Knights: Legends of Ollanhar (18 page)

"Wonderful," Lannon muttered. "You're noble,
loving, thoughtful people. And you like to torture and kill outsiders. I get
it."

Henati's eyes narrowed. He stroked his long white beard.
"I admit I am puzzled by you. I haven't figured out your game...yet. There
is something different about you--a confidence or arrogance that concerns
me."

Lannon smirked. "Are you afraid I won't scream loud
enough when the torture starts? Maybe you should double your efforts." He
decided to make no effort to hide his anger and disgust over the situation.
These Malrogs deserved to know what he was thinking, and he was determined to
let them have it.

Henati's lips tightened. For a moment he stood in silence.
Then he said, "What would you like for your last meal? Choose anything you
want, and if we have the ingredients, we will prepare it for you."

Lannon was hungry, but he was determined not to give them
any peace of mind over his execution. "I would rather starve."

"I see," said Henati. "In that case, I will
choose the meal for you. I choose fried fish, potatoes, buttered bread, and
vegetable soup--exactly what I would eat if I were in your shoes. And apple pie
and ale to go with it."

It sounded great to Lannon, but he said nothing.

After Henati departed, the afternoon slipped into evening,
the shadows deepening in the oak hall. The guards lit candles, and the sounds
of celebration could be heard upon the hilltop. The Malrogs were in a festive
mood in anticipation of Lannon's execution.

Lannon wondered if it was time to leave. It was just him
and two guards. He could overpower them and slip off into the shadowy forest.
But after thinking it over, he realized he had unfinished business with Henati.
Lannon was compelled to prove to the ancient Dwarf that the execution was
wrong--a seemingly impossible task, but Lannon embraced the challenge.

It was lonely in the oak hall. He was deep in the hills,
surrounded by people who despised him. As Lannon sat in the dim, shadowy glow
of the candles, his soul felt cold and forgotten. It was a taste of the horror
an outsider experienced when facing execution in Malrog lands. How many people
had sat on this very bench, knowing they would be dead within hours? In such a
remote area, they had no hope of being rescued. There was nothing but the
darkness and the hatred. But the true horror came from the attitude of the
Malrogs--the way they believed so strongly in what they were doing. They seemed
so confident and sure of themselves, with such vast potential for good. Their
strength, pride, and determination could have been an inspiration to all the
land. But it was tainted with ugliness and oppression.

Lannon felt truly alone, cut off from everything good. His
kingdom was far away, his friends moving on without him. He thought of his
parents, who were always eager to hear news of his situation. They seemed so
distant--in another world somewhere that seemed outside his current reality.

But he was not alone, he reminded himself. The Divine
Essence was with him. The power of the Eye was his to command. Yet that
realization disturbed him all the more. He was gifted with power, but so many
others before him had lacked such power. They had felt terrible loneliness,
despair, and desperation--yet with no way out. It was as if life for these
outsiders had no value. They had been ripped away from their families and
everything that mattered to them, dragged into the darkness to die in misery
and humiliation at the hands of those who believed they had righteous power
over life and death. Their bones now lay in a nearby river.

Lannon realized he was glimpsing the past, as if the ghosts
of those who had perished here were whispering to him. He could have withdrawn
the Eye back inside himself, but he refused to shut them out. Lannon's anger
toward his captors grew, along with his desire to change their thinking.

Henati finally returned and sat Lannon's meal on the bench.
He presented Lannon with leg irons. "We will unbind your hands to permit
you to eat. See, we are not barbarians. Not when we offer you our best food and
drink. Here in this hall, you are treated with dignity, young Knight."

Lannon shook his head. "Do you have any idea how
miserable you make your prisoners? Do you understand the despair they
suffer?"

"Pain is part of life," said Henati. "It is
natural for a prisoner to feel despair, even when treated humanely. To you it
is an abomination, but to me it is simply nature at work. Your pain will be a
lesson to those who gaze upon you--especially the younger Malrogs. Rumors will
spread through the hills and into the towns beyond. Your misery serves a great
purpose in strengthening us."

