Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar (Ollanhar Series Book 1) (11 page)

It was true. Lannon wasn’t fond of hiding things from his
trusted friends, whereas it didn’t seem to bother Aldreya at all.

“If you’re ready, we should depart,” she said.
“Everyone else is at the stable, waiting for us. I allowed you to sleep as
long as I could, but the night will soon give way to dawn. Is there anything
you require from the tower?”

Lannon considered it, then shook his head. He had
everything he needed—his Birlote cloak and his weapons. “I’m ready.”

Lannon glanced about. Furlus was gone. Four Knights were
awake and keeping watch. His eyes lingered on Ollanhar Tower, a great shadowy
bulk outlined against the stars. Leaving his home in the care of others made
him anxious, but he reminded himself that Furlus was more than capable of
defending the keep.

“Come,” said Aldreya, tugging at his sleeve.

The two of them started across the field.

The bard, who was seated in the grass with his back against
a barrel, suddenly opened his eyes. He lifted his wide-brimmed hat, shook a
moth from it, and placed it on his head. He winked at Aldreya. “Have a
good journey.”

“We’re merely going for a walk,” Aldreya replied.

The bard chuckled, his eyes shining. “Enjoy your walk,
then, my young friends…however far it takes you and to whatever end. My lips
shall reveal nothing. Would you like me to play a melody for you?” He
lifted his flute.

Aldreya gazed at the bard for a moment, looking annoyed.
“Go back to sleep. It is late.”

He bowed and lowered the brim of his hat over his face.

They moved on past him.

“So much for secrecy,” Lannon whispered.

She shrugged. “We do what we can.”

“I’ll bet the Knights are tired,” said Lannon,
“considering all the merrymaking. Are you sure it’s a wise decision to
leave on this night?”

“Yes,” she replied, “for the Lawkeeper is
camped nearby. He will not be expecting us to depart during the Festival. This
is a great opportunity to slip away unnoticed. We will ride until morning and
then rest in a forest until noon.”

“I hope that bard isn’t a spy of Bellis,” said
Lannon.

He was only speaking in jest, but for a moment Aldreya
hesitated—as if considering his words. Then she continued on.

The quest for the Flamestone had begun.

Lannon’s weariness gave way to excitement. He was at last
leaving on an adventure again, wondering what awaited him in strange lands
where Divine Knights would be looked upon as mysterious intruders.

 
But he didn’t allow
himself to get too excited, considering the perils that awaited them. Bellis
would be there with its sprawling legions of soldiers intent upon dominating
all the land. This was a desperate quest from a desperate kingdom struggling to
survive against overwhelming evil.

Chapter
7:
 

The Departure without Glory

Lannon and Aldreya walked the forest trail, carefully
stepping over roots, fallen limbs, and loose stones. They carried no light
source, with Lannon relying on the Eye of Divinity for guidance and Aldreya
staying close to him. They moved like silent shadows beneath the sprawling tree
branches, two of the most powerful warriors in all the land yet lost beneath
the ancient trees that had seen many legendary fighters come and go. The breeze
ruffled the treetops periodically, but otherwise there was deep stillness in
the woods.

 
A crashing noise
arose in the brush nearby. In an instant, Lannon’s bone-sword was in hand, a
pale weapon in the starlight that filtered down through the branches, and
Aldreya held her stone dagger close to her chest in the traditional stance of a
sorcerer. The stench of the Deep Shadow hung in the air—along with a physical
stench that could easily have been from a Goblin.

Something moved again in the brush, more silently this
time—attempting to hide its presence. It seemed to be moving away from them.

Lannon scanned the woods, but glimpsed nothing beyond weak
traces of dark sorcery that could have been old. Whatever had made the noise
was beyond his range. “Could just be a wolf or a bear,” he whispered,
“startled by our presence.”

“No, a creature of the Deep Shadow lurks here,”
said Aldreya. “The stench of evil is very fresh. But is this a foe
stalking us? Or just some Goblin wandering around outside the Bloodlands?”

Lannon shrugged. “I sense it’s not very
powerful—maybe a Tree Goblin. Probably nothing to worry about.” He
yawned, wanting only to get to the stable and start the journey so he could
rest in the saddle. The Birlote milk had left him feeling both tired and a bit
ill, with a throbbing headache. Dealing with some petty Goblin was just an
annoyance that Lannon wanted no part of.

Aldreya sniffed the air, then shook her head. “The
stench is too strong for a Tree Goblin, and the creature is far too noisy. Tree
Goblins move quietly through the treetops. It is something bigger—perhaps a
Wolf or a Jackal. Wait here, Lannon. I’m going to see if I can hunt it
down.”

