Knights: Book 03 - The Heart of Shadows

by Robert E. Keller

  "Maybe," said Timlin, deeply annoyed at Ulmason's words, "but I will guard it for now. Who better than me to keep it safe?"

  Ulmason bowed, but his mouth was set in a frown.

  "They will destroy Blombalk," said Timlin, in an effort to change the subject. He was certain Dremlock would use the White Flamestone to burn it down. "I think that's the last we've seen of our great fortress."

  "Perhaps they hope to occupy it," said Ulmason.

  "No," said Timlin, "Blombalk is doomed. Dremlock is all too eager to burn everything to ash these days. The power of the White Flamestone has made the Divine Knights arrogant and aggressive."

  "Will it be any different for us," said Ulmason, "if we learn the secrets of the Heart of Kings? Will anything be left standing?"

  Timlin shrugged, his fingers tightening around the gem in his cloak. "All I want is for Dremlock to fall. Beyond that, I don't care what happens."

  "But what of the Deep Shadow?" said Ulmason.

  "I serve," said Timlin, "but I'm not a slave. I control my destiny."

  Ulmason smiled. "Are you sure, my lord?"

  Timlin wasn't so sure, but he didn't answer. He could feel the crushing grasp of the Deep Shadow, squeezing his heart and seeking to guide his destiny. The Voice of Tharnin was already whispering to him, warning him to surrender the Black Flamestone to the Goblin Lords. But Timlin refused. The Flamestone seemed to give him power to resist the will of the Deep Shadow. He didn't reveal this to anyone, but the Black Flamestone had already bonded to him and disrupted the hold that Tharnin had on his soul. Suddenly, Timlin was filled with doubts about everything--including his war against Dremlock. He almost wanted to run away with the Black Flamestone, to be free of all these petty distractions and struggles for power.

  The threat of Bellis and its insane leader was also on Timlin's mind. King Verlamer Kessing was held in high regard by Tharnin--meaning that Timlin was expected to bow before him at some point. Tharnin might even demand Timlin hand over the Black Flamestone to him. Right now the Blood Legion was supposed to be under Timlin's command, but Timlin knew that when orders from Bellis arrived, he was required to obey without question. The growing shadow of Bellis was yet another gloomy issue nagging at Timlin's mind and making him want to escape from his burdens into isolation with his dark prize.

  The other two Legion Council Members who rode with them--Hoytus Shadowblood and Rulain Knightslayer--had been conferring with the two Goblin Lords. Now the Dwarven brothers rode up alongside Timlin and Ulmason. They made no effort to hide the fact that they didn't want Timlin as their leader, but Timlin wasn't concerned. Fear of the Deep Shadow--and the possibility of Vorden's return--kept them in obedience.

  "We have decided," said Hoytus, "that the Black Flamestone should be given into the care of our Goblin priests, so they can begin training to unlock its power. What say you, Timlin?"

  "I say no," Timlin replied. "At least, not until we arrive at Old Hammer Hall. Then we will hold another meeting to decide the issue."

  "You're defying the will of Tharnin," said Rulain. "No good can come of that. The rest of the Legion Council can remove you from power with a vote. I hate to suggest that, but it is always an option."

  Timlin glowered at the Grey Dwarf. "Do what you must when we get back to our fortress--but on this journey you have no vote."

  "The priests believe it is unsafe for you to possess the stone," said Hoytus. "They believe only a trained sorcerer can resist its power, that you could be consumed by it. Would you ignore their wisdom and risk your very soul?"

  "The wisdom of Goblins?" said Timlin, with a laugh.

  "You speak like a Divine Knight," said Rulain, with a look of disgust, "in showing your contempt for Goblins. Tharnin priests have wisdom beyond that of mortals. They were chosen to be our guides. We need to respect that."

  "We'll discuss it at Old Hammer Hall," said Timlin, wanting only to get the others to leave him be. He didn't want to listen to their advice or complaints when his thoughts could be focused on the Black Flamestone.

  "We will vote on it!" snarled Hoytus, and the two brothers moved away from Timlin, their faces crimson with anger.

  Timlin's hand lingered in his cloak pocket--clutching the warm gem. He realized he never wanted to surrender the Black Flamestone and that inevitably his desires would clash with the demands of the Legion. He wondered if he would be forced to flee with his prize. If so, he was fully prepared to do just that. Previously, he would never have given up his position as the Legion Commander. But times had changed, and he'd come to understand there were more important things in life than leading an army or battling Dremlock--things like the flawless, beautiful Flamestone that kept calling to him in a voice stronger even than the voice of Tharnin.

