Knights: Book 02 - The Hand of Tharnin (28 page)

Lannon shook his head. "Not at all. I'm just cold and hungry. I'm hoping someone will untie me so I can warm myself."

"My name is Dalvin, by the way," said the Soldier. "I am a Legion Master--which means I am now
your
master. You will address me with respect."

"Can you untie me, Master Dalvin?" Lannon asked politely.

"I'm still deciding whether or not to just kill you," Dalvin said. "Until I've worked out that issue, don't worry about anything else."

Lannon studied Dalvin in the lantern light, amazed at how rugged and scarred the Soldier was. It seemed Dalvin had been through a thousand battles with the Knights of Dremlock. Lannon probed him with the Eye of Divinity and glimpsed a defiant, unyielding spirit that guarded many deep fears--fears for his family, his homeland, and the future of the Blood Legion. Yet there was an even deeper fear lurking within him--the fear of those who fought alongside him who were corrupted by the Deep Shadow. Dalvin feared and hated Tharnin, but he viewed it as a necessary evil. Lannon also saw that Dalvin was likely to blindly cling to his beliefs if only to validate the cause he'd fought so hard for.

Dalvin gave Lannon a sly, knowing look. "I sense you're probing my secrets, lad. Well, you should be careful believing everything you see. I could be putting false information in your mind."

Lannon saw right through Dalvin's words. He watched as the Legion Master tried to shore up his will and shield himself from the Eye. Dalvin had no clue how deeply Lannon could peer into him. He was afraid of Lannon and was in fact considering killing the Squire. Lannon wondered how he could ease his fears.

"I don't care about your secrets," Lannon lied. "But I think you're afraid of me, and you shouldn't be. My hands are pretty much ruined from the cold. All I really want right now is to try to save them."

"You can't fool me," said Dalvin. "I know you're a dangerous one."

 
Yet Dalvin relaxed a bit, and so Lannon let the Eye of Divinity retreat inside him and resorted to a Knightly healing technique that involved meditation and focus. But with his hands still exposed, and the interior of the tent very cold, he wasn't sure he would make any progress.

Dalvin finally let his guard down some and lit a pipe. He produced a pouch of jerky and chewed some, then offered some to Lannon.

"My hands are tied," Lannon reminded him, sighing.

"And why does that concern you?" said Dalvin. "I know that rope can't hold you. But I want to see for myself. Break the rope."

Lannon hesitated, wondering if Dalvin was simply looking for an excuse to put an arrow through his heart. He again searched Dalvin's intent with the Eye, but this time Lannon had trouble sensing his mood for whatever reason. Finally, knowing he had to take a chance if he wanted to save his hands, Lannon seized the rope with the Eye of Divinity and pulled it apart. He brought his bruised, trembling hands in front of him to show Dalvin, then thrust them into his pockets.

The Legion Master nodded. "You broke stout rope with ease. You could kill me here and now, crossbow or not. Am I right? Don't lie to me."

Lannon shrugged. "I don't know, but I don't plan to try." Sensing Dalvin's agitation, he added, "And if I did, then what? I couldn't kill everyone in the camp, and if I tried to escape, your Soldiers would just finish me off. I don't want to kill anyone. I just want to rest, heal, and eat some food."

"I'm under orders to bring you to Dorok's Hand alive if possible," said Dalvin. "I'm sure you guessed that. However, my master knows you're dangerous and so I have permission to kill you if need be--at my discretion. So if you try anything foolish at all..."

"Your master is Tenneth Bard?" asked Lannon.

"Do not speak that name again!" Dalvin growled, raising the crossbow.

"I'm sorry," said Lannon. "I didn't mean to offend."

Dalvin lowered his weapon. "You know who my master is. You're the one who led him to this fate."

"Vorden?" said Lannon. "He now leads the Blood Legion?" Lannon wasn't surprised, but he wondered what had become of Tenneth Bard.

"That's right, lad," Dalvin sneered. "And if you're wondering--do I think a mere boy should command the Legion? Of course not. But he does command it, and I am sworn to obey. Vorden wants you taken to Dorok's Hand alive. Not sure what grim plans he has for you, but I wouldn't want to be in your situation. Well, you brought it on yourself."

"What did I do to deserve this?" said Lannon, suddenly gripped by anger. "That Hand of Tharnin device took control of him and turned him into a puppet of the Deep Shadow. I had nothing to do with it!"