Aldreya’s dagger emitted a faint greenish glow, and she
slipped into the forest without a sound. How she was able to walk silently
across crunchy leaves was beyond Lannon’s comprehension. Even a fully trained
Blue Knight made a bit of noise when moving over dry leaves. He wondered if all
Birlotes were capable of that feat, or if it had something to do with her
sorcery. He thought back to all the times Shennen Silverarrow—the famous Blue
Knight and assassin—had moved so silently over any surface, and he decided it
was a Birlote skill.

Lannon waited patiently, sword leaning on his shoulder. A
few moments passed, and then he heard another crash that was followed by an
inhuman screech. A green fireball shot up through the trees and struck
something.

A moment later, a burning shadow swooped down into the
trail—a Goblin Vulture partially engulfed in green fire, a winged monstrosity
with a humanoid face, bulbous black eyes, and a mouth that resembled a bloody
gash from which a deadly beak extended. Its eyes gleaming with hatred, it dove
for Lannon—a final, desperate act. The beast knew it was doomed and wanted
only to take Lannon’s life before its own burned into ash.

The beast’s flaming wings beat frantically, Aldreya’s
sorcerous fire quickly melting flesh from bone. The Vulture was tremendously
resilient, its will and hatred holding it together long enough to reach Lannon.
With a gurgling hiss, it hurtled from the sky like a bloated spear, beak aimed
at Lannon’s chest.

It was such a swift and frantic dive that a lesser warrior
might have been caught off guard and been pierced. But the Eye of Divinity
sprang to life on instinct, guiding Lannon’s movements. As the Vulture closed
in, Lannon dodged and cut off the beast’s head. The Vulture’s body dropped to
the dirt and lay burning, while the detached head continued to glare at him, a
spark of life lingering in the black eyes. With a shudder, Lannon kicked the
head into the forest.

Aldreya stepped into the trail. She gazed at the pile of
ash that had once been their foe, a look of contemplation on her face. “A
spy of Bellis or the Blood Legion, no doubt. It was probably trying to escape
and warn of our plans.”

“Can Vultures communicate like that?” asked
Lannon. He had always assumed they lacked such intelligence.

She nodded. “With enough training, it can be done. A
Vulture can deliver a simple message.”

 
“Regardless,”
said Lannon, “no message will be delivered on this night.” He cleaned
his sword and then sheathed it.

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Aldreya.
“When the beast took flight, I glimpsed another shadow soar over the
treetops. It could have been another Vulture or some other winged spy.”

***

They reached the stable without further incident, where
their horses were already prepared for the journey. The Knights of
Ollanhar—including Daledus, who stood apart from the others—were gathered in
a crowd waiting for the arrival of their leaders. They wore cloaks over their
armor, and no banners of Dremlock were displayed. This was strange to Lannon,
not at all like the festive departures the Divine Knights typically received.
There was no one to cheer them on—just tired, sullen warriors slipping off
into the shadows.

Furlus Goblincrusher, looking tired, was there to speak a
few words of encouragement to the crowd. Then he added, “Unfortunately,
the Nine Axes have not arrived yet. Their whereabouts are not known.”

This news seemed to alarm Aldreya. “Should we delay
the journey? I want to make sure the tower is well defended in our
absence.”

“No need for that,” said Furlus. “I suspect
they may have gotten sidetracked by a few of the taverns along the way. This
quest is long overdue. Let Taris and I worry about Ollanhar. If you want to
truly defend the tower, then bring back that Flamestone. Only then will we be
assured of defeating Bellis.”

Aldreya reported the incident with the Vulture, but Furlus
seemed to dismiss it as unimportant.

“All that matters now is the Flamestone,” he
said, his bearded face somber in the lantern light. “You must retrieve it
at all costs.”

“Is something troubling you, Furlus?” asked
Lannon.

“Many things trouble me,” said Furlus, with a
shrug.

“I was referring to something specific,” said
Lannon. “Something that would cause an immediate need for this new
Flamestone.”

“Yes,” said Furlus, “but I am not allowed
speak of it. If we fail to obtain the Flamestone, Dremlock will surely be doomed.”

“We will not fail,” said Prince Vannas. “My
own Flamestone will make sure of it and guide us through fog and shadow and
raging sea.”

“I believe in you, my cousin,” said Lothrin,
patting the prince on the back. “Victory will be ours.”

“We will find a way,” said Vorden. “We
always do.”