  ***

  It didn't take long for Prince Vannas to bring down Blombalk Fortress. Once the white fire found its way into the logs, it spread quickly everywhere and soon turned the entire fortress into a massive, blazing fireball. Huge logs crashed to the ground as walls and buildings collapsed.

  Meanwhile, Dremlock's warriors rode for Dorok's Hand through the melting snow. They were a dejected group, the loss of the Black Flamestone weighing heavily on their hearts. However, thanks to the healing arts of the White Knights, Taris Warhawk and Flund Greenhelm seemed to be recovering from their brutal injuries and were awake and alert in wagon sleds--though Taris remained groggy and disoriented. The Tower Master was able to speak, and some of his memories had returned--yet he had no recollection of clashing with the Specter.

  When it was nearing evening of the second day of travel, they were met with Elder Hawks from Dorok's Hand bearing grim news. The Blood Legion had launched an attack on Dorok's Hand in their absence and had used some type of toxic smoke to flood the fortress, driving out Dremlock's Knights. Bearing cloth masks soaked in chemicals to protect themselves from the smoke, a number of Legion Soldiers had fought their way into Dorok's Hand. They had kept the entrance tunnels flooded with the foul vapor while they worked on opening the portal to Tharnin and freeing their leader. For two days they had held off Dremlock's forces and at last freed Vorden from the realm of the Deep Shadow. They had taken several Knights hostage during the skirmish and were threatening to kill them if Dremlock tried to take back the fortress.

  "The Hand of Tharnin has returned," Trenton announced. He sat on his horse on a hillside, looking down upon Dremlock's forces. "The good news is that it remains trapped in Dorok's Hand with only a small company of Legion Soldiers. Furlus has chosen to wait for us to return before making a move, which is a wise decision. Our goal is first and foremost to save the hostages."

  Lannon wasn't surprised, but he found himself disappointed with the news. No good would likely come of Vorden's return. More death and destruction would surely result. The other Squires looked disappointed as well--with the exception of Jerret, who still harbored anger toward Vorden over the time Vorden had temporarily enslaved Jerret's mind. Jerret had tried to put the incident behind him, but he remained scarred inside from it.

  "Why aren't the Legion forces trying to fight their way out?" asked Shennen. "With the Hand of Tharnin on their side, surely they would have a chance of breaking through Dremlock's defenses and escaping. I'm surprised they haven't simply killed the hostages and tried to flee."

  "The message did not make that clear," said Trenton. "My guess is that they fear being impaled by lances. Or they may intend to make demands and use the hostages as leverage. But one thing is certain--the Hand of Tharnin must not be allowed to leave Dorok's Hand, hostages or not."

  "Agreed," said Shennen.

  Lannon felt extremely restless. He sensed that somehow he must face Vorden once again--that his former friend would demand it and would want it to be a fight to the death. He didn't reveal his feelings to the others, though they could tell he was anxious and commented on it.

  "Are you okay?" Aldreya asked.

  Lannon nodded. "Just worried about everything."

 
"As am I," said Aldreya. "Things are going so badly for Dremlock. Bellis, the Black Flamestone--and now the Hand of Tharnin again."

  "Those threats can be overcome," said Vannas, but he looked uncertain.

  "It's actually good that Vorden has returned," said Lothrin. "We were going to have to deal with him sooner or later. Better to get it over with. And even if he ends up dead, that's better than living as a slave to evil."

  "I agree," said Lannon, with a sigh. He hated the thought of Vorden dying, but he knew he needed to accept the fact that it would be for the better.

  As they started off again, Galvia groaned and almost fell off her horse. Jerret rode close to her and helped steady her.

  "I'm not healing well," Galvia explained.

  "You're not allowing yourself to heal," said Aldreya. "You're punishing yourself, Galvia, and it must stop!"

  Galvia's face reddened with embarrassment, but she didn't deny Aldreya's words. She rode with her head bowed.

  "Aldreya is right," said Jerret, his eyes wide with concern. "You should be healed by now. Have you even been meditating on your wounds?"

  Galvia shrugged. "Some."

