The Blood of Kings (Book 4)

by Robert E. Keller

  Lannon smiled, thinking he'd found a potential friend. So the Watchmen's Keep still had a living occupant after all. It was possible the Elder Hawk was a descendant of ones that had served the Dark Watchmen--or it could have simply been a wild Hawk that had found a home in the keep.

  As Lannon approached the tower, a shiver of dread ran down his spine. But this was his home, and he wasn't about to let fear keep him out. He gazed up at the vine-covered stone blocks, wondering what secrets still remained sealed away within. As he passed between the two statues of cloaked, hooded figures with swords, a sense of belonging washed over him. Those statues represented his processors--warriors who once defended the land from evil. Their spirit lived on through Lannon. He seized the stone door with the Eye and pulled it open. He slipped inside, and the door closed behind him, shutting out the driving rain.

  "Home again at last," Lannon mumbled, musty air filling his lungs. He could only hope the Watchmen's Keep wouldn't become his tomb.

  ***

  As the Legion Soldiers charged, Jerret seized a bearded rider and dragged him from his horse. They grappled in the mud for a few moments, and then both rose, dripping, burning weapons in hand. The warrior's axe slammed against Jerret's Glaetherin broadsword in a shower of sparks, and the axe shattered into fragments. The broadsword drove through the barbarian's plate armor and found his heart.

  Jerret yanked his blade free as he kicked the warrior onto his back. He stood for a moment looking at the dead man, a grim look on his face. This was no Goblin that lay slain before him, but a Norack man like Jerret. However, this was war and there was no time to dwell on such things--for another barbarian soon closed in on the Red Knight, thrusting a spear at his chest.

  Lothrin slew the spearman with a perfectly placed arrow that killed him instantly. The Ranger stood over Prince Vannas protectively, another arrow already in his bow. But the fighting was now in such close quarters that Lothrin quickly put away the bow and drew his long dagger--just in time to twist out of the way of a sword stroke aimed at his neck from a huge barbarian with a horned helm.

  His eyes blazing, Lothrin's dagger lashed out--so quickly the eye couldn't follow it, and the barbarian clutched at his throat, his eyes wide with shock. He staggered and then fell, bleeding his life away.

  Aldreya also stood by Vannas, her flaming stone dagger held ready. With the prince still down, he was in grave danger of being trampled. She vowed that the enemy would get to him over her dead body. Another heavily armored barbarian rode toward her, a sneer on his lips. The giant rider gazed arrogantly at the slender Birlote girl, his battle axe poised to crush her into the mud. Aldreya had only an instant to focus, and then she hurled a blazing green fireball at his chest. In an incredibly swift move, the rider batted the fireball aside with his axe and continued his charge. But one of the Brown Knights swung his heavy, spiked shield and smashed the rider off his horse. As the two warriors went down, the barbarian punched the Brown Knight in the jaw and stunned him. As the barbarian rose, axe in hand, Aldreya hurled another fireball. This time the barbarian failed to defend against it, and the burning orb of sorcery exploded into his chest, killing him instantly.

  Vorden simply stood by Vannas, a troubled look on his face. He seemed to be fighting some internal battle and had yet to join the fray. His sword seemed to hang limp in his hand, as if he had no intention of using it.

  A blinding flash of lightning erupted, and the rain crashed down harder. A wall of Knights closed around Prince Vannas, pushing Lothrin and Aldreya from the circle. The Knights fought fiercely to defend the prince--not knowing that Lothrin held the White Flamestone in his cloak.

  Two barbarians took Jerret to the ground. As the Red Knight fought to get on his feet, one of the Legion warriors drove his sword into Jerret's stomach, breaking through Jerret's armor and pinning him to the ground. Jerret cried out in agony, as blood poured from the wound.

  Aldreya prepared to throw a fireball, but Lothrin got in her way. With a battle cry, he charged the Soldiers--his dagger pitted against a huge sword and axe. The axe fighter turned and swung at Lothrin's head, but the Ranger easily ducked the blow. Lothrin slammed his Birlote dagger into the warrior's chest, driving through the thick leather armor. The barbarian's legs gave out and he fell, critically wounded. He didn't rise again.

  The other warrior wrenched his sword from Jerret's body and swung it at Lothrin's legs. The Ranger leapt over the blade while lashing out with his dagger and catching the barbarian in the throat, ending his life.

