Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar (Ollanhar Series Book 1) (30 page)

Faindan
bowed. “Greetings. I was sent here by Furlus.” He showed Valedos his
missing hand. “He seemed to think you could help with this.”

Valedos
slammed his ale mug down on the bar. “Can’t help you,” he growled.
“I have no idea how to make a hand grow back.”

Faindan
wasn’t sure what to make of that response. “Okay, but I didn’t expect you
to have that sort of skill. I’m just doing what Furlus told me to do—come here
and see you. So here I am.”

“What
happened?” asked Valedos.

Faindan
told his story. When he was finished, Valedos gazed at him with contempt.

“That’s
a pathetic tale,” said the Dark Knight. “I’m surprised Furlus didn’t
just toss you right out of the Order.”

Anger
burned within Faindan. “Well, he didn’t. He wants me to remain a Knight.
So can you help me, or not?”

“Possibly,”
said Valedos. “But why should I? You brought disgrace to Dremlock and
Ollanhar. If I help you, I want some assurance that you’re going to grow a
backbone and become a real warrior.”

Faindan’s
anger increased. “I can’t give any such guarantee, because the whole
concept of it is rather insulting. Until you’ve been in the situation I have,
you shouldn’t judge me.”

“You
came to me for help,” said Valedos, “and I’m deciding whether or not
you’re worth the effort—so I’m going to judge you. You’re one of those
snobbish Blue Knights, I see, who think you should get treated like royalty.
Well, I’m going to speak my mind. If you don’t like it, the door is that way.”
He pointed.

Faindan
stood his ground.

Valedos
nodded. “Then as I was saying, I won’t help you until you prove to me you
can overcome that weak will of yours.”

“How
can I possibly do that?” asked Faindan. “There is no way to prove
such a thing.”

“Sure
there is,” said Valedos. “You must pass through the Gauntlet of Axes
and become an honorary member of the Nine Axes. Only a handful of Knights have
made it through the Gauntlet. A good many have failed.”

“And
what would it accomplish?” asked Faindan. “What would it mean to be
an
honorary
member?
”

Valedos
laughed. “Essentially nothing—beyond earning great respect. But if you
succeed, I will find a way to turn that missing hand of yours into your
greatest strength. Bear in mind that the Gauntlet of Axes is difficult. Usually
only very stout Olrogs can emerge victorious. If you were to prevail, it would
erase the cowardly actions of your past—actions that other Knights will look
upon with contempt. But if you complete the trial, no one would question your
heart and skill ever again. So what is your answer?”

The
challenge sounded worthy. Faindan didn’t want to be a Knight that others
regarded as a coward, and it would take many heroic deeds to change their minds
about him. Yet the Gauntlet of Axes seemed to offer a quick fix for his
reputation—if he could prevail. And if he failed, no one would think less of
him. It seemed to be a gamble with little risk.

“I’ll
do it,” said Faindan.

“Good,”
said Valedos. “Just a word of warning—the Gauntlet of Axes can be very
painful and dangerous. It can leave you scarred. Still want in?”

Faindan
felt he had to prove himself regardless of the risks. “I’m ready. We can
do this right now if you want.”

Valedos
grinned in approval. “That’s the spirit. We’ll have a drink or three
first, though. My warriors are busy right now helping some townsfolk repair a
bridge. We’ll meet up with them later and go out back.” His grey eyes
narrowed. “And then you’ll truly know the meaning of pain.”

“I
already know the meaning of pain,” said Faindan. “I cut off my own
hand after being driven mad by pain, remember? Trust me—I’m prepared for
whatever punishment you plan to give me.”

Valedos
didn’t reply.

***

The
Gauntlet of Axes took place in the grass behind the tavern. The Nine Axes were
present, along with all the Knights from the tavern. It seemed Faindan had
already earned a bit of respect just for agreeing to the test, as the onlookers
cheered for him. He sensed they didn’t envy him, however, as they seemed to
know something he didn’t.

Valedos
stood off to one side, in full armor, and the remaining eight members of the
Nine Axes gathered in two rows—four on each side and spaced unevenly across
from each other. They raised their battle axes, which were bathed in a fiery
glow from the late afternoon sun that made them look bloody. Their bearded
faces were grim, showing no hint of mercy.

“You’re
lucky,” Valedos said to Faindan. “There used to be Ten Axes, with
five on each side of the gauntlet. You only have to endure eight.”

“How
do I begin?” asked Faindan, gazing at the menacing battle axes and
wondering what the Dwarves planned to do with them. Surely they weren’t going
to swing at him—but when it came to Olrogs one never knew.

“As
with all gauntlets,” said Valedos, “the goal is to pass through it.
Make it through and you win. Fall down and give up—you lose. And don’t worry,
you will not be cut. This is a trial of endurance only.”