  "It's time to get over this," said Jerret, frustration in his voice "and move on. You wanted to be a Squire and eventually a Knight. But you're not acting like it."

  Galvia glanced at Jerret, then nodded. "I know. I will try to do better. When we camp tonight, I'll focus on healing."

  "Why wait?" said Jerret. "You should get to it now."

  "I'm not in the mood for healing right now," said Galvia. "Maybe later."

  Jerret looked away, sighing.

  Daledus, who'd been riding with his head bowed since his defeat in the duel, suddenly came to life and fixed a smoldering gaze on Galvia. "Jerret is right. You've moped around enough about your little failure in battle. Well, I lost the duel for the Black Flamestone, and I have every intention of righting that wrong and continuing to serve Dremlock as best I can. You won't hear me whining about it."

  Galvia returned his gaze. "I'm not whining. It's just..."

  "Didn't say you were!" Daledus growled. "But you're acting like a thin-skinned weakling and not a Squire of Dremlock. And you're certainly not behaving like a Grey Dwarf. Is that all you're made of? Maybe you weren't really meant to serve Dremlock."

  "That's a bit harsh, Daledus," Jerret protested.

  Lannon also thought Daledus was being too harsh with her, but he said nothing, knowing Daledus was undoubtedly in a terrible mood.

  "No, that's not all I'm made of!" Galvia snarled back, her eyes suddenly flashing with anger. "And I was meant to serve or I wouldn't be here!" She was suddenly trembling with anger, and looked like she wanted to knock Daledus off his horse.

  "Good!" Daledus roared. The Dwarf turned away and fell silent.

  Galvia continued to glare at him, but now she sat taller in the saddle. She still winced with pain, but she seemed suddenly very focused.

  ***

  The rest of the journey back to Dorok's Hand was uneventful. Taris and Flund continued to make steady progress, and soon Flund could speak again, the wound in his throat fully healed. Taris still struggled with memory problems, however, as well as problems with movement, balance, and vision, but he was able to ride his horse and give commands. Galvia also recovered during the journey, and her spirit seemed invigorated, the memory of her battle woes in Elder Oak at last put behind her. She took to practicing her skills when they made camp.

  By the time they reached Dorok's Hand, the snow was melting even in the mountains. They proceeded cautiously into the peaks, anticipating an ambush from the Blood Legion, but they rode all the way to the fortress gates without encountering any trouble. They found that Furlus and his Knights had taken back the upper areas of the fortress, and that the gates were once again sealed and guarded.

  It was late afternoon, and the sky was streaked with red from the setting sun, when the Divine Shield and the others reached the fortress. It had been a warm day, but now a cold wind blew through the mountain peaks. The guards cheered at the sight of them, and then hurriedly pulled open the massive wooden gates and led their horses into the stables.

  Lannon glanced up at the towering statue of Dorok and shuddered. The statue looked sinister, reminding Lannon that evil had returned to the fortress. The Hand of Tharnin waited for them within--the device that had claimed the soul of Lannon's best friend and had raised a Great Dragon against Dremlock.

  "This time, we're going to finish off Vorden," said Jerret, nodding to himself. "No more escapes for that servant of Tharnin. Right, Lannon?"

  "Vorden will not leave Dorok's Hand alive," said Vannas.

  "Few have ever returned from the prison of the Deep Shadow," said Lothrin. "It seems death is the only answer for most."

  "The Vorden we knew is already gone," said Aldreya. "All that remains is a monster bent on Dremlock's destruction."

  Galvia voiced her agreement.

  Jerret gazed at Lannon, waiting for a response, but Lannon didn't look at him and didn't reply. Lannon had no idea what would happen, but his goal was to take Vorden prisoner if possible. He was probably alone in that goal--as everyone around him seemed determined to see Vorden dead, believing it was for the better. But try as he might, Lannon couldn't quite bring himself to adopt that way of thinking. He couldn't abandon all hope that his friend might somehow be saved from the clutches of the Deep Shadow.

  ***

  As Timlin Woodmaster and his Legion warriors approached the gates of Old Hammer Hall, there was a strong feeling in the air that something was amiss. The fortress, which was carved into the mountain like Dorok's Hand, appeared normal--with the huge stone drawbridge raised above a deep trench that ran in front of the keep. The two guard towers--also carved from the mountain--were occupied by twenty archers. Two Ogres wearing fur and leather and armed with wooden hammers stood to the right and left of the drawbridge.

