Knights: Book 02 - The Hand of Tharnin (3 page)

"I've heard enough of this vile ranting!" snarled Cordus. "Lannon, summon the Eye and lay bare his secrets."

Lannon struggled hard to call forth his power, and at last he felt his consciousness divide in two. The Eye of Divinity surged forth and probed Vellera, but all Lannon could see was writhing darkness. He hesitated, unsure of what to do.

"Tell us what you see!" Taris said, clutching his shoulder.

"Nothing," said Lannon, shaking his head. "Just shadows."

"You must try harder," said Taris. "Focus!"

Lannon probed deep into the man, and the shroud of darkness fell away to reveal raging flames. Vellera was burning within, a fiery presence that emanated deep hatred toward Lannon. It was like a wall of flames engulfing something too terrible to imagine.

As Lannon watched helplessly, unable to move, the metal gauntlet burst through the wall of fire and closed around Lannon's throat. The gauntlet possessed a horrific strength that should have crushed Lannon's throat with ease, but he instinctively used the Eye of Divinity to shield himself.

For a moment, Lannon struggled fiercely to keep the metal hand from strangling him, but he was quickly losing ground. He could feel the fingers tightening down, closing off his windpipe.

Then a flash of light erupted and Lannon's mind was plunged into a darkness so heavy he wasn't sure he would ever awaken.

When Lannon awoke, he was in the Hall of Healing. He tried to sit up, but one of the healers--a lean man with wavy red hair--hurried over and urged him to stay lying down. The White Knight gazed at Lannon with concern. "You need more rest, Squire," he said, "or your legs will surely buckle beneath you. Your strength has not yet returned."

"What happened to me?" asked Lannon. He had no concept of time. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"For about a week," said the White Knight.

Lannon was stunned by the news. "An entire week, asleep?"

"Well, not asleep," said the healer, "in the sense you're familiar with. You were able to eat and drink, but your mind was in a state of darkness. You were nearly killed by dark sorcery. If it hadn't been for Taris Warhawk, you surely would have died. Sadly, Taris suffered severe burns, but he is expected to recover."

Lannon groaned. "Did anyone else get hurt?"

"Yes," said the White Knight, sighing. "Furlus Goblincrusher suffered a terrible injury to his leg. He may never walk again, though it depends on his strength of will. Both Taris and Furlus are in a special area of the Hall of Healing reserved for High Council members, so you won't be able to see them without being summoned. But I assure you they are recovering."

Lannon could hardly believe what he'd just heard. Both Tower Masters--two extremely powerful Knights--had been struck down. "What of the demon man?" he asked. "The one who attacked me?"

The White Knight bowed his head. "Perhaps you should rest for now."

Lannon seized his robe. "You must tell me!"

"He escaped from the Deep Forge," said the White Knight. "The chamber filled with smoke, and when the smoke cleared, there was no trace of the man. A massive search is taking place throughout Dremlock."

"I can't believe this," Lannon whispered, the will drained from him. Suddenly, Dremlock seemed to have fallen under a shadow of despair. The Hall of Healing was supposed to be bright and pleasant, with its hanging plants, marble bricks, and beautiful fountains and pools. But Lannon's mind was choked in darkness and all he could see was ugliness.

"Perhaps a bath would improve your mood," said the healer, "and help you relax. Would you like to give it a try?"

With the help of the healer, Lannon was able to leave the bed, bathe, and put on fresh clothes. His legs were unsteady, so he returned to bed afterwards. He felt terribly restless, wanting to do anything but lay there.

"You must rest until after dinner," said the healer, "and then you can walk around some. I suspect that by tomorrow morning you should be ready to return to your quarters--though you must refrain from training for a few days."

Lannon's teacher, Garrin Daggerblood, entered the chamber and smiled down at Lannon. It was a forced smile, however. Garrin dismissed the White Knight with a wave. "And how are you feeling, my young friend?"

Garrin had been cold to Lannon lately--ever since Lannon and his friends had broken the Sacred Laws of Dremlock and were nearly expelled from the Kingdom. Garrin had also recently been promoted to the rank of Lord of the Blue Knights, when Carn Pureheart had retired unexpectedly. However, he had not yet been voted onto the High Council, and rumors spoke of him being highly disgruntled over that fact.

"Not so good," said Lannon, "all things considered."

Garrin nodded, the smile vanishing. "Quite a terrible turn of events. One thing is certain--the man who injured the Tower Masters was an amazingly powerful foe. Either that, or he knew well their weaknesses."

Garrin's gaze burned into Lannon, and Lannon looked away. Lannon could feel suspicion emanating from the Blue Knight--and perhaps blame as well. It was painfully obvious that Garrin Daggerblood just didn't like Lannon and already considered Lannon a lost cause.

