“Yes!” Faindan said excitedly. “Bring water!”
“Bad idea,” said Jace. “Water will only make it worse. Anything you try will make it worse. Nothing to do but wait it out, young man, and let the healer do her work.” Jace puffed his pipe and grinned. “At least it’s another beautiful day, curse or not.” With that, he wandered away.
Together, Jerret and Vorden helped Faindan up and took him to his horse. The young Blue Knight continued to twist and groan, as he was heaved into the saddle. He ignored the reins and instead hunkered down, sweat dripping from his brow as he struggled against the smoldering pain—but the mighty Greywind horse would bear him along on its own.
As they rode off through the hills, Faindan cursed them and begged them for help, but Dallsa had done all she could for the day and needed rest. He whimpered and moaned, threatening to fling himself from the saddle. Faindan was an elite Blue Knight, and his behavior was terribly embarrassing to the others. It brought shame upon the whole party.
Daledus—who was Faindan’s good friend—rode with his head bowed, a dismayed look on his face. If Daledus’ partially burned beard didn’t bring him enough shame, now there was this.
Lannon, however, felt nothing but pity for Faindan. It was at times like these that the Eye of Divinity seemed inadequate. For all its power, it lacked the ability to heal or drive out curses in others—or if it did possess such abilities, Lannon was not able to access them. He hated feeling so helpless.
As they entered a stretch of forest, Faindan fell silent. This brought great relief to the others, who couldn’t bear to witness a Divine Knight crying over pain and making childish threats. The Knights took to talking and laughing, enjoying the pleasant day. Lannon thought perhaps Faindan was recovering.
Then Faindan cried out and fell from the saddle. He lay on the ground for a moment in the trail, his chest heaving, and then rose. His face bore a hideous grin, and he held a bloody sword in one hand. His other hand—the infected and swollen one—was severed from his wrist and lay in the dirt.
“Good riddance!” Faindan bellowed. “I am free!”
The Knights groaned. Aldreya swung down from her horse to retrieve the hand, which could be stored away and later reattached by the healers of Dremlock. But Faindan was having none of it. His sword erupted into sorcerous fire, and he quickly burned the severed hand into ash.
“Foolish,” Aldreya said. “Now you are less of a warrior.”
“But I am free!” Faindan laughed. “The agony is gone!” It was a shocking reminder of the evil and power of the Deep Shadow.
“Faindan, what have you done?” said Daledus, shaking his head in disbelief. “A Blue Knight with only one hand? You have ruined yourself!”
Bekka’s face bore a look of disgust. “I helped train you, Faindan. I saw your great potential. How could you do this to yourself?”
It was indeed a sad event, for Faindan was one of the most talented young Knights at Dremlock. A Blue Knight needed two hands to be successful, and by surrendering to the agony, Faindan had all but destroyed his promising career—and soon the truth would strike him hard.
“I warned of this,” said Aldreya, to the others. “I sought to strengthen his will, and the rest of you stood against me. Now you see the result.”
The Knights sat with bowed heads and gloomy expressions.
Dallsa bandaged the wound. “The stump will heal, Faindan. But your hand won’t grow back. Why didn’t you listen to me?”
With a bit of struggle, Faindan returned to the saddle. “I feel much better now, my friends. This is pain that I can tolerate, and the wound will heal soon with a bit of meditation. I can continue on and fight with one hand. I…I want to be part of this great quest and return victorious to Ollanhar.”
“No, Faindan,” said Aldreya. “You would only ride to your doom. You will return to Dremlock, where the High Council will decide your fate. But I am convinced your days as a Blue Knight are finished.”
Faindan looked horrified. “But…but I was in so much pain. I had to do something! Don’t you understand?”
Aldreya nodded. “But it doesn’t matter. I cannot in good conscience allow you to continue. You would only burden us.”
For a moment Faindan sat motionless on his horse, his expression pleading. He gazed at Lannon, who simply looked away. Then Faindan lifted the reins in his good hand and rode off for Dremlock, his cry of frustration echoing through the woods.
***
As they continued on through the stretch of woods, no one spoke of the incident involving Faindan. There was nothing more to be said. It was up to the High Council what would become of him.
