Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar (Ollanhar Series Book 1)

by Keller, Robert E.

  “I hope that bard isn’t a spy of Bellis,” said Lannon.

  He was only speaking in jest, but for a moment Aldreya hesitated—as if considering his words. Then she continued on.

  The quest for the Flamestone had begun.

  Lannon’s weariness gave way to excitement. He was at last leaving on an adventure again, wondering what awaited him in strange lands where Divine Knights would be looked upon as mysterious intruders.

  But he didn’t allow himself to get too excited, considering the perils that awaited them. Bellis would be there with its sprawling legions of soldiers intent upon dominating all the land. This was a desperate quest from a desperate kingdom struggling to survive against overwhelming evil.

  Chapter 7:

  The Departure without Glory

  Lannon and Aldreya walked the forest trail, carefully stepping over roots, fallen limbs, and loose stones. They carried no light source, with Lannon relying on the Eye of Divinity for guidance and Aldreya staying close to him. They moved like silent shadows beneath the sprawling tree branches, two of the most powerful warriors in all the land yet lost beneath the ancient trees that had seen many legendary fighters come and go. The breeze ruffled the treetops periodically, but otherwise there was deep stillness in the woods.

  A crashing noise arose in the brush nearby. In an instant, Lannon’s bone-sword was in hand, a pale weapon in the starlight that filtered down through the branches, and Aldreya held her stone dagger close to her chest in the traditional stance of a sorcerer. The stench of the Deep Shadow hung in the air—along with a physical stench that could easily have been from a Goblin.

  Something moved again in the brush, more silently this time—attempting to hide its presence. It seemed to be moving away from them.

  Lannon scanned the woods, but glimpsed nothing beyond weak traces of dark sorcery that could have been old. Whatever had made the noise was beyond his range. “Could just be a wolf or a bear,” he whispered, “startled by our presence.”

  “No, a creature of the Deep Shadow lurks here,” said Aldreya. “The stench of evil is very fresh. But is this a foe stalking us? Or just some Goblin wandering around outside the Bloodlands?”

  Lannon shrugged. “I sense it’s not very powerful—maybe a Tree Goblin. Probably nothing to worry about.” He yawned, wanting only to get to the stable and start the journey so he could rest in the saddle. The Birlote milk had left him feeling both tired and a bit ill, with a throbbing headache. Dealing with some petty Goblin was just an annoyance that Lannon wanted no part of.

  Aldreya sniffed the air, then shook her head. “The stench is too strong for a Tree Goblin, and the creature is far too noisy. Tree Goblins move quietly through the treetops. It is something bigger—perhaps a Wolf or a Jackal. Wait here, Lannon. I’m going to see if I can hunt it down.”

  Aldreya’s dagger emitted a faint greenish glow, and she slipped into the forest without a sound. How she was able to walk silently across crunchy leaves was beyond Lannon’s comprehension. Even a fully trained Blue Knight made a bit of noise when moving over dry leaves. He wondered if all Birlotes were capable of that feat, or if it had something to do with her sorcery. He thought back to all the times Shennen Silverarrow—the famous Blue Knight and assassin—had moved so silently over any surface, and he decided it was a Birlote skill.

  Lannon waited patiently, sword leaning on his shoulder. A few moments passed, and then he heard another crash that was followed by an inhuman screech. A green fireball shot up through the trees and struck something.

  A moment later, a burning shadow swooped down into the trail—a Goblin Vulture partially engulfed in green fire, a winged monstrosity with a humanoid face, bulbous black eyes, and a mouth that resembled a bloody gash from which a deadly beak extended. Its eyes gleaming with hatred, it dove for Lannon—a final, desperate act. The beast knew it was doomed and wanted only to take Lannon’s life before its own burned into ash.

  The beast’s flaming wings beat frantically, Aldreya’s sorcerous fire quickly melting flesh from bone. The Vulture was tremendously resilient, its will and hatred holding it together long enough to reach Lannon. With a gurgling hiss, it hurtled from the sky like a bloated spear, beak aimed at Lannon’s chest.