Faindan
took position at one end of the gauntlet. The crowd went silent, their faces
tense as they watched.

The
battle axes burned with yellow fire.

Shoring
up his will, Faindan started forward. The first Dark Knight he encountered
brought the burning axe close to him, and the pain that exploded within Faindan
was something he could not have prepared for it. It hurt so bad he screamed and
dropped to his knees. It felt like his flesh was boiling.

Was
this the end of the trial? Was he so weak he couldn’t even get past the first
axe?
He
asked himself these questions, and the answer was that he somehow had to get up
and keep going. The memory of severing his own hand flooded him with anger and
determination and drove him to rise again.

Faindan
stumbled forward, and all he knew was a haze of pain, as axe after axe came
down to touch him with yellow flames. He wasn’t even sure he was still walking
or if he was dead and his soul was simply floating along. All he knew was he
had to make it through the gauntlet or he could never find peace.

At
last he simply gave out. There was nothing left, and his mind went dark. He
didn’t know if he had succeeded or failed, but he had given everything he had
and was proud of himself regardless.

Faindan
became aware that someone was slapping his face just hard enough to wake him.
He looked up to find Valedos standing over him. The leader of the Nine Axes gazed
down on Faindan with awe in his grey eyes, as the crowd cheered.

“You
did it!” Valedos said. “You made it through!”

“I
made it?” Faindan mumbled. “How?”

Valedos
seemed to contemplate that for a moment. Then he replied, “I have no idea.
I never expected you to succeed.”

Then
Faindan passed out again.

Chapter 16:

The
Lair of Hatred, Flame, and Iron

The
Knights waited almost an hour for the lightning to cease, but it only slacked
off a bit. Finally they emerged from their cave and started upward along the
mountain path again. The wind and rain had not let up at all,
however—continuing to hammer into them with a force that threatened to push
them to their doom.

They
moved slowly along a narrow ledge, pressing close to the sheer rock wall as the
wind shoved at them. The rain was coming down so hard there were small yet
dangerous waterfalls all over the cliffs. It was as if the entire mountain was
working against them and seeking their doom.

After
a flash of lightning, Lothrin cried out a warning, pointing upward. “I saw
something crawling down the mountainside!”

Jace
lifted a Birlote torch high into the air with his long arm, and the reddish
light from the glowing gem revealed a Ghoul with gleaming eyes—crawling
straight down the sheer cliff toward them.

As
soon as it was exposed to the glow, the Ghoul leapt straight for Lannon, its
jaws opening wide as if coming unhinged to expose its fangs. Lannon caught the
monster with his sorcery, with the Ghoul hanging just above him, and forced it
over the ledge. As it fell past him, Lannon lashed out with his sword and
beheaded it. The dead monster dropped silently from view.

After
that, the Knights grew a bit paranoid, wondering if more attacks would come
from above. Jace continued to wave the torch high in the air, and Lannon
scanned the cliffs with the Eye. This made the journey even slower.

Eventually
the narrow ledge led them to a huge Dark Mother tree that seemed to have grown
partially into the cliff. Its black roots extended across the path and over the
ledge. It was an ancient and slimy tree, with warty lumps on its bark that
oozed black blood. The aura of the Deep Shadow surrounded it, warning the
Knights to turn back or die. Feeding on the tree were three Goblin Vultures,
making hideous sucking noises, their beaks locked onto serpent-like vines that
flowed with the foul blood. The stench of the tree was overwhelming, even in a
thunderstorm.

The
Vultures detached themselves from the Dark Mother, screeched, and took flight,
wheeling around to attack. One dove at Vorden, and he smashed the beast against
the cliff wall with his spiked shield. The Vulture came away stuck to the
spikes, and Vorden hurled the beast into the chasm.

 
In spite of the blinding rain and darkness,
Lothrin managed to shoot one of the Vultures, the arrow finding the dark heart
and killing the beast instantly. The Vulture dropped from the sky and vanished
below.

Aldreya
blasted the remaining Vulture with a fireball, which struck its wing. Partially
on fire, the Vulture dove into Jerret’s legs and both man and beast tumbled off
the cliff. Jerret caught the cliff’s edge with one hand and hung there until
Vorden could haul him back onto the path.

The
burning Vulture rose again, determined to dive at the Knights one more time
before it was reduced to ash by the sorcerous flames. Lothrin shot another
arrow, but this time he missed.

Remembering
his (imitation) throwing star, Lannon hurled it at the Vulture and struck it in
the head, finishing it off. He summoned the weapon back to his hand as the Vulture
fell. He felt good that he still had a throwing weapon—even if it wasn’t the
spectacular one that King Verlamer had stolen.

