here that would
seek to make him fail. But he had made a promise to Vorden and would not turn
back.

“Why
did you bring a torch?” asked Vorden. “We can both see fairly well in
the dark. Why would you
ever
need a torch?”

“It’s
the nature of the Eye,” said Lannon. “I shift its power around based
on what I need. Right now I need all my focus for climbing, so seeing in the
dark is out. And if I’m very tired or confused, my vision is obscured. And
there have been times when I’ve been afraid to use it—afraid of what I might
see.”

“Surely
you’ve outgrown that fear,” said Vorden.

“It
will never leave me,” said Lannon.

Vorden
gazed at him thoughtfully. “I’m probably aware of some of the things the
Eye shows you—at least the things involving the Deep Shadow. I gained
knowledge that will haunt me forever.”

“You
better go first,” said Lannon, wanting to change the subject. “In
case I fall. And remember to beware of the dark sorcery here.”

“You
won’t fall,” said Vorden. Nevertheless, he removed his heavy armor and
climbed swiftly up the rope—seemingly unaffected by the dark sorcery—until he
disappeared through the hole.

Lannon
grabbed the rope and climbed up. It was unpleasant, but the Eye sustained
him—dulling his pain and driving away the menacing shadows that swarmed on
him. Charged with divine power, Lannon soon joined Vorden on the next
floor—the very peak of Ollanhar Tower.

They
stood before the large Glaetherin safe, with its extraordinary wheel lock. The
safe dominated the room. Vorden had drawn his dagger and was making it glow
crimson with sorcery.

“Careful,”
said Lannon, “don’t melt it.”

Vorden
gave him a wry smile. “I’m not that inept, Lannon. I can produce fire
without losing a blade.”

“Then
why can’t you fight like that?” asked Lannon.

“You
wouldn’t like the answer,” said Vorden.