  It was such a swift and frantic dive that a lesser warrior might have been caught off guard and been pierced. But the Eye of Divinity sprang to life on instinct, guiding Lannon’s movements. As the Vulture closed in, Lannon dodged and cut off the beast’s head. The Vulture’s body dropped to the dirt and lay burning, while the detached head continued to glare at him, a spark of life lingering in the black eyes. With a shudder, Lannon kicked the head into the forest.

  Aldreya stepped into the trail. She gazed at the pile of ash that had once been their foe, a look of contemplation on her face. “A spy of Bellis or the Blood Legion, no doubt. It was probably trying to escape and warn of our plans.”

  “Can Vultures communicate like that?” asked Lannon. He had always assumed they lacked such intelligence.

  She nodded. “With enough training, it can be done. A Vulture can deliver a simple message.”

  “Regardless,” said Lannon, “no message will be delivered on this night.” He cleaned his sword and then sheathed it.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” said Aldreya. “When the beast took flight, I glimpsed another shadow soar over the treetops. It could have been another Vulture or some other winged spy.”

  ***

  They reached the stable without further incident, where their horses were already prepared for the journey. The Knights of Ollanhar—including Daledus, who stood apart from the others—were gathered in a crowd waiting for the arrival of their leaders. They wore cloaks over their armor, and no banners of Dremlock were displayed. This was strange to Lannon, not at all like the festive departures the Divine Knights typically received. There was no one to cheer them on—just tired, sullen warriors slipping off into the shadows.

  Furlus Goblincrusher, looking tired, was there to speak a few words of encouragement to the crowd. Then he added, “Unfortunately, the Nine Axes have not arrived yet. Their whereabouts are not known.”

  This news seemed to alarm Aldreya. “Should we delay the journey? I want to make sure the tower is well defended in our absence.”

  “No need for that,” said Furlus. “I suspect they may have gotten sidetracked by a few of the taverns along the way. This quest is long overdue. Let Taris and I worry about Ollanhar. If you want to truly defend the tower, then bring back that Flamestone. Only then will we be assured of defeating Bellis.”

  Aldreya reported the incident with the Vulture, but Furlus seemed to dismiss it as unimportant.

  “All that matters now is the Flamestone,” he said, his bearded face somber in the lantern light. “You must retrieve it at all costs.”

  “Is something troubling you, Furlus?” asked Lannon.

  “Many things trouble me,” said Furlus, with a shrug.

  “I was referring to something specific,” said Lannon. “Something that would cause an immediate need for this new Flamestone.”

  “Yes,” said Furlus, “but I am not allowed speak of it. If we fail to obtain the Flamestone, Dremlock will surely be doomed.”

  “We will not fail,” said Prince Vannas. “My own Flamestone will make sure of it and guide us through fog and shadow and raging sea.”

  “I believe in you, my cousin,” said Lothrin, patting the prince on the back. “Victory will be ours.”

  “We will find a way,” said Vorden. “We always do.”

  “Such talk is pointless,” said Bekka. “We have no idea what awaits us in distant lands. We’re all powerful fighters, certainly, but we may be overmatched beyond the mountains of Silverland.” In spite of being new to the group, Bekka had no issue with speaking her mind. She made no effort to fit in, but simply lived as the warrior she had always been.

  Jace nodded. His huge form blocked out the lantern light. “Bekka is correct. Overconfidence will be o
ur downfall. We cannot go on this journey expecting an easy victory. We will need our wits to survive.”

  “Who needs wits,” said Daledus, his eyes sullen, “when we have this?” He balled up his meaty fist. “I’ll crack a few jaws before this quest is ended!”

  No one replied to the angry Dwarf. They just let him talk.

  “Good luck to you, my friends,” said Furlus. “May the Divine Essence watch over you and bless your journey so that you return victorious. May it shine its light on you when the darkness seems impenetrable and reveal a path.”

  “We’re all tired,” said Aldreya. “But we must ride out. Are you ready, Lannon?”

  Lannon nodded. It was time to depart.