  Lothrin had slain three men, and that caught the Blood Legion's attention. They focused several attacks on him that might have been too much even for the agile Ranger--except that the others came to his aid.

  Finally, Vorden seemed to snap out of his trance. He donned his helm and joined the fight. One of the Blood Legion Knights charged him with a spear, and then hesitated, a shocked look on his face. He recognized Vorden as the former leader of the Legion, his will faltering.

  His yellow eyes smoldering beneath his helm, Vorden charged the warrior, swinging his ancient spider-rune blade. The elite Glaetherin sword cut through the barbarian's heavy plate armor with ease and slew the man. Vorden stood over his fallen foe, again seemingly locked in some internal struggle. Aldreya wondered what was going on in his mind, if he was in danger of losing himself to the Deep Shadow again. However, the fact that Taris had allowed Vorden to fight gave her confidence that he would hold himself together.

  Aldreya watched as a barbarian ran up behind Vorden with spear in hand. She cried out a warning, but it was too late. The barbarian drove the spear against Vorden's back, a perfect strike right between the shoulder blades. However, the spear snapped in two against Vorden's armor.

  Vorden whirled around and, quick as a striking serpent, seized the man's throat with one hand. He lifted the muscular Soldier into the air as if he were weightless. The spear fell from the shocked Soldier's grasp. Vorden stood like an armored statue for a moment, as if deciding what to do next. Then his hand closed on the warrior's throat, finishing him. Vorden flung the slain man aside.

  In another area of the battlefield, it was actually a simple Brown Knight who ended the Troll's life. While Shennen, Galvia, and Daledus fought fiercely against the beast, some of the other Knights finally managed to drag it down with ropes around its legs. Once they pulled it into the mud, the Brown Knight named Evern Stormhawk hacked into the Troll's neck repeatedly with his broadsword, at last breaking through the stony flesh and beheading the beast.

  Meanwhile, Jace and Taris fought their way toward Omharal. The two sorcerers seemed unstoppable, flinging enemies aside with fist and fire and they penetrated deep into enemy ranks. Shennen organized a small group of elite Knights and charged after Jace and Taris. With blazing weapons, the Divine Knights quickly cut a path through the Legion forces.

  Omharal ordered his archers to fire the poison-vapor arrows at those who were coming after him, not caring if his own warriors were killed in the process. One of the arrows landed near Taris Warhawk, and the sorcerer went down--felled by the toxic smoke, along with several Legion fighters. The fighters stayed down--some injured and some dead, but Taris rose, looking enraged, and tried to move on; but he kept doubling over and coughing. He was severely weakened and had all he could do to defend himself from the Legion warriors.

  Jace managed to keep going, and he seized one of Omharal's archers and hurled him from his horse. Before he could get to the High Wizard, Ethella cut him off, swinging her smoldering crystal staff at his head. Jace seized the staff in one huge hand and yanked her off her horse. The two sorcerers went down in the mud, locked in a struggle of wills.

  At last, Jace broke Ethella's demonic staff in two with a blinding explosion of crimson light and hurled the pieces aside. The two sorcerers rose, facing each other. Jace raised his bony fist, preparing to finish her. His purple cloak was torn and smoking and his face was scorched, but his eyes burned with focus. A stunned look on her face, Ethella turn
ed and fled on foot through the rain and riders, leaving Omharal and the Blood Legion to fend for themselves. Jace let her go and instead tried to get to the High Wizard, though he was cut off by several Legion Knights.

  Shennen and a few of his Knights reached Omharal, and the master assassin leapt from his horse and took the High Wizard to the ground. Shennen's Flayer deflected off an invisible shield, however, and the Blue Knight was thrown back. Omharal rose, and his bladed staff made a hissing noise. Shennen ducked as a poison dart shot from the staff and missed him by inches. The dart stuck in one of the Legion Knights, and the fellow gasped and staggered, his face turning purple. He toppled over in death.

  Omharal glowered with rage, and an instant later Shennen deflected some invisible attack with his burning Flayer. Only Shennen could see or sense the projectile that the High Wizard flung at him, for the onlookers glimpsed nothing except blue sparks where the Flayer struck the projectile and batted it aside. Omharal's eyes widened in shock, for the attack that Shennen had blocked was one that had slain many men and was thought to be impossible to defend against--the attack that made Omharal so feared throughout the land.

