Knights: Legends of Ollanhar (10 page)

"I did nothing of the sort," said Lothrin.

"This discussion is over," said Aldreya. "We
will move on."

"This is foolish," said Brakthas. "You don't
know what you're dealing with here. We will pay dearly for letting these
savages live."

"I'll take that risk," said Aldreya. "We
face many risks on this journey, but we must remember that the greater fight is
with Bellis. We must save our strength and focus for that conflict. The White
Flamestone will inevitably be used on this mission--but only when absolutely
necessary."

"I don't like this new attitude," said Vannas.

"I have the right to my opinion," said Aldreya.
"And sometimes I change my mind. Get used to it."

The prince glared at her. "You would never have spoken
to me that way in Borenthia, before you were appointed Green Knight of
Ollanhar. You would have addressed me with proper respect."

"We're no longer in Borenthia," said Aldreya,
coldly.

Brakthas and Galandra gazed at each other, looking
doubtful.

"I'm thinking this wasn't a good idea," said
Brakthas, with a heavy sigh. "We had it great in Red Barrel."

Galandra could only shake her head.

"You can break your contracts," said Aldreya,
"and walk away with what you have. It might be the wise thing to do. On
the other hand, you could be missing out on a fair amount of treasure. The
choice is yours."

The two Rangers stood in silence for a time.

Then Brakthas said, "I'm sticking with it--and not
just for the treasure. This is the greatest challenge I'll ever have in life.
No way I'm missing out."

"We're silly fools," said Galandra. "Simple
as that. So let's enjoy being silly fools and see where it takes us, my friend.
Maybe we'll survive and get rich."

Jace rose, his hands covered in dried blood from tending to
Jerret's wound. "We're off to a fine start here--ambushed by demons and
soldiers in the mountains, and barbarians in the lowlands. And I still can't
find some decent pipe tobacco." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "No one
should have to endure such misery without a good smoke. What is this world
coming to?"

Chapter
5:

The Master of Illusion and
Shadow

Ethella stood at the edge of a clearing, facing three
Golden Knights. Standing beside her was the new High Wizard of Bellis--a man
over seven feet tall named Vorhevia. They were waiting for the Divine Knights
to return from Malva so they could continue pursuing them.

The Mud Belt had Ethella on edge. This was a savage land
where rogues and barbarians lacked respect for Bellis' authority. She had no
desire to battle some bloodthirsty clan. With the swamp offering so much
concealment for an ambush, she also lived in constant fear of a surprise attack
from Dremlock in retaliation for their slaughtered Knights. Although Lannon and
his warriors had already claimed vengeance (in the form of the Lawkeeper's
severed head), she wondered if it was enough to appease them. They might decide
to go after her next.

That fool of a Lawkeeper had put Ethella's life in grave
danger, and she could never forgive him. She was glad he was dead and hoped his
soul was in torment. Ethella had exchanged messages with King Verlamer after
the beheading, and he had seemed dismissive of the whole affair, commanding her
to focus on stealing the White Flamestone. He also sent an immediate
replacement for the Lawkeeper--the sorcerer who stood beside Ethella and made
her flesh crawl.

Aside from living in fear, Ethella was also greatly
annoyed. She had expected to be promoted to High Wizard after Omharal's death,
but in a surprise move King Verlamer had chosen one of his wealthy lords
instead. Not only did she feel this Vorhevia didn't deserve to be High Wizard,
but he was also a dark and creepy man whose presence unnerved her. A descendant
of Althustus the Dragonforged, he was brilliant, eccentric, and immensely
talented--but Ethella felt his ideas were often idiotic, that he wasted his
talent on lazy pursuits (spending too much time enjoying various luxuries) and
that his mind was off in a fog most of the time. She refused to acknowledge his
rank.

Vorhevia wore an ugly grey robe that hung awkwardly on his
frame. The sleeves were too long and sometimes concealed his hands. He had a
huge, unkempt beard that, like his long and shaggy hair, was a mixture of black
and silver hues. His eyes were dark--almost black--and often displayed an
insane gleam. He was always pondering the mysteries of the universe and making
cryptic statements, and it annoyed Ethella to no end. He took his role as a
wizard and a philosopher far too seriously for her liking, and quite often she
wanted to punch him in the nose. Everything he said had some overblown,
dramatic meaning that only Vorhevia could understand. It all tied together in
one big, bloated circle of destiny--grinding on into infinity and grinding on
Ethella's nerves. Ethella almost expected to hear dramatic music play every
time he spoke.