  Chapter 8:

  The Joust for the Pale Hammer

  After leaving the stable under cover of darkness, they journeyed through the hill country for a few days, and it appeared that no enemies followed or were aware of their departure. No spies were spotted on land or in the sky, and the weather was fair for traveling, with only a couple of light rain showers. The days were warm, the grassy hills ruffled by pleasant breezes, and camping was peaceful and relaxing beneath the stars. There was plenty of good food and drink.

  But the hill country was strange, and there were dangers to be found if one wandered from the path, even in the light of day.

  Jace kept a diary of their journey:

  “Seemingly endless stretches of the unknown greet our vision, beneath the infinite sky. Here stand hills with rocky ruins poking out of them like bones—how ancient I cannot imagine. Who can guess what odd curses of the Deep Shadow are found within the crumbling walls, waiting like poisonous serpents to strike anyone who dares enter? Even the oldest Trolls who wander the hillsides have no memory of these lairs. And this is only the beginning, for soon we will encounter lands where even I have never wandered, where the familiar is utterly lost to us…”

  On the fourth day, the danger that surrounded them was at last revealed, as one of the Blue Knights—Faindan Stillsword—made the mistake of poking around in some ancient ruins when the travelers were camped for lunch, and he became infected by a disease of the Deep Shadow. His left hand turned red and swelled to twice its normal size, causing him pain as if from fire. He moaned and cursed, rolling around in the grass and begging for someone to knock him unconscious. Dallsa did her best to treat the infection, but she couldn’t calm the burning agony.

  “My curse is bitter!” Faindan groaned. “The pain is unbearable!” The hand was so tender that if he bumped it against anything—even slightly—he screamed. He held it in the air, but his arm was clearly growing tired, his elbow sagging.

  Faindan finally seemed to calm down a bit—until a large fly landed on the swollen hand. Then he howled and writhed about.

  “Stop moving, Faindan,” Dallsa said, as she fought to hold him still. “All this thrashing around isn’t going to help.”

  Lannon and some of the others gathered in a circle around him on this bright and sunny day, giving each other helpless glances. Faindan was a handsome young Knight with black hair and blue eyes. He was extremely likable, and the others desperately wanted to help him. But the answer eluded them.

  “Daledus,” Faindan croaked. “Use your fist on me, my friend. End this wretched pain with one stout blow!”

  Daledus shook his head. The Dwarf’s broad face held a sad expression. “I wish I could help you, but you don’t want a blow from my fist, Faindan. You might not get up again.”

  Faindan groaned. “I don’t care, just strike me.”

  “Nobody is going to strike you, Faindan,” said Dallsa. “I’m going to cure you, if you’ll stop fighting me. I can drive out the curse.”

  “I’m sorry about your agony, Faindan,” said Aldreya. “Yet I have faith that Dallsa can indeed heal you.” In a commanding tone, she added, “You will simply lay still and allow her to treat the infection. That’s an order.”

  Faindan didn’t answer. His teeth were clenched.

  At last Faindan reached toward Lannon—extending the bloated, crimson hand that looked as if it were covered in scales. “Help me, High Watchman!”

  “I wish there was something I could do,” said Lannon. “Unfortunately, I cannot cure your condition. Dallsa has the power, though.”

  “What about medication?” asked Vorden, standing with his arms folded across his armored chest. Vorden was a thinker and never liked to give up on anyone. “Surely there must be something that can dull the pain.”

  “Nothing I know of,” said Dallsa. “This type of infection is based entirely on dark sorcery. It takes sorcery to cure it.”

  “Can it be fatal?” asked Lannon, whispering to Dallsa.

  “Not likely,” Dallsa whispered back. “I believe the infection has the goal of causing him misery and perhaps contaminating his mind, subduing his will, and darkening his dreams. It is a curse against life—a very nasty thing to encounter, as it could be considered a fate worse than death.”

  “Can you stand up, Faindan?” asked Aldreya. As she stood with her silver curls blowing in the breeze, there was no pity in her gaze. She seemed as cold as ice—an unfathomable mage in her green cloak—yet Lannon knew she had a caring heart and was concerned for everyone around her. However, she expected Divine Knights to act appropriately—to perhaps even act as a Birlote would and put the agony aside for the sake of duty.

  Faindan shook his head. “I just want to lay here.”

  “I can help him to his horse,” said Lannon. He started forward.