Dalvin smiled. "You live under a pathetic illusion, Lannon. You were Dremlock's most prized servant. Vorden was a friend of yours. Have you ever considered the fact that you may be cursed? No, you've probably believed you were blessed by the Divine Essence. How arrogant and misguided. Maybe you should begin to consider the notion that you're a catalyst for doom to those around you."

Dalvin's words stung Lannon, and he pondered whether or not there was truth in them. Both Vorden and Timlin--his two closest friends--were now corrupted. Maybe he was cursed, bringing suffering and evil to those closest to him.

"I think you're a bad fit for Dremlock," Dalvin went on. "You could change your fate and fortune by joining your friend--if that is what he seeks from you. The Blood Legion would benefit greatly from a sorcerer of your talents."

Lannon started to protest, but then he considered the fact that he was better off playing along. It wasn't Lannon's nature to be dishonest, even when his life was threatened, but many lives were at stake besides his own. "I admit I am tired of the way things are at Dremlock," he said. "I was there less than a year, yet the Knights sent me blindly into danger repeatedly."

"They don't care about you, really," Dalvin pressed on, pity in his gaze. "You're just a tool to be used until you break. Then you will be discarded and replaced. The Legion doesn't treat its Soldiers that way. Here, you would be valued and respected. And you can help us crush the army of Knights at our fortress gates."

Lannon's anger returned. "I doubt you're going to win."

"Oh, we will win," said Dalvin, grinning. "Let's just say we have an edge the likes of which Dremlock can never prepare for."

Lannon probed Dalvin with the Eye, trying to learn what that "edge" might be. But it appeared the Legion Master didn't know, in spite of his excitement. He was simply repeating what he'd been told.

Dalvin gave Lannon a water flask and some jerky. "When you're done eating, try to get some sleep, for we ride at daybreak. Meanwhile, just think about what I said--how you would be a good fit for the Legion and how you would be loved and respected by your fellow Soldiers--your brothers. Does Dremlock ever speak of brotherly love? I was once a Knight--Dalvin Skyaxe. I know how the Knights treat each other--with great respect, but never like true brothers. Dremlock is cold hearted compared to the Legion."

"The Knights care about each other," said Lannon. "They honor those who get promoted and hold extravagant funerals for the dead."

"It's not the same," said Dalvin. "The Knights don't even speak of love for the god they so blindly serve! Loyalty and honor, yes, but it ends there. The Knights are not brothers--not the way Legion Soldiers are. To serve Dremlock and its shattered god is a cold, lonely existence."

Lannon thought of how the Knights reacted whenever one amongst them was slain, and he could not agree with Dalvin. Obviously, the Legion Master had forgotten what it meant to serve Dremlock. It was true that the Divine Essence was a strange god in that it did not require love or worship. It demanded loyalty and respect and was spoken of with great reverence, but that's typically as far as it went. It was almost as if the Divine Essence did not consider itself a god at all--which made sense considering it was only a fragment of the White Guardian. Yet in spite of all that, Lannon would have given his life to protect the Divine Essence and would gladly spend his remaining years serving its will. Lannon realized that he did in fact care deeply for the Divine Essence, whether it was a real god or not.

Over the next few hours, Lannon worked on healing his hands. The technique was one all Squires had to learn and practice frequently--especially after harsh training sessions when muscles were sore--but since Lannon's Knightly Essence was very weak for a Squire of Dremlock, he was not highly proficient at it. However, he focused hard on his task, and it was a powerful technique that involved visualizing what he wanted accomplished--in this case, the healing of his hands--and repeating commands in his mind. Eventually some of the feeling returned to his hands. Soon they began to itch terribly. He ignored the itch and continued on with the technique, letting nothing distract his mind.

At some point during his meditations, he fell asleep and dreamt he was gazing up at the frozen moon. Its light was fused with the power of the Deep Shadow, washing away all hope. The moon was stalking Lannon, and he fled underground to escape it before it could claim his soul.

Once again the Eye of Divinity became the Eye of Dreams, and Lannon found himself in the smoldering chamber with the lava pool. He saw the dark figure again standing on the other side of the pool--only this time the figure wore the Hand of Tharnin, the blue stones in the gauntlet beckoning Lannon to his doom. The figure wore dark armor with runes that were glowing like liquid gold. Once again, something horrendous was moving about in the fiery pit--something so terrible it seemed to defy sanity. The dark figure laughed and said, "Soon you will join me, old friend." And it pointed into the pit.