There were other things about Vorhevia she didn't like. He
addressed women with exaggerated politeness that didn't match the coldness in
his dark eyes, but he was gruff and dismissive with men much of the time
(unless for some unknown reason he liked them). He reminded Ethella of a huge,
creepy spider waiting to snare some unsuspecting female in his web. Yet for all
that, Vorhevia disliked company most of the time, male or female, preferring to
spend hours alone in his tent. His true motivations were impossible to
comprehend.

Vorhevia smiled down at her. "Have you come up with a
plan, my dear? One that will separate Prince Vannas from his little
Flamestone--and hopefully separate him from the cold embrace of life as
well?"

"Of course," she said. "The plan is simple.
The Divine Knights are few now, and we only have to wait until the prince is
alone for a moment. Then our Guardians will emerge from hiding and hack him to
bits. We've waited long enough. This is the best chance we'll ever have to
obtain the White Flamestone."

Vorhevia sighed. "Good plan, except for the
holes."

She glared at him. "And what holes would those
be?"

He leaned closer to her, grinning, and she recoiled a bit.
"Holes made by a certain Eye of Divinity--which can locate our warriors
even when they're in hiding. Holes made by some elite Rangers who are difficult
to sneak up on. Holes made by the others who guard the prince night and
day."

"I wouldn't call them holes," said Ethella,
"just problems to be dealt with. It's all a matter of careful timing. I'm
convinced we can pull off a brilliant ambush and be gone with the White
Flamestone before Lannon Sunshield and his Knights are even aware of what
happened. After all, the fools think we're after the Green one."

"And I'm convinced we will fail," said Vorhevia.

Ethella's irritation boiled over. "Then what's your
plan, oh wise one? You spend enough time in your tent with pipe and wine flask.
Surely you must have dreamed up something by now."

"I have," said Vorhevia, who seemed unfazed by
her tone. "
Dreamed
up
is a good way to put it. For I am a
master of sleep and dreams. When the moonlight shines is when I walk free and
unbound, a whisper entering a sleeping mind as quietly as a mouse slips through
a wall hole." He touched his long black and silver hair. "I place a
pointed cap on my head like a grey mushroom under the moon, and beneath it I
work wonders. For in dreams the illusion of life has faded."

Ethella groaned. "What are you talking about?"

Vorhevia frowned. "What I'm saying--in grotesquely
simple terms--is that I will seize control of Prince's Vannas' mind through his
dreams and lead him into the woods. Then our Golden Knights will, well, hack
him to bits."

"Now that's a good plan," said Ethella, "if
you can pull it off. But surely the White Flamestone will protect him. And
surely someone will be awake and keeping watch. The Knights never let down
their guard."

"I have two abilities," said Vorhevia, "that
they will not anticipate. Aside from being able to enter dreams, I can also
send someone into a pleasant slumber at will. As I said, I am a master of sleep
and dreams. The guard--even if it is Lannon himself--will take a nap at my
command."

"Then you could kill Lannon in his sleep!"
Ethella said eagerly. "Lure away the prince, and stick a dagger in
Lannon's heart at the same time."

"I dare not," said Vorhevia, raising his bushy
eyebrows. "The Eye of Divinity never sleeps--not even beneath the watchful
moon. Any threat to Lannon's life could cause him to awaken and ruin our plans.
The risk would be too great. We must do as ordered and focus on the White
Flamestone."

"I suppose," she said, sighing.

"That settles it, then," said Vorhevia.
"Soon the prince will be dead, and the fire stone will be ours. I'm going
to take a walk in the woods to celebrate, enjoy the fresh air. I'll be back in
an hour or so."

"This is a swamp," she said in disgust. "The
air isn't fresh, and the mud will be up to your knees. And there are snakes.
And mosquitoes."

"Swamp, woods, it's all the same," he said,
waving a huge hand dismissively. "It's nature at its finest."

"No, it isn't," she said, wondering if he had
been dropped on his head as an infant. She opened her mouth to say something
more, then closed it again. There was no point in arguing with this fool.

"I usually prefer to be alone," said Vorhevia.
"But my mood is soaring right now. How would you like to accompany me? I
seldom get a chance to walk beside a beautiful woman." He leaned so close
to her she could smell his breath. It smelled like strange spices. He extended
his hand. "Come. Walk with me."