  “No one will help him,” said Aldreya, seizing Lannon’s arm. “His hand is infected, but his legs will carry him to his horse.”

  “I don’t like it,” said Jerret, who was seated on a rock. “Why make him more miserable by having to stand and walk on his own? And how is he supposed to climb into the saddle when he can’t touch anything?”

  Aldreya fixed her stern gaze on Jerret. “No one is to be coddled on this journey, or we will not survive. We must face our hardships and overcome them. I have seen other Knights overcome pain to this degree by will alone. Our training allows for such feats.”

  “But this is cruel,” said Vorden. “Why put Faindan through more misery than necessary? You’ve changed, Aldreya. You’ve become like other Birlote sorcerers who grow in power and forget what it’s like to struggle.”

  She didn’t reply and showed no emotion.

  The other Knights exchanged tense looks.

  “Don’t my words mean anything to you?” asked Vorden. “The old Aldreya would have at least given me a heated argument.”

  “You don’t understand Birlotes,” Aldreya replied, “and you never will. So there is no point in trying to make you understand. We grow and change. We become who we were meant to be. Do not mistake that for a bad thing.”

  “There is no need for insults, Vorden,” said Lannon. “Aldreya is our leader and we must respect her decisions.”

  “No insult intended,” said Vorden. “Just giving a humble opinion.”

  “I have a humble opinion too,” said Jerret, “that I would like to voice.”

  Aldreya nodded. “Feel free.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” said Jerret, “but you Birlotes think Noracks are weak and cannot endure great hardships.”

  She glared at him. “We aren’t children anymore, Jerret. Don’t try to bait me into a discussion of Birlotes versus Noracks—not when my favorite warrior in all the land is standing next to me and happens to be a Norack.” She nudged Lannon.

  “I’m your favorite warrior?” said Lannon, surprised.

  Aldreya nodded. “I trust you like no other, Lannon.”

  Jerret bowed. “My apologies, Green Knight.” His voice was heavy with sarcasm. “But I still don’t think Faindan should be forced to move without help. As a Red Knight, I am often called a barbarian—but I am not a savage.”

  “Nor am I,” said Galvia. “We should help him, Aldreya. There is no shame in giving comfort to an injured warrio
r.”

  “Yes, help me,” Faindan pleaded. “Don’t let me suffer.”

  “This is ridiculous,” said Prince Vannas, giving Aldreya a glare. “You’re letting your power turn you cold. I feel rather disgusted by this, and I’m glad I’m not a sorcerer. The Royal Family would not approve.”

  For an instant, a hint of doubt appeared in Aldreya’s eyes. By the bloodline of the Birlote Royal Family, Prince Vannas outranked her. His opinion held great weight with her and always would. But at Ollanhar, she was the Green Knight and he was forced to obey her commands. It was an awkward situation.

  Lothrin and Bekka said nothing, but they looked uncomfortable.

  “You might be right, Aldreya,” said Dallsa. “As cruel as it seems, Faindan needs to find his strength.” But she appeared doubtful.

  At last, Aldreya looked to Lannon for his input.

  “I have to agree with the others,” said Lannon. He quickly added, “I mean, about whether or not we should help Faindan. I understand your reasoning, Aldreya, but it’s the way of Divine Knights to assist each other.”

  She nodded. “I see. I am overruled. Very well, give him whatever assistance he wants, but you won’t be doing him any favors. It will likely take a toll on him. But I have said enough.” She turned about rigidly and walked away.

  Vorden shook his head. “She has definitely grown colder.”

  “I disagree,” said Lannon. “She’s just strong in her beliefs, Vorden. She has a lot of responsibilities and must make many tough decisions.” But Vorden was right in that Aldreya had indeed changed. She had become much more like Taris Warhawk lately—confident, commanding, and seemingly full of wisdom, but also stern and strange to those around her. But she hadn’t yet earned the enormous respect that was given to Taris, and her decisions were bound to be questioned.

  Jace approached them, pipe in hand. He towered over the Knights, gazing down at Faindan. “Nasty little curse you have there. Would you like a bucket of water to dip that hand in—cool it down a bit?”