Yet no one could stay somber for long on this pleasant day. As they navigated the Greywind horses between the huge trees, soon the talk and laughter started up again. A soft roof of green leaves hung above them, interrupted here and there by patches of sunlight that broke through, and thick roots stretched out into the trail. Birds chirped, and squirrels climbed up and down the tree trunks. This was one of many ancient stretches of forest throughout Silverland that had never faced the saw or axe, and an aura of peace lingered here that invigorated the spirit and instilled optimism in the heart. The Divine Knights felt that surely they would be victorious in their quest, that not even the armies of Bellis could thwart them.
But the peaceful mood was soon interrupted. One of their Elder Hawks returned from a scouting mission, swooping down from the treetops and landing on one of the two long wagons that held their supplies. The Hawk used head and wing movements to indicate it had spotted a large group of enemies in the trail behind them. Soon another Hawk landed on the other wagon and revealed that a single enemy lurked ahead.
“What do you make of this?” Aldreya asked Lannon.
“The larger group,” said Lannon, “could be the Lawkeeper and his Knights. After all, he promised to observe me, remember? They must have followed us, but I wonder why the Hawks didn’t spot them sooner.”
“There are ways to hide from the Hawks,” said Aldreya, “if one is patient and careful. But it appears they are about to reveal themselves.”
The Knights drew their weapons but kept moving forward, opting to take their chance against the single foe. But that foe turned out to be a dead Ogre lying on its back in the trail. The Ogre wore only a loincloth, but next to it lay a shining silver war hammer that was very pale in hue and adorned with Sacred Runes of Dremlock. There was also a large pouch from which silver coins had spilled out.
Aldreya leapt down from the saddle and checked the pouch. “Packed with ancient coins bearing the mark of Dremlock.” She removed a silver, rune-covered chalice from the pouch and held it up. “A Blessed Chalice, used for divine rituals, and a Blessed Hammer for war against the Deep Shadow. That hammer alone is worth a fortune, for it is blessed by the Divine Essence itself and the silver made as strong as Glaetherin and twice as light. These items once belonged to our kingdom. The Ogre must have robbed some forgotten Knightly tomb.”
Lannon scanned the Ogre. He sensed traces of malicious sorcery in the dead giant—the venom of a Pit Crawler. The Ogre had been bitten several times on the chest and face. “One Goblin slaying another,” he mused.
“A common occurrence,” said Aldreya. “Goblins make war on each other frequently—especially the greedy ones.”
“That’s a lot of treasure,” said Daledus, his eyes shining.
“Indeed,” said Aldreya. “This could be a great find for Ollanhar.”
What about the hammer?” asked Galvia, a look of wonder on her face. She couldn’t seem to remove her gaze from it.
“It should be wielded by a Knight,” said Aldreya. “Someone, that is, whose preferred weapon is the hammer.”
Galvia looked about, but no one else possessed a war hammer. She grinned with delight. “I’m guessing that would be me.”
“Perhaps,” said Aldreya, smiling.
“Shouldn’t the treasure be returned to the tomb?” asked Lannon. He hated the tho
ught of disturbing the dead—especially the resting place of a Knight. He thought it might anger the Divine Essence.
“Do you see any tomb?” asked Aldreya. “I do not. Nor do I have time to look for one. And truthfully, the practice of burying dead Knights with silver was abolished centuries ago. It was deemed a waste of silver. We must obey the Sacred Laws and make use of this treasure.”
“A waste of silver indeed,” said Bekka. “Why would a dead body require money? Or anything else for that matter?”
“It was symbolic,” said Aldreya. “Something reserved for elite Knights, to honor their deeds. My own people engage in that practice. As a member of the Royal Family, I will be buried with treasure when I die.”
“I want a heap of silver in my tomb,” said Prince Vannas. “And gold and jewels too. I feel I deserve it.”
“Will your spirit truly care, cousin?” asked Lothrin.
“It might,” said Prince Vannas, smiling.
“Mine will not,” said Lothrin. “Better that treasure be used for the benefit of the living. The spirit is free of such earthly needs.”