Glancing
down, however, Lannon saw that the throwing star was now cracked. There was
some major flaw in its design (an intentional one, no doubt) that he had
previously missed. King Verlamer had cheated him once again—probably in the
hope that Lannon would find himself in some dire situation where the star blade
was needed only to have it break. Lannon wasn’t surprised in the least. He
sighed and tossed the weapon off the cliff.

The
Vultures were dead, but the bloated Dark Mother awaited them with its gnarled
roots. Angry over the throwing star, Lannon strode forward, hacking at the
roots with vigor. The black blood poured out onto the ledge as he cut through
the obstacles, but it was quickly washed away by the rain. Soon Lannon had
cleared a path past the tree.

Beyond
the Dark Mother, stone steps led steeply upward. As the warriors started up
those steps, lightning flashed above to reveal a pair of evil-looking guard
towers awaiting them at the end of their climb. It was a chilling sight.

They
climbed higher, as rivers of rain poured down the steps and threatened to wash
their feet out from under them. Dallsa slipped and went down, banging her knee
hard on the stone. When she rose, she was walking with a limp, wincing in pain
with each step.

“Are
you okay?” Lannon called back to her.

“I’m
fine,” she replied. “It hurts, but I’ll heal.”

Eventually
the steep stairway ended at a smooth stone platform, with the guard towers
standing on each side of it. The ugly, gloomy towers were adorned with Dwarven
runes that spoke of doom. Two iron catapults—permanent fixtures—also stood on
the platform. These siege engines were badly rusted, looming over the Knights
like twin guardians. Broken, rusted chains hung down from the structures,
swaying and creaking in the wind.

Also guarding the fortress entrance was a tall iron door
engraved with the face of Graylius—the ancient Dwarven god who resembled a
scaly beast with a fanged snout. Dwarven writing was also engraved there that
Daledus read aloud:

WALLROCK FORTRESS

THE SECOND HOME OF GRAYLIUS

IF INVITED, ENTER

ALL OTHERS WILL FIND DEATH WITHIN

Daledus nodded. “Typical Olrog warning. Nothing to worry
about.”

Jace raised his eyebrows. “Oh, I think we have every
reason to worry.”

The door had no handle. Lannon examined it and found it was
a drawbridge with badly rusted chains. He tried pulling it open with the Eye,
but everything was rusted into a lump of crud that wouldn’t budge.

Lannon leaned wearily against one of the catapults.
“Any ideas?”

“When I was last here,” said Jace, “this
door opened easily. Apparently it has not been used much since then and has
fallen into decay.”

“How did you open it?” asked Lannon.

“A good pry bar,” said Jace. “I wish I had
one.”

Lannon studied the door, wondering how Jace could have
pried it open. It seemed to fit almost seamlessly into the mountainside.
Sometimes Jace’s explanations were difficult to believe. “So you actually
pried it open?”

“It took some work,” said Jace. “But yes, I
pried it open.” He smiled at Lannon. “You doubt my story?”

“It seems rather remarkable,” said Lannon.
“That’s all.”

Jace shrugged. “I’m a remarkable man, in case you
failed to notice. And shouldn’t the Bearer of the Eye know if my story is
true?”

Lannon didn’t reply. Jace was somehow shielded to the Eye,
and Lannon had no way of knowing what the sorcerer was thinking.

“Can we go in there now?” asked Dallsa. “I’m
tired of being blasted by the storm. And I’m still worried about the
lightning.”

Lannon tried again, pulling for all he was worth and
exhausting himself in the process, as the wind pushed against him and the rain
pelted him unmercifully. Grudgingly, the rusty drawbridge came open.

Lannon led the way. They entered a short hallway, and
Lannon sensed an arrow trap in the walls that had been disabled. He mentioned
it.

Jace took a bow. “Yes, that was me. I used to be quite
skilled at disabling traps in my youth. Unfortunately, that skill has
diminished.”

Lannon sensed an extreme love of warfare that permeated the
fortress. Everywhere he cast the gaze of the Eye there were echoes of rage and
hatred for the enemy and a callous disregard for human life. In this keep,
humans were reduced to battle statistics, their only measure of value.

Yet Lannon also glimpsed traces of the evil tyrant who
considered this his home, and important secrets were revealed. The Eye of
Divinity was reacting to the tremendous influence of the Deep Shadow here, improving
Lannon’s gift of sight. However, he wasn’t certain that what he was seeing was
the truth or just a trick of Tharnin intended to somehow lead him astray.

“I think I know what goes on here,” Lannon said.
“This seems to be where most of the Goblin Lords are created. I believe
the demon that dwells here is in league with Tenneth Bard. This could be the
real
fortress from which the Blood Legion is commanded.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Aldreya.
“This fortress has been a target of Dremlock for centuries.”