“Such talk is pointless,” said Bekka. “We
have no idea what awaits us in distant lands. We’re all powerful fighters,
certainly, but we may be overmatched beyond the mountains of Silverland.”
In spite of being new to the group, Bekka had no issue with speaking her mind.
She made no effort to fit in, but simply lived as the warrior she had always
been.

Jace nodded. His huge form blocked out the lantern light.
“Bekka is correct. Overconfidence will be our downfall. We cannot go on
this journey expecting an easy victory. We will need our wits to survive.”

“Who needs wits,” said Daledus, his eyes sullen,
“when we have this?” He balled up his meaty fist. “I’ll crack a
few jaws before this quest is ended!”

No one replied to the angry Dwarf. They just let him talk.

“Good luck to you, my friends,” said Furlus.
“May the Divine Essence watch over you and bless your journey so that you
return victorious. May it shine its light on you when the darkness seems
impenetrable and reveal a path.”

“We’re all tired,” said Aldreya. “But we
must ride out. Are you ready, Lannon?”

Lannon nodded. It was time to depart.

Chapter
8:
 

The Joust
for the Pale Hammer

After leaving the stable under cover of darkness, they
journeyed through the hill country for a few days, and it appeared that no
enemies followed or were aware of their departure. No spies were spotted on
land or in the sky, and the weather was fair for traveling, with only a couple
of light rain showers. The days were warm, the grassy hills ruffled by pleasant
breezes, and camping was peaceful and relaxing beneath the stars. There was
plenty of good food and drink.

But the hill country was strange, and there were dangers to
be found if one wandered from the path, even in the light of day.

Jace kept a diary of their
journey:

“Seemingly endless
stretches of the unknown greet our vision, beneath the infinite sky. Here stand
hills with rocky ruins poking out of them like bones—how ancient I cannot
imagine. Who can guess what odd curses of the Deep Shadow are found within the
crumbling walls, waiting like poisonous serpents to strike anyone who dares
enter? Even the oldest Trolls who wander the hillsides have no memory of these
lairs. And this is only the beginning, for soon we will encounter lands where
even I have never wandered, where the familiar is utterly lost to us…”

On the fourth day, the danger that surrounded them was at
last revealed, as one of the Blue Knights—Faindan Stillsword—made the mistake
of poking around in some ancient ruins when the travelers were camped for
lunch, and he became infected by a disease of the Deep Shadow. His left hand
turned red and swelled to twice its normal size, causing him pain as if from
fire. He moaned and cursed, rolling around in the grass and begging for someone
to knock him unconscious. Dallsa did her best to treat the infection, but she
couldn’t calm the burning agony.

“My curse is bitter!” Faindan groaned. “The
pain is unbearable!” The hand was so tender that if he bumped it against
anything—even slightly—he screamed. He held it in the air, but his arm was
clearly growing tired, his elbow sagging.

Faindan finally seemed to calm down a bit—until a large
fly landed on the swollen hand. Then he howled and writhed about.

“Stop moving, Faindan,” Dallsa said, as she
fought to hold him still. “All this thrashing around isn’t going to
help.”

Lannon and some of the others gathered in a circle around
him on this bright and sunny day, giving each other helpless glances. Faindan
was a handsome young Knight with black hair and blue eyes. He was extremely
likable, and the others desperately wanted to help him. But the answer eluded
them.

“Daledus,” Faindan croaked. “Use your fist
on me, my friend. End this wretched pain with one stout blow!”

Daledus shook his head. The Dwarf’s broad face held a sad
expression. “I wish I could help you, but you don’t want a blow from my
fist, Faindan. You might not get up again.”

Faindan groaned. “I don’t care, just strike me.”

“Nobody is going to strike you, Faindan,” said
Dallsa. “I’m going to cure you, if you’ll stop fighting me. I can drive
out the curse.”

“I’m sorry about your agony, Faindan,” said
Aldreya. “Yet I have faith that Dallsa can indeed heal you.” In a
commanding tone, she added, “You will simply lay still and allow her to
treat the infection. That’s an order.”

Faindan didn’t answer. His teeth were clenched.

At last Faindan reached toward Lannon—extending the
bloated, crimson hand that looked as if it were covered in scales. “Help
me, High Watchman!”

“I wish there was something I could do,” said
Lannon. “Unfortunately, I cannot cure your condition. Dallsa has the
power, though.”

“What about medication?” asked Vorden, standing
with his arms folded across his armored chest. Vorden was a thinker and never
liked to give up on anyone. “Surely there must be something that can dull
the pain.”

“Nothing I know of,” said Dallsa. “This type
of infection is based entirely on dark sorcery. It takes sorcery to cure
it.”