Vannas rolled his eyes. “If you say so.”
“I would like to be buried with my sword,” said Jerret. The hulking Red Knight drew his weapon and held it up. “Lay it across my chest, as a warning to the living that a warrior sleeps in that tomb.”
“So it can rust into oblivion?” said Bekka, with a laugh.
“Glaetherin doesn’t rust,” Jerret pointed out.
“We all have rituals and practices,” said Aldreya, “as silly and pointless as they may seem. It is the way of humans and even the way of the Divine Essence. If our god allows for rituals, then we should embrace them.”
Moments later, the Lawkeeper and his Knights rode into view along the trail, with the two Thallite Giants striding along behind them. As they approached, the Lawkeeper called out, “I see what you have. That treasure is mine. I claim it for Bellis Kingdom, in the name of King Verlamer!”
Lannon sighed, then muttered, “Quite annoying.”
Aldreya groaned. “I waited too long. I should have tucked it away swiftly in a wagon. Regardless, I will not surrender it.”
“Someone must have been spying on us,” said Lannon, scanning the woods. “A human or creature of great stealth and speed—maybe even a servant of the Deep Shadow. The spy must have hurried to the Lawkeeper with the news. We shall have to assume we are being watched from now on.”
“Hand over that treasure,” the Lawkeeper insisted, pointing his dragon cane at Aldreya. His expression was disdainful, his spiked silver hair catching a bit of sunlight that filtered down from between the leaves. Nearly as tall as Jace, he was an imposing figure beneath his crimson robe.
“These treasures belong to us,” said Aldreya. “They were forged by Dremlock, as the markings on them clearly show.”
“Let me examine the items,” he replied.
Reluctantly, Aldreya handed over a coin. The Lawkeeper studied it carefully and then poked around in one of his books. He nodded. “Ancient treasure. Too ancient to be claimed by Dremlock, and found on a wandering Ogre. As far as I’m concerned, I have just as much right to this silver as you do.”
“We found it first,” said Vorden.
“We were right behind you, Knight,” said the Lawkeeper, sneering. “Therefore, I am claiming it for Bellis. I have the right to fight for it.”
“Feel free,” said Prince Vannas, reaching into his pocket to grasp the White Flamestone. “Lannon and I can deal with you.”
The Lawkeeper glared at the prince. “Your arrogance is astounding. You believe you can defeat my Guardians and Thallites? Then you are a fool. We would strike you down with exploding arrows before you ever had a chance to deploy your weapon. Think about that!”
Vannas didn’t reply.
“We will not surrender the treasure,” said Aldreya. “Do you really want to fight to the death over these items?”
“Of course not,” said the Lawkeeper. “I detest bloodshed. I suggest we duel for the items—a friendly joust in which no one is killed. One of your warriors against one of mine. The winning side keeps the silver.”
Aldreya called Lannon aside to discuss the situation. “The Knights of Bellis are famous for jousting,” she said in a low voice. “Dremlock, however, favors duels of blades. The Lawkeeper would have a significant advantage.”
“Our Red Knights are trained at jousting,” said Lannon. “Jerret is very skilled at it. Why not let him partake in the match?”
“I doubt he can beat a Guardian,” said Aldreya. “The Golden Knights are masters of the joust. They have never been defeated.”
“I could give it try,” said Lannon. “I haven’t had any practice at jousting, but it can’t be that difficult. My goal is to knock the opposing warrior off his horse, right? Well, I can move objects from a distance.”
“You can’t use sorcery to unhorse him,” said Aldreya. “That would be cheating. You have to strike him with a lance. You can only use sorcery that enhances the body—to strengthen or shield yourself. The Guardians attack an opponent’s mind during jousting, so that sort of thing too is permitted—though I personally don’t feel it should be allowed. But no flames or distance attacks.”
“No burning lance?” Lannon asked.
“As I said, no fire at all,” Aldreya replied.
“That seems unfair,” said Lannon. “The rules seem to favor Bellis over Dremlock, if the Divine Fire cannot be used.”
“The rules are ancient,” said Aldreya. “We must not question them. Besides, you don’t know how to use fire.”