The next day was bright, with a blue sky above, yet it seemed colder than the day before. Thanks to his healing technique, Lannon's hands were doing much better in the morning, and he vowed to himself he would not let them tie him up again. But they left his hands free as they led him to a horse--obviously confident their crossbows would put an end to him quickly if he tried anything.

"You can ride on your own," said Dalvin. "I'm sure you know better than to try to escape. And I have faith that your word is good and that you won't try anything. I think you're an honorable lad." The Legion Master smiled and handed Lannon a pair of fur mittens. "These should be helpful."

Lannon knew Dalvin was simply trying to sway him to join the Blood Legion, but he was grateful for the mittens nonetheless.

"The going will be slow," said Dalvin, with the snow drifted so high and the terrain very steep in places, but we should reach Dorok's Hand by early afternoon." He patted Lannon on the shoulder. "We had a good talk last night.
 
Master Vorden was wise to insist you be kept alive. In the short time I've known you, Lannon, I have come to trust that you'll do what is right."

 
Dalvin spoke in a sincere manner, yet Lannon saw through the compliments without even needing to use the Eye. But he simply nodded and said, "Thank you, Master Dalvin. I just hope we can resolve everything peacefully. Why should there have to be a war?"

"There will be no peace," said Dalvin, sighing. "Not with Dremlock coming to destroy us. The Knights will never leave us to our way of life, my young friend. In fact, they will try to kill us to the last Soldier."

Lannon said nothing, though he knew Dalvin was either sadly mistaken or merely putting on an act. The Knights would have gladly accepted the surrender of the Blood Legion. Yet Lannon saw a wonderful opportunity to warm up to his foes and pretend to give them what they wanted. They could not know that he was still fiercely loyal to Dremlock and had no plans to change sides.

As they passed on up into the mountains, Lannon wondered how far behind him the Knights of Dremlock rode. The clash between the two armies seemed inevitable, and the Squire shuddered at the thought of how much blood would be spilled. Like the Knights of Dremlock, some of the Legion Soldiers used sorcery (of a darker sort) and were well trained for battle. It would make for a horrific conflict.

"Soon you will be with your friend again," Dalvin said to Lannon in a low voice, his breath visible in the freezing air. "You would be wise to cooperate with him. The person you knew at Dremlock is gone forever."

"I can't believe that," said Lannon.

"Then you're a fool," said Dalvin. "If you go into Dorok's Hand with the notion of saving him, he'll kill you. He has no pity in his heart, Lannon."

"You hate him," said Lannon, seeing the contempt in Dalvin's gaze.

"To my very core," said Dalvin. "The fact that a mere boy rose through our ranks so quickly...it gnaws at me. I'm not the only one who feels that way--and he is well aware of it. Our anger amuses him."

"Will you betray him?" Lannon asked.

Dalvin scowled at the Squire. "And be a traitor to the Blood Legion? Never! And never speak of such a thing again! I'm merely trying to warn you that Vorden Flameblade is not the Squire you once knew. He is thoroughly infested with the Deep Shadow and is completely unpredictable."

"Yet you want the Deep Shadow to prevail," said Lannon, "or you wouldn't be fighting against Dremlock. That makes no sense to me."

"Lies, taught to you by Dremlock," said Dalvin. "We want Silverland to live in harmony with Tharnin--to strike a bargain. We know it is possible. Yes, I despise the Deep Shadow just as you do, but this is a war that Dremlock can never win. The Blood Legion was formed as an alternative to Dremlock--a better way of bringing peace to the land. Yet instead of letting us do what must be done, the Knights have ruined our plans constantly over the centuries."

Lannon pondered Dalvin's words--and rejected them. Striking a bargain with Tharnin would undoubtedly mean the expansion of the Bloodlands and endless numbers of Goblins terrorizing the land. Dalvin seemed delusional--his mind twisted in ways he wasn't even aware of. A quiet groan escaped Lannon's lips at the thought that he was now surrounded by madmen, many of whom had been contaminated by the Deep Shadow and didn't even know it.