"The High Council has voted to call in a failed Knight to save us all," said Garrin. "A
failed
Knight, of all things. And one we thought was dead. Well, it turns out he not only isn't dead, but he's an expert on magical relics--so it is said. Indeed, it seems he has found a way to extend his life by use of forbidden sorcery."

"What failed Knight are you talking about?" said Lannon.

Garrin held up two books for Lannon to see. They were
The Truth about Goblins
and
Tales of Kuran Darkender
by Jace Lancelord, ancient books that Lannon's father had bought for him. "Jace Lancelord," said Garrin, shaking his head in disgust. "A failed, expelled Knight and one who employs forbidden sorcery. He will do what you could not."

 
Lannon snatched the books from Garrin's hand. "Did you get those from my room, Master Garrin?"

Garrin shrugged, his lip curling into a sneer. "So what if I did? I am a highly ranked Knight. I have the right to take what I want. You, as a Squire, have no rights. Do you take issue with my actions?"

Lannon shook his head. "No, Master Garrin."

Garrin leaned forward until his bearded face was close to Lannon's. "So, as I said, Jace Lancelord is coming to save Dremlock--even though I voiced strong opposition to it. What do you think of that? The author of your favorite books, still alive when he should be dead--now playing the role of Dremlock's savior."

Lannon wasn't sure what to think. Though he loved the books Jace Lancelord had written, he had no idea what kind of man he was. And Lannon wasn't in the frame of mind to get excited over much of anything.

"This sort of thing is not uncommon," said Garrin. "Outsiders being called upon to serve Dremlock--even lowly Rangers now and then." He grimaced in disgust. "It happens all the time, sadly. But what a coincidence that this Jace Lancelord happens to be your favorite author. Don't you think?"

Lannon shrugged, completely baffled. "What are you trying to suggest, Master Garrin? It's mere coincidence. I don't know anything about the man. My father gave me those books when I was a child, and that's all there is to it. I had no other books. So I guess that's why he's my favorite author. And haven't other Knights written books? I see a lot of authors in the Library with Knightly last names."

"Perhaps," said Garrin. "But here you are, with those books--and then suddenly Jace Lancelord turns up alive and well. Oh, and he's coming to Dremlock to save us. Quite an amazing coincidence."

"Not really," said Lannon, deeply puzzled.

"Yes,
really
," said Garrin.

Lannon sighed and decided to keep quiet. Garrin's behavior was nothing new. Garrin had been growing ever more suspicious of Lannon, Vorden, and Timlin over the weeks, and sometimes his hinted accusations were so bizarre it was difficult to figure out what he was trying to say. He wished Garrin would go away.

"How will this Jace fellow help Dremlock?" asked Lannon, trying to steer the conversation toward something rational.

"As I said," Garrin explained, "Jace Lancelord is an expert on magical weapons and relics. Like the demon man's big metal gauntlet that nearly killed you. Like the demon man's big metal gauntlet that burned half of Taris' handsome Birlote face and crushed Furlus' fat Dwarven leg. Am I making sense here?"

Barely
, Lannon thought, wondering if Garrin was simply going insane. Garrin's paranoia seemed to be growing worse every time Lannon saw him.

"Oh, and you'll be working with old Jace on the mystery," said Garrin, with a chuckle. "The bearer of the Eye of Divinity and his favorite author, working hard to save Dremlock. I'm guessing you're excited at the prospect."

On the contrary, Lannon wasn't looking forward to it at all. He wanted to retreat to his room and hide. He dreaded the thought of encountering the demon man again, especially without Taris to protect him.

"Just know this, boy," said Garrin, his eyes narrowing and shining with malice. He tapped his forehead, "I'm watching your every move."

Lannon gave a half nod, unsure of how to react.

Garrin straightened his back and adjusted his cloak. "All training shall be postponed until the issue with the demon man is settled. And that goes for Vorden and Timlin as well, since I'm sure they will be assisting you. If you have any questions for me, you know where to find me--though I suspect your training as a Blue Squire will not be nearly as important as the Eye of Divinity in this matter. Now, if there is nothing else you want to ask me, Furlus Goblincrusher has requested that you visit him in his room. Are you able to stand?"

Lannon gave it a try, and his legs sagged beneath him. Grunting, Garrin helped Lannon stand up straight.

"You'll find your legs soon enough," said Garrin. "I wish I could say the same for old Furlus. His walking days may be finished."

***

After a few steps, Lannon found his balance, and soon he stood by Furlus' bedside. Garrin excused himself, leaving the two of them alone. Furlus' left leg was heavily bandaged and his forehead dripped sweat. His face was tense with obvious pain that Lannon couldn't imagine.