  Old Hammer Hall was clearly still occupied by the Blood Legion, yet Timlin knew instinctively that the mood was grim. The guards did not cheer as the riders approached. In fact, they didn't even smile.

  After the drawbridge was lowered by thick chains, a member of the Legion Council--a Birlote sorcerer named Ethella--strode out to greet them. She was a tall women who was always accompanied by two Goblin Lords. She wore a black robe adorned with red Legion symbols, and she held a crystal staff into which demonic faces had been carved. Her silver hair was bound with black ribbons and set high, and her beautiful face was painted white in imitation of the Tharnin Lords. Ethella was a priestess of Tharnin and was greatly feared and despised by the Legion Soldiers who were less heavily influenced by the Deep Shadow. They thought of her as a cold-hearted monster.

  Timlin, however, liked Ethella and had found her to be his strongest supporter outside of Ulmason Deathhand. Typically she greeted Timlin with a warm smile, but as she approached, her expression was somber.

  "What's wrong?" Timlin asked, as he swung down from his horse. He motioned everyone to hold back so he could talk to her privately.

  Ethella leaned close to him. "Bellis is here, my lord."

  Timlin stood in silence for a moment, his hand inside his cloak and clutching the Black Flamestone in a fierce grip. "They sent a Knight?"

  Ethella shook her head. "They sent Omharal and two Guardians. They wish to meet with you at once."

  "Omharal?" Timlin groaned. The High Wizard of Bellis was one of the most terrifying figures in all the land. He was an alchemist who drew his power from powders and potions. But Omharal wasn't just an alchemist--he was also a deadly assassin. He'd killed enemies of Bellis simply by having messages delivered to them that were coated in invisible poison that was absorbed through the skin. He'd poisoned the wells of villagers for refusal to pay taxes, resulting in widespread illness and death. Certain people he disliked had simply dropped dead in his presence, with no proof of his involvement uncovered.

  "It is my belief," said Ethella, "that Omharal has come to cla
im the Black Flamestone for Bellis. If so, my lord, we must obey. We cannot defy the will of Tharnin. And Bellis could help us at last win this war...after all these centuries of bloodshed. There is too much at stake to refuse them."

  "I would never defy Tharnin," said Timlin, but it was a lie. "Why would you think otherwise? I have been nothing but loyal to Tharnin."

  Ethella didn't answer, but simply gazed at him.

  Timlin knew she wasn't fooled. Somehow, she could sense his intent. "Does Bellis know we have possession of the Flamestone?"

  "Yes," said Ethella. "After you sent your last message, I was forced to pass the information along to Omharal. However, he didn't indicate what his intent was or why he wishes to speak to you. He has been waiting in Old Hammer Hall for days, making all of us uncomfortable. I will be glad to see him leave."

  "So maybe he doesn't plan to take the stone," said Timlin, though he knew it was unlikely. "Maybe he simply wishes to discuss the status of our alliance."

  "It doesn't matter," said Ethella. "Tharnin has already spoken. You, Timlin, must bow before King Verlamer."

  Timlin nodded, but he silently cursed Tharnin. "I'll meet with him immediately and we can find out where we stand."

  "Who carries the Flamestone?" asked Ethella.

  Timlin hesitated, annoyed at her question. "I have it."

  Her eyes widened. "You, and not our priests?"

  "Yes, me," said Timlin. "Now go and arrange a meeting in the Dining Hall and make sure food and drink are on hand. Our strongest wine and ale."

  Ethella bowed. "Of course. And welcome back, my lord."

  Timlin forced a smile. "Pleased to be back." But he wasn't pleased at all. He realized he should have escaped into the wilderness with the Black Flamestone in the dead of night. He'd strongly considered it each evening when they were camped, but hadn't quite been able to bring himself to do it. Now he was caught in a difficult position, with bloodshed the likely result.

  Chapter 14: A Duel of Blades

  The company proceeded on foot into Dorok's Hand, with Taris in the lead. The Tower Master, whose head wound was still bandaged, walked slowly and seemed to be partially dragging his left foot. Following Taris was the rest of the Divine Shield. The fortress had a strange, smoky scent to it--perhaps left over from the toxic vapor the Blood Legion had used to drive out Dremlock's warriors. Grim-faced Knights lined the entrance hall on either side, weapons drawn. Furlus Goblincrusher approached them and nodded to Taris.