"I must decline," she said, with a shudder.
"I'm going back to my tent to get away from the bugs. Have a good
time...in the swamp."

He bowed, his black eyes shining. "I will. I love
it."

"I'm sure you do," she said, frowning.
"Well, goodbye."

"Goodbye." He bowed again. He adjusted his
oversized cloak and then strode off into the tangle of mossy trees, vines, and
stinking muck.

Ethella stared after him for a moment. "This is the
High Wizard of Bellis?" she muttered to the Golden Knights. As usual, they
didn't speak--though she thought she could hear a quiet hiss come from one of
them.

Chapter
6:

The Ranger's Impossible Dream

It was evening, and the Divine Knights were camped along
the Aktos Trail. They had departed from Malva without further incident, with no
indication that the Blue Vultures had chosen to pursue them (though that didn't
mean the barbarians weren't following from a distance). They had ridden for
half the night and most of the next day, and the area had turned a bit less
swampy toward evening, with stretches of firm ground and hardwood forests here
and there. As the shadows deepened across the land, they found a large field in
which to erect their tents.

It was a cool evening, with no breeze, and the sounds of
frogs and insects filled the air. Vorden was keeping first watch, and Galandra,
who was too restless to sleep, sat across from him. Lannon and Lothrin were out
scouting for danger, creeping silently through marsh and forest, and everyone
else was asleep. With Jerret, Saranna, and Bekka still unable to fight, the
Knights feared retaliation from the Blue Vultures. And of course there was
always Bellis to worry about.

Vorden wore his armor, except for the helm, and he was
growing weary of it. In spite of it being exquisitely crafted to move fluidly
with his body, it was still heavy and could start to feel cumbersome and
unpleasant if worn too often. He longed to toss it aside and lighten the load,
but the thought of catching an arrow in the heart kept him from doing that.
Vorden was powerful, but he wasn't immortal. A lucky shot could doom him.

"Shouldn't those two be back by now?" said
Galandra. Her red hair shimmered in the firelight, her beautiful face flawless.
Only her cold eyes reminded Vorden that she was battle hardened and dangerous.

He shrugged. "Don't worry about Lannon and
Lothrin."

"But what if the Blue Vultures ambush them?" she
said.

"Then I pity the barbarians," he replied.

Galandra looked skeptical. "Could two men really
defeat so many? You saw for yourself how well the Vultures fight."

"Those two could," said Vorden. "They're not
normal fighters. They're blessed by the Divine Essence."

Galandra shook her head. "I don't know what that
means, Vorden. You're all so strange--so different. Dremlock is beyond my
understanding. I saw Lannon swat arrows aside with his bare hands. That makes
no sense to me. I saw your prince raise his glowing stone, claiming he could
burn down the tavern from afar. Like everyone else, I've heard rumors of such
things, but I never quite believed them. Do you really have the power of a
god?"

"I don't," said Vorden. He sighed. His power came
mostly from the Deep Shadow, which had altered his body in ways that could
never be undone. "I'm not blessed like they are."
Far from it
,
he thought.

She winked at him. "You've got some nice armor,
though."

He nodded. "It's saved me more than once."

Galandra gazed into the distance and said, "I have
trouble believing your words, though--the idea that a god is real and actually
blesses its servants. There are rumors that Dremlock is built on a lie--that
your god is just some misshapen Goblin and that your divine fire is a trick of
alchemy."

Vorden smiled. "The Noracks beyond Silverland doubt
us, but the Olrogs and Birlotes know the truth. Our god is real."

"And the Deep Shadow?" she asked.

"As real as anything," said Vorden. "I know
all about it, in fact. I know a lot more than any sane person would ever want
to know."

Galandra was silent for a time. Then she said, "I'm
going to admit the truth to you. I don't believe your god is real, and I don't
believe the Deep Shadow is real. I know Goblins exist because I've hunted them
many times. They are beasts of nature like everything else. There are no gods,
demons, or ghosts. No Deep Shadow. And wizards are tricksters who play upon the
fears of the foolish."

Vorden looked away. "I wish our world was like you
believe it to be, Galandra. But it isn't. It's a frightening place where such
things do exist and anything can happen. As a Divine Knight, I was shown the
truth of things, and yes, it is very difficult for outsiders to believe. As a
former slave of the Deep Shadow, I learned what true evil is, and it left me
scarred forever."