Furlus seized Lannon's arm. "How are you, lad?"

"I'm fine," said Lannon, his gaze straying again to Furlus' injured leg. Furlus had always seemed invincible, a Dwarven wall of muscle and power that nothing could breech. Now he looked old and helpless, his great bulk something to only weigh him down. Lannon hated what he saw and wished he could help.

"I've seen better days myself," said Furlus. "And so has old Taris. Poor fellow had half of his face burned into ruin."

Lannon swallowed hard and could think of nothing to say.

"I called you in here to warn you," said Furlus. "I fear that Dremlock is..." His eyes settled shut and then popped open. "I fear that Dremlock is doomed. No one can be trusted anymore, not even your closest friends."

"I'll keep that in mind," Lannon mumbled, his heart full of pity for the Tower Master. "Just try to rest and heal up."

"No one should waste time worrying about me," Furlus grunted, looking annoyed. "I'm talking about
you
, Lannon! You may be Dremlock's only hope. Only the Eye of Divinity can see through the wall of shadows that conceals the plans of our enemies. Cordus and Taris didn't want to burden you with the truth. But it's time for you to understand just how important you are. The Knights of Dremlock are running out of options and resources. So we...we..." His eyes slipped shut again beneath his drooping brows.

"Rest up," Lannon whispered, and he started to turn away.

But Furlus' hand again tightened around Lannon's arm, and the Tower Master opened his eyes. "The medicine has made me tired, but I'm not finished yet. I want to say that I no longer think the Knights can protect you--not when two Tower Masters are crushed with ease. You nearly were killed down there in the Deep Forge. It took everything Taris had to save you."

"Then what can I do?" said Lannon, panic rising within him.

"You must learn to think like a Knight," said Furlus. "You've got to thicken your skin a bit and take the battle to your foes."

"I don't understand what you mean," said Lannon.

"Indeed," said Furlus, "and therein lies the problem. "You're thinking in defensive terms, but a Knight must sometimes go on the attack. Hunt down your foes--the foes of Dremlock--and destroy them before they destroy you."

Lannon shuddered at the thought of hunting down the demon man, or Tenneth Bard (if the Black Knight still lived). "Where do I even begin, Furlus? I'm still just a Squire who has to obey the rules."

"I don't know where you begin," said Furlus, shaking his head "and now that I'm bedridden I cannot help you. I'm certain I will heal from this, but it will take awhile. Regardless, you have to decide for yourself. But I feel very strongly about one thing--if you simply try to hide from your enemies, eventually they will find you and kill you. You must go to them and make them hide from
you
. And even then, hope may be slim at best."

Lannon sighed. "I'll do what I can, Master Furlus."

"And one more thing," said Furlus. "Don't..." His eyes settled closed. "Don't worry about anything but..." He broke into snores.

Lannon turned away, put his face in his hands, and groaned. Everything was falling apart, and his life was in grave danger. Lannon had never felt as terrified, alone, and as miserable in his entire life as he did now.
 
His future seemed lost in darkness, his dream of being a great Knight in a shining kingdom soured into unrecognizable swill.

"Why did I ever come here?" Lannon said aloud.

"Let me guess," came a cheerful reply. "The rice pudding?"

"What?" Lannon lowered his hands and opened his eyes. Before him stood a tall man--nearly seven feet in height--dressed in an extravagant, purple cloak with gold trim. He was clean shaven, with a smooth, youthful face and a curly black hair. His grey eyes twinkled with amusement as he puffed at a pipe.

"What?" Lannon said again.

"The rice pudding," said the stranger. "You asked why you came here, and that was my answer. Who doesn't love the rice pudding at Dremlock?"

Lannon was at a loss for words.

The stranger extended his hand. "Jace Lancelord."

Lannon shook it. "Ah, the one who wrote the books." For some reason Lannon couldn't explain, he felt instantly at ease.

"As you might know," said Jace, "I have been hired to solve the riddle of the gauntlet that nearly took your life. And you're going to help me. However, the Knights don't trust me, so two of them will be following us everywhere." He rolled his eyes. "They're outside the room right now. Charming fellows."

"Where should we begin?" Lannon asked.

"I'll actually do most of the riddle solving on my own," said Jace. "I doubt I'll require much help from you. I already suspect we're dealing with a threat that Dremlock is ill-prepared for. In fact, as one who has studied the history of this kingdom and its war with the Deep Shadow extensively, I think this could be one of the greatest threats Dremlock has ever faced. Solving the riddle of the gauntlet and the demon man is one task--but there is a larger puzzle here. I think we'll need to consult with the wisest of the wise to know how we should proceed."