  Omharal then sought to summon his sorcery, but he was too slow. Shennen lashed out with his Flayer and beheaded the High Wizard--a wound which even a sorcerer like Omharal could not survive. The tyrant's reign of terror was ended at last at the hands of Dremlock's elite assassin.

  After that, the battle became a route in Dremlock's favor. Without the terrifying presence of Omharal to drive them on, many of the lesser Legion warriors simply retreated. Some of the Legion Knights refused to give up, however, and they fought until death or injury forced them to stop. Dremlock lost dozens of warriors, including one unfortunate fellow who had been struck by lightning atop his horse. Several Divine Knights had perished from Omharal's toxic arrows.

  And now Dremlock had close to a hundred Blood Legion prisoners to deal with, along with scores of wounded fighters on both sides.

  The journey to Kalamede had ground to a halt.

  Chapter 10: The Dark Watchmen

  Lannon stood dripping on the stone floor, grateful to be free of the storm. He gazed at the octagonal chamber around him, wishing it contained a chair so that he might sit in comfort for a while. It was such a bland chamber, with only a trapdoor at the middle and a hole in the ceiling that led to the next floor. But Lannon could glimpse how it once was--with warm rugs, a circular oaken table and padded chairs, barrels of drink in the corners, paintings on the walls, statues, and the scent of incense in the air. For a moment he was lost in the gaze of the Eye, taken to a time long ago when the tower served a noble purpose and the Watchmen who inhabited it were--like Dremlock's Divine Knights--sworn guardians of Silverland.

  But eventually Lannon was forced to return to the reality of a barren, cold chamber filled with echoes of the Deep Shadow. There were comfortable stone chairs on the second floor where Lannon could have rested, but he was compelled to approach the trapdoor that led to the tower basement. He stood over it for a while, surprised that the dark sorcery no longer tried to push him away. It actually welcomed him this time, urging him to go below.

  Six powerful shades--former Dark Watchmen--lurked beneath Lannon's feet, trapped forever in a struggle to hold the Deep Shadow at bay. Lannon had no sound reason for wanting to visit them--just curiosity--but he felt compelled to venture below. Logic told him he should simply rest and then depart for Kalamede, that his skills were not advanced enough for him to dare speak to the spirits. But Lannon's desire overruled his logic, and before he knew what he was doing, he seized the trapdoor and opened it.

  Lannon hesitated, wondering if he was a fool being led to his doom. Taris Warhawk had warned him of the danger, and that should have been enough for him. But it wasn't. Whispers came from the darkness below, urging him onward, and he had no plans to resist. The Eye of Divinity seemed to compel him to investigate, his sorcery drawing him into the depths with a pull that was both mental and physical in nature. The need was overwhelming.

  At last, Lannon walked down the stone steps until he stood before the thick, iron-bound, oaken door with holes rotted into the wood. The ancient door smelled of mold, but there was no mold. In fact, there was no door. It didn't exist. It was an illusion designed to prevent anyone from entering the realm of Tharnin or (more importantly) making an exit from that realm. To get past the door, one would have to overcome six mighty shades that possessed the power of Dark Watchmen--meaning the door was almost certain doom for anyone who dared try to open it. The large, gleaming axe that hung above it was a warning of death to Lannon, and for an instant, he felt he should not have entered this chamber.

  Yet he stood there motionless for a long time, gazing at the door. At last, shadows began to writhe around on the oaken surface, as the shades revealed themselves. Eventually one of the shadows broke free and took a vague human form before Lannon. It was Baltheor Trueflame, one of the Dark Watchmen. The Eye revealed a mighty shade and the leader of the six, a warrior of unsurpassed skill and intelligence who had designed the tower. Lannon stood in the presence of someone much more powerful than himself, yet someone who had failed to overcome the Deep Shadow in life. It was a depressing revelation.

  "I could kill you, Sunshield," the shade whispered. He was a flickering shadow--an empty dark cloak with only two yellow lights for eyes. "You know this to be true. Perhaps I should do just that, as you are a danger to both Dremlock Kingdom and Silverland--if the Deep Shadow claims you."

  "How can I prevent that?" asked Lannon. He sensed hesitation within the shade. Baltheor didn't want to kill him, but he would if he felt it was the right thing to do. It was up to Lannon to convince the spirit to spare him.