“True,” he said, sighing. “But I can shield myself, and it might be enough. It’s either that or we fight them for the silver, and I would rather not have bloodshed over treasure regardless of how much it’s worth.”
“We shall have to settle for the joust,” Aldreya said reluctantly. “Our mission is too important to engage in battle with the Lawkeeper’s army. Our party is small as it is, and a conflict could reduce our numbers even more.”
“I need a lance,” Lannon called out.
Jerret brought Lannon his heavy lance. “It’s designed for throwing” he said, “but it will work well enough in a joust. Remember, the jousting laws of our land state that your feet can’t touch the ground or you lose. Also, hang on tight to the lance. If it falls, you’re going to lose. Timing and distance is everything. If you thrust too early or too late, you’ll pay the price. You sure you don’t want me to do it?”
“I’m fully trained at jousting,” said Vorden. “And I have the best armor here. Why don’t you let me do this, Lannon?”
Lannon hesitated. Vorden did possess unnatural strength and other powerful abilities, and his armor was as stout as that of the Guardian.
But Aldreya shook her head. “I respect your skills, Vorden, but I don’t believe you would win. Only Lannon has a chance.”
Vorden glared at her. “With all due respect to Lannon, you’ll likely regret this decision. Lannon has never been involved in a joust, but I know I could win—even against a Guardian. My armor is designed to absorb mighty blows. Trust me, I would not be dislodged from the saddle.”
Aldreya considered it, then shook her head. “You have never faced a Guardian, Vorden. Their skills are inhuman.”
“And so are mine,” said Vorden, but she ignored him.
Aldreya fixed her gaze on Lannon. “You may proceed.”
Lannon swung onto his horse. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good luck, my friend,” said Jerret. “I envy you.”
One of the Golden Knights faced Lannon in the trail, holding a lance that was longer and heavier than the one Lannon held—a true jousting lance. The Guardian seemed invincible beneath his golden armor that covered him from head to toe, a shining statue on horseback in the beams of sunlight that broke through the treetops. His huge war horse stomped and snorted, ready to charge. The Guardian seemed designed for jousting, whereas Lannon looked awkward with
his lack of armor and inferior lance. Though Lannon was lean and athletically muscled, he seemed small and weak compared to the huge Knight.
The other warriors cleared away, leaving open trail between the two. They sat facing each other for a few moments, and then the Golden Knight spurred his horse into a gallop. Lannon prompted his steed forward.
The charge was awkward, and Lannon decided in an instant that he didn’t care for jousting. As the Guardian drew close, Lannon let the power of the Eye guide his actions, and the lance thrust out, connecting with the Guardian’s chest. It was a solid blow, but the lance deflected off the golden armor as the Guardian twisted to one side. They rode past each other and then turned their horses about.
Lannon realized he would need a perfect strike to knock the Guardian from his saddle, and he wasn’t sure he could deliver it, Eye of Divinity or not. It was extremely difficult to maintain focus on both attack and defense.
“Timing is everything!” Jerret reminded him.
They charged each other again, and this time Lannon focused more on attack and let his guard down a bit. He leaned forward in the saddle, his cloak flapping in the wind, wanting to throw everything into the thrust and end the match quickly. But the Guardian’s sorcery crept into Lannon’s mind, stripping him of his will and focus—filling his head with an image of twisting serpents that was impossible to ignore. Lannon fought to regain his focus, but before he got the chance to make his move, the Guardian’s lance shot toward him. Lannon managed to shield himself an instant before the weapon struck his shoulder. He was knocked from his perch, and he dropped his lance in order to keep from falling, his hands locking around the saddle and his feet hanging inches above the ground.
The Eye of Divinity surging through him, Lannon easily swung back into the saddle, but his lance lay in the trail. He wasn’t sure what to do and looked to Aldreya for help. “What should I do?” he called out, as the Guardian took position to face him. “Have I lost the match?”
“No one can help you!” the Lawkeeper yelled, looking delighted. “And your feet cannot touch the ground. Therefore, you must either forfeit the match or allow your opponent to knock you from your horse.”
Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar (Ollanhar Series Book 1) Page 12