“How can you see all that, Lannon?” asked Dallsa.

“I’m not certain,” he admitted. “But in
places where the Deep Shadow is especially strong, the Eye seems to
expand—almost like it is reacting somehow and fighting back.”

Dallsa shuddered. “The Deep Shadow is indeed strong
here. I’ve never felt anything like it. It makes Ollanhar Tower seem like a
happy place. The very walls reek of suffering and bloodshed. If not for Prince
Vannas, we should never have come to this horrible keep. I sense so much death
and despair here. This fortress is an abomination! I can’t fathom why the
Dwarves built it.”

“Times were different back then,” said Daledus,
but he bowed his head in shame. “The Dwarves were partially in league with
Tharnin and lived only for war. Our minds were filled only with thoughts of
flame and iron and crushing those who opposed us. The forges ran night and day,
as mighty weapons of war were crafted—the likes of which have not been seen
since. We were ugly to the core. We despise what we were in those days and will
never return to it.”

Vorden’s face was pale, his hands trembling. “This is
the place I have so deeply dreaded. The Soddurn Mountains are bad enough, but
here I feel…” He shook his head. “I can’t even describe it. It’s
like my soul is once again enslaved, as if the Hand of Tharnin has me snared. I
feel terribly cold inside right now.”

“Don’t surrender to it,” said Lannon. “We
need you to stay focused. A fierce battle likely awaits us.”

“I’ll try,” said Vorden. “Yet I feel like I
could lose myself here. I’m just being honest, Lannon. If the Deep Shadow gets
my soul in its clutches, I could be a great danger to all of you. Perhaps I
should leave.”

“But we need you,” said Lannon. “Prince
Vannas needs you.”

“You’re stronger than that, Vorden,” said Jerret.
“The Vorden I know does not yield so easily. You’re going to continue
on.”

“Jerret is right,” said Daledus. “You’re not
the type to surrender to your fears like a weakling. I know you better than
that.”

Yet Vorden hesitated. “I don’t know. You’re facing
enough troubles without me to deal with. I really fear there is a danger.”

“If you’re that concerned,” said Aldreya,
“then go and wait outside. I don’t want you losing your wits and turning
against us.”

“Nonsense,” said Jace. “Vorden will be fine.
These feelings are quite common for a former slave of the Deep Shadow. He’ll
shrug it off.”

“A slave of the Deep Shadow,” said Vorden,
nodding. “That’s what I was—and maybe what I still am. And I can’t be
trusted.”

“You’re a Divine Knight,” Lannon insisted.
“A hero.”

“If Taris believes in you, Vorden,” said Lothrin,
“then so do I. I don’t want you to turn back. I want you at my side as we
face the darkness.”

“Only Vorden knows his heart,” said Aldreya.
“And he alone must decide if he should continue on.”

“Tell me what to do, Lannon,” said Vorden, a
pleading look on his face. “I don’t want to abandon all of you,
but…”

Lannon was chilled, realizing that Vorden truly feared
losing control. “I don’t know. I have the same problem as you.”

Vorden sighed. “Yes, somewhat. But right now you are
in full command of yourself, Lannon. Maybe it will change in the future, but
you’re confident that you can resist the evil. I’m not nearly so confident. So
please stop suggesting we’re in the same situation, because it’s making me
angry.”

Lannon considered apologizing, but his own anger was
awakened. He stepped close to Vorden and drew him aside. “Every single
Dark Watchman who ever lived ended up in league with Tharnin. Every single one!
So don’t tell me I don’t understand what you’re feeling, because it haunts me
every day.”

“Okay,” Vorden mumbled. “I get it.”

“We must stop wasting time,” said Lothrin.
“Prince Vannas is in great peril, and every moment could bring him closer
to death.”

“Indeed,” said Aldreya. “The discussion is
over.”

They moved on and entered a circular chamber—and Vorden
reluctantly followed, plodding along behind everyone else.

“Speaking of forges,” said Lannon. “We seem
to have found one.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Daledus. “There is
probably more than one forge in this keep.”

The chamber was filled with long tables upon which various
weapons lay—many of them unfinished. Lannon sensed the curse of the Deep
Shadow was upon the weapons, and he ordered the others not to touch them. Upon
one table lay a large gauntlet—a replica of the Hand of Tharnin.

Vorden approached the gauntlet and gazed down at it,
looking deeply troubled. He reached for it with a trembling hand. He paused for
a moment, his eyes filled with memories of pain. Then he lifted it and, with a
cry of rage, hurled it against the wall with a deafening clatter, shattering
the blue stones in the gauntlet and causing two of the iron fingers to break
off.