  "I don't know," said Baltheor. "The Dark Watchmen have a fatal flaw. Eventually the Deep Shadow becomes part of who we are. Once, we were simply known as the Watchmen--until Tharnin entered our hearts and minds. Now we are considered dark and sinister, and all the good we once did has been forgotten. But we deserve our place in history. We allowed it to happen. This is why I must decide whether or not to kill you, Sunshield, while you are still weak."

  Lannon suddenly remembered Lothrin's words to Prince Vannas, and he spoke them aloud: "You're a man. Flesh and blood, and nothing more. Be a simple man who holds a great stone, not a great man who holds a great stone--or that stone will crush you with the weight of its burden."

  The shade moved closer, intrigued. "The words of a Birlote. Yes, I sense something different within you, Sunshield. It's true that you could bring doom to Silverland or even Gallamerth--but you could also be the light of hope the Divine Essence was searching for and the one who can redeem the Dark Watchmen. This is a tough decision, but know this: should I choose to slay you, then you will join us for eternity in defending this doorway."

  Several moments passed in silence, as Lannon readied the Eye for a fight. He thought it was a terrible mistake coming here, for the last thing he wanted was to spend eternity stuck in a door.

  But at last Baltheor spoke. "I have decided that you shall live. And with that decision, I must place my trust in you completely and hope for the best. So be it. You should feel welcome in this tower henceforth, and fear nothing. I give control of it to you, Master Sunshield. May it serve you well."

  Lannon bowed, unsure of what to say. He was flooded with relief that a fight had been avoided and the shade seemed to now be on his side. Taris Warhawk had been right--speaking with the spirits was indeed a dangerous venture.

  "This land needs hope," Baltheor went on, " and I won't be the one to destroy that hope. We have little time left for conversation, for I must return to my task. Before I depart, I will guide you with the Eye of Dreams. You will take a journey into the distant past and glimpse how your predecessors dealt with the Deep Shadow. I can only hope you will find the clues we overlooked."

  A heavy feeling washed over Lannon, and his eyelids slipped shut. The Eye of Dreams set his spirit free and allowed it to wander far
into the past as a hidden observer who would know the story as it was revealed by the memory of Baltheor.

  ***

  Lannon's spirit was carried back to a warm spring day, where sunlight streamed in through the tower windows. Three Dark Watchmen sat at the table in the Dining Room eating blackberry pie and sipping mugs of milk. A Grey Keeper was present as well--a Ranger named Gronth Thernwist. The mood was pleasant in spite of the dark happenings of Silverland and conversation was lighthearted. They slouched in their stone chairs, enjoying a moment of peace and relaxation. The pie was excellent and the milk was cold. An Elder Hawk perched on a window ledge, watching them intently--perhaps waiting for crumbs.

  Excitement flooded through Lannon. These were his predecessors, and at last he was being given a glimpse of how they had lived. This was only a memory, of course, of something that had occurred long ago. But to Lannon it was very real--a moment trapped in the flow of time for his benefit. This was more vivid than a typical experience with the Eye of Dreams, thanks to his connection to Baltheor's shade. He could smell fresh spring air coming through the open windows and feel warm sunlight on his skin--though he was still watching as a detached observer who could affect nothing around him.

  "My blade is chipped," said Londa Spiritwind, slapping her broadsword onto the table. "So much for the power of Glaetherin." Like the other two Watchmen, she wore a dark cloak of Birlote silk similar to the one Lannon wore. She had a cheerful, freckled face, striking green eyes, and reddish hair drawn back in a ponytail, and she looked a bit younger then her twenty years. She was stocky of build and had once been a simple, hardworking farmer's daughter before being recruited by Dremlock Kingdom. Lannon could sense the aggressive energy within her waiting to break free. She prided herself in her strength and used the Eye of Divinity much like Lannon often did--to enhance her physical might.

  Gronth frowned and studied the blade. "Chipped Glaetherin--that's something you don't see everyday. I suspect a flaw in the design." He was an old Ranger with grey hair, leathery skin, and a body covered in battle scars. He wore a faded green tunic, brown trousers, and leather boots--simple garb for a stubbornly simple man. He was Londa's favorite Keeper, and she was his favorite Watchman.