“Can it be fatal?” asked Lannon, whispering to
Dallsa.

“Not likely,” Dallsa whispered back. “I
believe the infection has the goal of causing him misery and perhaps
contaminating his mind, subduing his will, and darkening his dreams. It is a
curse against life—a very nasty thing to encounter, as it could be considered
a fate worse than death.”

“Can you stand up, Faindan?” asked Aldreya. As
she stood with her silver curls blowing in the breeze, there was no pity in her
gaze. She seemed as cold as ice—an unfathomable mage in her green cloak—yet
Lannon knew she had a caring heart and was concerned for everyone around her.
However, she expected Divine Knights to act appropriately—to perhaps even act
as a Birlote would and put the agony aside for the sake of duty.

Faindan shook his head. “I just want to lay here.”

“I can help him to his horse,” said Lannon. He
started forward.

“No one will help him,” said Aldreya, seizing
Lannon’s arm. “His hand is infected, but his legs will carry him to his
horse.”

“I don’t like it,” said Jerret, who was seated on
a rock. “Why make him more miserable by having to stand and walk on his
own? And how is he supposed to climb into the saddle when he can’t touch
anything?”

Aldreya fixed her stern gaze on Jerret. “No one is to
be coddled on this journey, or we will not survive. We must face our hardships
and overcome them. I have seen other Knights overcome pain to this degree by
will alone. Our training allows for such feats.”

“But this is cruel,” said Vorden. “Why put
Faindan through more misery than necessary? You’ve changed, Aldreya. You’ve
become like other Birlote sorcerers who grow in power and forget what it’s like
to struggle.”

She didn’t reply and showed no emotion.

The other Knights exchanged tense looks.

“Don’t my words mean anything to you?” asked
Vorden. “The old Aldreya would have at least given me a heated
argument.”

“You don’t understand Birlotes,” Aldreya replied,
“and you never will. So there is no point in trying to make you
understand. We grow and change. We become who we were meant to be. Do not
mistake that for a bad thing.”

“There is no need for insults, Vorden,” said
Lannon. “Aldreya is our leader and we must respect her decisions.”

“No insult intended,” said Vorden. “Just
giving a humble opinion.”

“I have a humble opinion too,” said Jerret,
“that I would like to voice.”

Aldreya nodded. “Feel free.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” said Jerret,
“but you Birlotes think Noracks are weak and cannot endure great
hardships.”

She glared at him. “We aren’t children anymore,
Jerret. Don’t try to bait me into a discussion of Birlotes versus Noracks—not
when my favorite warrior in all the land is standing next to me and happens to
be a Norack.” She nudged Lannon.

“I’m your favorite warrior?” said Lannon,
surprised.

Aldreya nodded. “I trust you like no other,
Lannon.”

Jerret bowed. “My apologies, Green Knight.” His
voice was heavy with sarcasm. “But I still don’t think Faindan should be
forced to move without help. As a Red Knight, I am often called a
barbarian—but I am not a savage.”

“Nor am I,” said Galvia. “We should help him,
Aldreya. There is no shame in giving comfort to an injured warrior.”

“Yes, help me,” Faindan pleaded. “Don’t let
me suffer.”

“This is ridiculous,” said Prince Vannas, giving
Aldreya a glare. “You’re letting your power turn you cold. I feel rather
disgusted by this, and I’m glad I’m not a sorcerer. The Royal Family would not
approve.”

For an instant, a hint of doubt appeared in Aldreya’s eyes.
By the bloodline of the Birlote Royal Family, Prince Vannas outranked her. His
opinion held great weight with her and always would. But at Ollanhar, she was
the Green Knight and he was forced to obey her commands. It was an awkward
situation.

Lothrin and Bekka said nothing, but they looked
uncomfortable.

“You might be right, Aldreya,” said Dallsa.
“As cruel as it seems, Faindan needs to find his strength.” But she
appeared doubtful.

At last, Aldreya looked to Lannon for his input.

“I have to agree with the others,” said Lannon.
He quickly added, “I mean, about whether or not we should help Faindan. I
understand your reasoning, Aldreya, but it’s the way of Divine Knights to
assist each other.”

She nodded. “I see. I am overruled. Very well, give
him whatever assistance he wants, but you won’t be doing him any favors. It
will likely take a toll on him. But I have said enough.” She turned about
rigidly and walked away.

Vorden shook his head. “She has definitely grown
colder.”