***

Dorok's Hand was an ancient Legion stronghold that had never been breached. The entrance was a forty-foot-tall cave mouth that led into the mountain, sealed by gates made of enormous logs. The fortress took its name from a towering, rune-covered statue, carved from the mountain wall, of a bearded warrior that stood beside the entrance, his hand outstretched as if to descend upon those who dared enter. Archers and Soldiers who tended catapults lined wooden platforms to either side, on high alert. Lannon gazed up in awe, imagining the terror that would reign down on Dremlock's army from those heights. Everywhere he looked were huge bodies, grim faces, and row upon row of weapons. And smaller cave entrances lined the mountain on either side, no doubt harboring more foes.

"What do you think of
our
divine kingdom, Lannon?" asked Dalvin, grinning broadly. "I'll bet you weren't expecting anything like this."

Lannon didn't reply. His throat seemed too dry for speech, the terror surging within him. The reality of what this war would mean--the epic loss of life--was finally clear to him. The terrain leading up to the cave mouth was sloped, and Lannon could imagine dying Knights and horses tumbling downward through the bloodstained snow. But beyond all that, the mouth of the savage fortress seemed ready to devour him. He wondered if he was entering a lair from which he would never return. It seemed only torment, madness, and death awaited him within. Lannon had never felt further away from the small cabin in the woods, where he'd grown up with his mother and father secluded from the outside world, than he did now.

Lannon tried to be strong, to think like a Divine Knight, but he didn't seem to possess the courage. He clung to a grain of confidence from knowing he still possessed the Eye of Divinity--a mysterious power that had never been clearly understood and struck fear into the hearts of Dremlock's enemies. But Lannon was shaking in his boots with a terror of the unknown that was so potent it was almost unbearable, as he wondered what horrors lay beyond that massive gate. His eyes kept straying back to the towering statue of the warrior, and he envisioned the great stone hand descending to crush him.

"Calm yourself, lad," Dalvin said. "Your face is as pale as the snow. Don't panic and do anything foolish."

"I'm fine," Lannon said, though that was far from the truth. In spite of all that had happened to him since becoming a Squire of Dremlock, he was still a young, frightened lad with a vivid imagination. But he was also filled with determination to find a way to avoid war--and that one hope rested with Vorden. As leader of the Blood Legion, Vorden might be able to call a truce if Lannon could find a way to reason with him--and if any of his former self still existed.

Dalvin pointed at warrior statue. "Dorok, the great Legion Master who made this our kingdom. The runes on his robe play tricks on your mind, Lannon, and enhance your terror. You can resist them."

Lannon understood, and he fought to block the sorcery from invading his mind. Grudgingly, some of his fright slipped away.

A horn sounded, and Soldiers seized ropes and pulled the huge gates open. The battalion surrendered their horses to the men at the gates and walked through into the mountain cavern, which was lit by rows of large torches that were connected to pillars that had been hewn from the rock walls. Massive crimson vines wound around the pillars--living plants that Lannon didn't recognize. At the end of the entrance tunnel were the mouths of three smaller tunnels. They took the one on the far right and followed it on a downward slope into the earth. Soldiers and trained Goblins wandered the tunnels--the latter causing Lannon to shudder. He couldn't imagine sharing living quarters with creatures of the Deep Shadow.

"Where are we going?" Lannon asked.

"To our forge," said Dalvin. "I was instructed to bring you there. Don't bother asking why, because I have no idea." He handed Lannon his Dragon sword. "You're not a prisoner anymore, if you ever really were. You're entitled to your weapon."

Lannon sheathed the sword. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me," said Dalvin. "I know that sword--which is a fine blade by the way--spends most of its time in its sheath. Taking away your blade is kind of pointless, when your true power comes from within. Tell me something, Lannon. Why did you allow us to bring you here without putting up a fight?"

"I don't want anyone to die," said Lannon, with a shrug. "I guess...I guess I came here hoping to find peace."

Dalvin nodded. "You are indeed a noble lad. But life will soon teach you the way things truly are. Everything ends in violence and death these days."

"I can't accept that," said Lannon.

Dalvin shook his head in amusement.

"This is an impressive fortress," said Lannon, still intimidated by the size of everything. "I never imagined it would be so big."