"So all these years I was taught a lie," said
Galandra. "Everyone always said that Dremlock's Knights are tricksters,
and now you tell me it is all real--that magic exists and that a god dwells
amongst humans."

"King Verlamer knows the truth," said Vorden.
"In fact, he is a sorcerer who carries ancient magic in his blood."

"Yes, but Bellis also uses fear and trickery,"
she said. "They have a so-called High Wizard who supposedly does amazing
things, but everyone knows he is just an alchemist who uses potions and
poisons."

"Wizards are real," said Vorden. "Jace is a
wizard--or a powerful sorcerer, anyway. And so is Aldreya. You saw her
fire."

"I saw it," said Galandra. "But fire can be
created by powders and potions. Are you saying the fire came from her body?"

"Exactly," said Vorden. "And I can create it
too."

"Show me," she said, smiling. "Burn
something." She picked up a greasy iron skillet. "Melt this with your
bare hands, if you can."

"That's a perfectly good skillet," he said.
"Why waste it?"

"I'll buy you another," she said. "I'll owe
Ollanhar a skillet, and it can come out of my pay." She chuckled. "It
doesn't matter. I don't believe you can do it, and that's fine. My goal is not
to humiliate you."

"Humiliate me?" said Vorden, glaring.
"Hardly. I can turn that to mush."

"Prove it," she said. "Talk is cheap."

Vorden lifted the skillet and sent his energy into it--the
demonic fire left over from the Hand of Tharnin. That fire served the will of
the Divine Essence now, but Vorden still had to be careful whenever he used it
or he might lose himself to the Deep Shadow's embrace.

The skillet grew red hot and started to droop.

Vorden quickly laid it on some rocks to cool. He held up
his hand to show her it wasn't burned or even blackened. "Proof
enough?"

Galandra's eyes were wide. "Amazing! But you could
have faked it somehow. Sorry, but I still can't quite believe it."

Vorden shook his head in amusement. "Then I just
warped a quality skillet for no good reason. It seems there is nothing I can do
to make you believe. We're all tricksters and that's that."

"I have an open mind," said Galandra. "Just
give me time. It's hard to go against what you were taught as a child, and
outside of Silverland, children are taught that wizardry is fake. How many
wizards exist in the Norack lands? You never find them, except for those who
pretend to be wizards and are obvious liars. And most Noracks never visit the
Birlotes or the Olrogs, or Dremlock. And no one trusts Bellis, a kingdom of
tyrants and thieves."

"Okay, I see your point," said Vorden. "But
what do you think this mission is all about? We're seeking a Flamestone--a
living piece of our god."

"You're seeking something," she said. "That
much I'm sure of. Probably a weapon of some sort to use against Bellis."

"We're seeking a Flamestone," he insisted.

She shrugged. "Time will tell. If we make it that
far."

Vorden said nothing, convinced she would eventually know
the truth. After all, she was surrounded by Knights who used various forms of
sorcery. And if she never did accept it as real, what did it matter?

She gazed at the now slightly misshapen skillet. "That
was impressive, though. You could use your hand as a mighty weapon."

He nodded. "I have no choice. I melt anything
else."

"There are three of you who fight bare handed,"
she said. "You, Jace, and Lannon. Warriors who fight without weapons are
extremely rare. It's rumored there are monks who do so, but I've never met
one."

"Lannon is a great swordsman," said Vorden.
"He just chooses to fight with his fists because he doesn't like killing
people. Put a beast or Goblin in front of him, and that sword will come forth
and do a lot of damage."

Galandra looked utterly baffled. "He chooses to fight
with his fists?" She shook her head. "That strategy would get most
people killed."

"I agree," said Vorden. "Believe me, if I
had a weapon that didn't disintegrate in my hands, I would gladly use it. But
I'm not as powerful as Lannon and I don't have the luxury of choosing who to
kill or who to spare."

"But you
are
quite powerful," she said,
her keen eyes gazing into him. "More powerful than an ordinary
Knight."

"I have a few useful skills," said Vorden.
"But in comparison to Lannon, I'm weak. He's a Dark Watchman, which makes
him one of the greatest fighters in history."

"Such a great warrior," said Galandra, "yet
he dislikes violence. How can that possibly work? It seems like folly."

"It's wise for him to shun violence," said
Vorden. "It keeps him from losing himself to the Deep Shadow. But don't
underestimate Lannon. He's killed before, and he'll kill again. He does what is
necessary."