"You're amazingly ignorant," said Lannon.
"If you haven't gained wisdom by now, I suppose there is no hope for
you."

"Insults are pointless," said Henati. "I
expect better from you. If you want to win this debate, you will have to use
logic. You appear to be swept up in emotion right now, as one would expect
considering your grim situation. Such a state of mind leads to a poor debate.
Get control of yourself."

It was true. Lannon's emotions were on edge, and that
wasn't the way of a Divine Knight. Aldreya would not approve. Yet Lannon had no
more logic to call upon. He knew this execution was wrong, but he wasn't
skilled enough at debating to clearly explain why. Lannon was a simple warrior
who served his god and kingdom, and not some great thinker or philosopher who
could change someone's way of life with words alone. Lannon needed his actions
to do the talking.

"Obviously," said Henati, "you have lost the
argument. You did your best, but it wasn't enough to convince me. Therefore,
your execution will continue as planned. Nothing will stop it, so I suggest you
prepare yourself in whatever way a Divine Knight prepares for such a
thing."

Overcome with frustration, Lannon said, "You might
find yourself in for a surprise. I'm not so easy to kill."

Henati smiled. "I've heard that one before. Having put
forth a poor argument as to why you should be spared, you now resort to empty
threats." But there was a hint of concern in Henati's gaze. He studied
Lannon in the candlelight for a time, as if trying to determine what the young
Knight was all about.

"I'm not eating the food," said Lannon. "So
let's get on with this." Lannon glanced at the platter of food longingly,
then looked away.

"Very well," said Henati, and the confidence had
returned to his face. "I've seen it all before. You aren't the first
Divine Knight who has faced execution here, and you won't be the last. I will
warn you though that any attempt at trickery will cause your torment to be
vastly increased."

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction," said
Lannon.

Henati's face darkened. He motioned to one of the guards.
"He speaks too boldly. Break a few of his ribs to quiet him."

His face somber, the guard drove his meaty fist twice into
Lannon's ribs--blows that would have shattered bone had not the Eye of Divinity
shielded him. Lannon gazed sullenly at the guard.

The guard raised his eyebrows. "He's a tough one,
Great Elder. Those punches should have turned his ribs into jelly."

Henati nodded. "He can certainly take a blow. That is
a skill that all Divine Knights possess. But no mortal can withstand fire.
Bring him to the Judgment Post. It is time to get this celebration
underway."

"What about his trial?" asked the guard.

"There will be no trial," said Henati. "The
other Elders were too busy to bother with one. And he doesn't deny his guilt."

"A trial would have been nonsense anyway," said
Lannon. "You were going to murder me from the start. So why bother?"

"The people are fond of trials," said the guard,
gazing at Lannon in surprise--as if the reason was so obvious that Lannon
should have known it. "It gets them fired up for the celebration."

"Well, I wouldn't want to dampen their spirits,"
muttered Lannon.

"That sarcastic tongue shall soon be removed,"
said Henati.

***

Lannon was led to the village square, where three posts
bearing iron rings were embedded in the earth. He was chained to one of them,
as a crowd of dozens of onlookers stood leaning against wooden fences and
gazing at him. Many of them were young Malrogs--boys and girls barely in their
teens. They held lanterns and torches as they stood beneath the sprawling
trees, and their faces were tense and eager in the glow--though a couple of
them showed concern and disgust. Several guards stood near Lannon, their
weapons held ready.

Three other Elders were there--ancient Dwarves with white
beards like Henati. They sat in polished oak chairs, their faces impassive.
Also on hand were several wealthy and influential Malrogs seated in chairs. A
pair of young male servants waited on them, carrying trays of drinks and
snacks.