"Yes, it's quite a sight," said Dalvin, his voice full of pride. It is filled with chambers and tunnels--not unlike the mines below Dremlock. This used to be called New Hammer Hall--the kingdom of the Grey Dwarves. Yes, there is an
Old
Hammer Hall, higher up in the Bonefrost Mountains. The Dwarves were masters at breeding plants that grow underground, and some of their ancient gardens still exist down here and provide us with food. They are amazing to look upon. Just wait until you see some of the mushrooms, which are as large as tents."

"If I live long enough," Lannon said gloomily.

"No reason you shouldn't, lad," said Dalvin. "You were taken prisoner for a reason, and you've been very cooperative. You'll get a good report from me. It's all up to you, Lannon. You can choose to join us and live an honorable life, or you can choose to stand against us and perhaps die as a fool fighting for the wrong reasons."

"You're very sure of yourself," Lannon mumbled.

Dalvin seized his tunic and brought his scarred face close to Lannon's own. "Yes, lad, I
am
very sure of myself! I've been fighting this war for decades, with never a doubt in my mind about whether or not it is right. Can you say the same for life at Dremlock? No, your mind is full of doubts."

A huge Jackal Goblin walked past them, accompanied by two Soldiers. It fixed its yellow eyes on Lannon and drool dripped from its muzzle. Lannon looked away, disgusted. "Yet you have doubts about the Deep Shadow," he said to Dalvin, motioning toward the Jackal. "You fear it."

"The Blood Legion stands alone," said Dalvin. "Tharnin works with us for a mutual goal--it does not rule us."

"How can you say that?" said Lannon, "considering who your leader is? I saw what happened to Vorden--what he became. I was there!"

Dalvin's face looked troubled, but defiant. "It doesn't matter. Vorden is just one man, and he obeys
our
laws ultimately. He must act for the good of the Legion. And I'm not going to argue with you, Lannon. As I said, the choice is yours. I did my part in delivering you here and I bear no further responsibility for what happens to you. You're not even a grown man yet and cannot distinguish truth from lies. In time, you will come to understand and willingly join our cause. As I said, a sorcerer of your talents would be very welcome here."

Dalvin glanced nervously along the tunnel and then lowered his voice. "But bear in mind that if you choose to spit on us and remain loyal to Dremlock for even an instant, I'm sure your old friend will crush you without a second thought. And I assure you, he
loves
to crush people. There is not a man in Dorok's Hand who isn't terrified of him, including myself."

"Vorden is not a killer," said Lannon, though he knew it was probably a silly thing to say. Surely, Vorden had no pity left in his heart. The Hand of Tharnin had likely stolen all of it away.

Dalvin chuckled. "Poor naive lad." He motioned Lannon along. "Anyway, we've talked enough. I actually like you, Lannon, and I wish you well. But now you must go to your fate--whatever it may be."

Lannon was left in silence to contemplate that fate as he was led to the Forge. He didn't actually enter the chambers where weapons and armor were crafted, but instead was led to a round cavern where barrels and crates stood--a storage room where Vorden and Timlin were chatting with a Soldier. A man--a Legion Soldier by the look of him--was bound with ropes nearby and slumped against a barrel, looking defiant yet terrified. Vorden's face was contorted in anger, his helm held in the crook of his arm. He gestured toward the bound prisoner as he talked.

When Vorden spotted Lannon, he broke off the conversation and hurried over, with Timlin at his side. Like Vorden, Timlin wore magnificent armor--white and blue in Timlin's case--that moved fluidly with his body. A sense of unreality washed over Lannon. He was reunited with his two friends and former Squires at last, but the circumstances were so bizarre Lannon could barely make sense of it. How had things come to this, and so quickly? He knew it was the Hand of Tharnin that had made it possible--that ultimate weapon of the Deep Shadow that could change the fate of the one it possessed in an instant. And by the devilish glint in Timlin's eyes, Lannon could see that the gauntlet's influence had extended to him as well. As they approached him, they moved like confident royalty--men of importance who were used to being obeyed. Lannon barely recognized them.

Vorden smiled in an obvious attempt to put him at ease--but his yellow eyes betrayed him. "Glad you could make it, my friend. I hope you were treated well on your journey." He started to pat Lannon on the shoulder with the Hand of Tharnin, but when Lannon flinched away, he switched hands for the task and chuckled. "Do not fear me, Lannon. I won't harm you."

Timlin nodded but didn't smile. His eyes were icy. "Lannon, good to see you again. Welcome to Dorok's hand."