"I've killed many times," said Galandra, a shadow
darkening her face. "More times than I care to remember."

"Goblins?" said Vorden, though he knew she wasn't
talking about the creatures of the Deep Shadow.

"Humans," she replied. "Bandits,
mostly."

"How many?" asked Vorden, genuinely curious.

 
She looked away.
"As I said, I don't care to remember." A moment later, she fixed her
gaze on him. "How many have you killed?"

Vorden didn't answer. As he gazed into the fire, the
horrors of his past gripped his soul. That place within him was too dark to
explore, and all he could do was try to avoid it. Memories of the Hand of
Tharnin flashed through his mind--of its crushing force and bitter fire leaving
broken and burned bodies.
What had he done?
He still couldn't comprehend
it. He knew he was responsible for immense evil, yet he found a way to keep
himself detached from it--for the burden was too great to bear. It wasn't
enough that Dremlock and the Divine Essence had forgiven him. He had never
forgiven himself, and thus he could never truly face up to his actions. He hid
away like a monster in the shadows, afraid of the sunlight, always twisting and
turning to escape the pain that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Forget I asked," said Galandra, her face grim.
"I can see it in your eyes--some terrible burden. I don't think I want to
know."

"It's part of who I am," said Vorden, with a
shrug. "I deal with it however I can. I don't hate my life, but sometimes
it's a struggle. Sometimes I'm not too happy with myself." That was a huge
understatement.

"That's exactly how I feel," she said. "I
hate myself sometimes for what I've done. I'm not a thief or a murderer--but
I've laid claim to things that I possibly had no right to claim, and I've
killed too easily when I might have found a better way. I always think back on
what I should have done differently, but I can't change anything. That's the
worst part. You have to live with it forever."

"Indeed," said Vorden. "A curse upon all
mortals."

Galandra raised her hand for silence. "I thought I
heard something." She pointed toward the woods. "In that
direction."

"Someone is approaching," said Vorden.

They drew their weapons and waited, as the huge figure of
Vorhevia strode from the forest and moved toward them like a wall of pale-grey
with his flowing cloak and pointy hat in the moonlight. He moved like a shadow,
his boots utterly quiet in the leaves and grass, and Vorden and Galandra gazed
at him as if hypnotized. They were unable to take action, held captive by the
approaching giant.

"It is time to sleep," said Vorhevia. "The
moonlight will warm your path, my children of the lost midnight, and you will
pass beyond sight and mind to a place where even the gods forever dream."

As Vorhevia's shadow fell upon them, Galandra tried to
rise--but she dropped gently to the ground and was sound asleep. Vorden fought
back, refusing to yield to the spell that was settling over his mind and
eyelids like a heavy curtain.

"Let go, young wanderer," said Vorhevia, pressing
close to Vorden, his black and silver beard nearly touching the Knight's chest.
"Let go. Let the pale and eternal night take you home along a path lined
with fallen stars, far away beyond the black river where the willows glitter like
Birlote silver."

Still, Vorden resisted, struggling to cry out a warning.
But his voice was paralyzed by the heavy darkness.

Vorhevia's black eyes held a silver spark of endless
determination. "Sleep, my child. The world is nothing to you now. It never
was." He shook his head. "It never was...more than another
dream."

Somehow, Vorden summoned enough strength to give a yell. He
didn't know if it was a loud yell or a quiet one, but he was certain he had
made some kind of noise. His task done, he surrendered to Vorhevia.

The High Wizard drew a dagger and shoved it to Vorden's
throat, looking irritated. "Good one, young man. I should cut your neck
for that. Just a quick slice and then you bleed out."

Vorhevia sheathed the dagger and smiled. "That felt
good. I was angry for a moment and lost control. Yes, it happens even to a man
of my stature. But I'm not a barbarian. Not at all. I am a civilized and
peaceful warrior on a very precise mission. I'm here to kill your prince,
actually."

In a panic, Vorden struggled to rise--but it was too late.
The fight was gone from him and all that remained was the foggy glow of dreams.

***

Not far from camp, Lannon and Lothrin entered a small
clearing where they paused, listening. It had been a boring, routine scouting
mission that had revealed no sign of danger. They had circled the camp widely
three times, at one point pausing to investigate a strange aura that Lannon
believed could have been generated by dark sorcery. But the aura revealed
nothing else and they moved on.