“I disagree,” said Lannon. “She’s just
strong in her beliefs, Vorden. She has a lot of responsibilities and must make
many tough decisions.” But Vorden was right in that Aldreya had indeed
changed. She had become much more like Taris Warhawk lately—confident,
commanding, and seemingly full of wisdom, but also stern and strange to those
around her. But she hadn’t yet earned the enormous respect that was given to
Taris, and her decisions were bound to be questioned.

Jace approached them, pipe in hand. He towered over the
Knights, gazing down at Faindan. “Nasty little curse you have there. Would
you like a bucket of water to dip that hand in—cool it down a bit?”

“Yes!” Faindan said excitedly. “Bring
water!”

“Bad idea,” said Jace. “Water will only make
it worse.
Anything
you try will make it worse. Nothing to do but wait it
out, young man, and let the healer do her work.” Jace puffed his pipe and
grinned. “At least it’s another beautiful day, curse or not.” With
that, he wandered away.

Together, Jerret and Vorden helped Faindan up and took him
to his horse. The young Blue Knight continued to twist and groan, as he was
heaved into the saddle. He ignored the reins and instead hunkered down, sweat
dripping from his brow as he struggled against the smoldering pain—but the
mighty Greywind horse would bear him along on its own.

As they rode off through the hills, Faindan cursed them and
begged them for help, but Dallsa had done all she could for the day and needed
rest. He whimpered and moaned, threatening to fling himself from the saddle.
Faindan was an elite Blue Knight, and his behavior was terribly embarrassing to
the others. It brought shame upon the whole party.

Daledus—who was Faindan’s good friend—rode with his head
bowed, a dismayed look on his face. If Daledus’ partially burned beard didn’t
bring him enough shame, now there was this.

Lannon, however, felt nothing but pity for Faindan. It was
at times like these that the Eye of Divinity seemed inadequate. For all its
power, it lacked the ability to heal or drive out curses in others—or if it
did possess such abilities, Lannon was not able to access them. He hated
feeling so helpless.

As they entered a stretch of forest, Faindan fell silent.
This brought great relief to the others, who couldn’t bear to witness a Divine
Knight crying over pain and making childish threats. The Knights took to
talking and laughing, enjoying the pleasant day. Lannon thought perhaps Faindan
was recovering.

Then Faindan cried out and fell from the saddle. He lay on
the ground for a moment in the trail, his chest heaving, and then rose. His
face bore a hideous grin, and he held a bloody sword in one hand. His other
hand—the infected and swollen one—was severed from his wrist and lay in the
dirt.

“Good riddance!” Faindan bellowed. “I am
free!”

The Knights groaned. Aldreya swung down from her horse to
retrieve the hand, which could be stored away and later reattached by the healers
of Dremlock. But Faindan was having none of it. His sword erupted into
sorcerous fire, and he quickly burned the severed hand into ash.

“Foolish,” Aldreya said. “Now you are less
of a warrior.”

“But I am free!” Faindan laughed. “The agony
is gone!” It was a shocking reminder of the evil and power of the Deep
Shadow.

“Faindan, what have you done?” said Daledus,
shaking his head in disbelief. “A Blue Knight with only one hand? You have
ruined yourself!”

Bekka’s face bore a look of disgust. “I helped train you,
Faindan. I saw your great potential. How could you do this to yourself?”

It was indeed a sad event, for Faindan was one of the most
talented young Knights at Dremlock. A Blue Knight needed two hands to be
successful, and by surrendering to the agony, Faindan had all but destroyed his
promising career—and soon the truth would strike him hard.

“I warned of this,” said Aldreya, to the others.
“I sought to strengthen his will, and the rest of you stood against me.
Now you see the result.”

The Knights sat with bowed heads and gloomy expressions.

Dallsa bandaged the wound. “The stump will heal,
Faindan. But your hand won’t grow back. Why didn’t you listen to me?”

With a bit of struggle, Faindan returned to the saddle.
“I feel much better now, my friends. This is pain that I can tolerate, and
the wound will heal soon with a bit of meditation. I can continue on and fight
with one hand. I…I want to be part of this great quest and return victorious
to Ollanhar.”

“No, Faindan,” said Aldreya. “You would only
ride to your doom. You will return to Dremlock, where the High Council will
decide your fate. But I am convinced your days as a Blue Knight are
finished.”

Faindan looked horrified. “But…but I was in so much
pain. I had to do something! Don’t you understand?”

Aldreya nodded. “But it doesn’t matter. I cannot in
good conscience allow you to continue. You would only burden us.”

For a moment Faindan sat motionless on his horse, his
expression pleading. He gazed at Lannon, who simply looked away. Then Faindan
lifted the reins in his good hand and rode off for Dremlock, his cry of
frustration echoing through the woods.