Lannon wasn't the only captive scheduled to die this night.
Chained to another post across from him was a strange looking, shirtless Dwarf
who had been one of the prisoners in the dungeon. He was half Malrog and half
Olrog--a rare and forbidden mixture of two races that despised each other. He
was larger than any Dwarf that Lannon had ever seen, his arms excessively
muscular and his shoulders almost absurdly wide. He was more misshapen than a
typical Malrog and slightly taller--over five feet in height. He seemed more like
a short Ogre than a tall Dwarf, with a face that displayed a wide, flat nose
and black eyes. He was bald, with a blue tattoo on his head that depicted a
Malrog mark of shame, and his black beard was chopped off short. He looked so
immensely strong that Lannon was convinced he could have been a match for
Furlus Goblincrusher.

 
A guard tore away
Lannon's tunic, leaving him bare-chested like the oversized Dwarf. The
condemned Dwarf gazed at him somberly.

"How's it going, friend?" asked Lannon.
"What's your name?"

"My name is Doomar," came the deep and sullen
reply. "And things aren't going very well, obviously. I don't deserve to
be here. I did nothing wrong. I haven't even received the trial I was
promised."

"Exactly my situation," said Lannon, who then gave
his own name. "Well, close to it anyway. I accidentally knocked down a
Malrog house."

"I didn't even do that," said Doomar. "All I
did was come here to visit my family. I'm an outcast who dared to return to the
hills. Now I must pay for it with my life. It is a terrible injustice."

"Terrible injustice?" said a guard, sneering.
"I say good riddance to you, Doomar. You slew Malgori, you vile wretch.
Snapped his neck with your bare hands. That's a cruel and wicked way to kill
someone."

"I was merely defending myself," said Doomar.
"What was I supposed to do? He tried to put me in irons. I will not be
enslaved."

"You're a monster," said the guard. "You
should have been killed at birth for your deformities and corrupt
bloodline."

"Galbanak speaks true," said Henati. The ancient
Elder looked sad. "It is a shame your mother hid you away. Babies born
with defects must be sent to the earth. It is the natural way of things. You
are a walking abomination, and I find that truly disheartening. You should have
been dead long ago. Thankfully, your pain will end tonight in a swift manner in
spite of your crimes, for you have suffered enough in life. You will receive a
blade to the heart and sleep forever."

Henati turned toward Lannon. "You, on the other hand,
have been terribly arrogant and insulting. You will receive a harsh punishment,
young Knight--one that will set a firm example to others. It will begin with my
guard branding our mark of shame into your chest."

"Why have your guard do it?" said Lannon, his
voice filled with disgust. "Don't you have the courage and conviction to
carry out the punishment yourself? Or are you too much of a coward?"

Henati slapped Lannon's face, and the crowd cheered.
"I am the Supreme Elder of the Highland Clan, not any coward. I was going
to let my guard do it because he would be more merciful, but have it your
way."

Henati bowed to the three Elders. "Though we were
unable to have a trial, I would like your agreement before we proceed. Do you
acknowledge the guilt of these lawbreakers and deem their punishments
acceptable?"

The Elders voiced their agreement.

"Then there is no doubt," said Henati. "We
will proceed with these executions and send these criminals to their eternal
rest."

"It's
murder
," said Lannon. "Call it
what it is." Gazing at the crowd, he called out, "Isn't that what you
people are here for--to witness pain and death? Aren't you ashamed of
yourselves? You should be."

The crowd booed Lannon. A few of the onlookers laughed.

He fell silent, knowing it was pointless.

Several muscular Dwarves--skilled warriors and guardians of
the hills--played drums as some of the women danced. A group of female dancers,
who had black circles painted around their eyes, sneered at Lannon with
contempt as they twirled about, pointing and laughing at him. The dancers moved
in odd, jerky motions that grew faster as the pounding of the drums became more
vigorous, and then all of sudden both drums and dancers would pause, frozen in
their poses. Then it would all start up again a few moments later.

The hills echoed with celebration, as distant Malrogs took
to playing their own drums and shouting. It was a strange and savage scene,
everything about it unfamiliar to Lannon. He felt like he was in another world.
Great harmony existed amongst the people of these woodlands. They all seemed in
tune with each other in a way that Lannon could never hope to comprehend.

But Lannon's focus once again turned to Henati. "Your
people are truly in a festive mood this night. Is it always like this when
someone is scheduled to be murdered?"