“If that’s true,” said Aldreya, “then I will lift the punishment. However, why didn’t you tell us where you were going?”
“I couldn’t,” said Vannas. “I wasn’t even aware I had left camp until I found myself walking through water. After my training, the White Flamestone somehow led me back to camp, like a light in the fog.” His green eyes shone with amazement as he spoke. “Yes, a light in a fog that can hold the shadows at bay.”
Yet Lothrin’s face was stony. “Once again you’re losing yourself to that wretched gem. It is a terrible thing to witness. I long for the day when you no longer possess it and your soul can be free again.”
With trembling hands, Prince Vannas hurriedly put the Flamestone back into its black pouch and tucked it away. “Just keep your distance from me, Lothrin. And don’t even think about trying to steal it when I’m asleep. I already warned you once what would happen—that I will defend the Flamestone aggressively against anyone who tries to claim it.”
“I’m not a thief,” said Lothrin.
“The issue is settled,” said Lannon, who wanted only to get inside his tent and dry off. But apparently it wasn’t settled—because Vannas had suggested his strange behavior would continue.
“It’s not settled for me,” said Lothrin.
“Mind your own business, cousin,” Prince Vannas warned. “You’ve always been far too stubborn for your own good. It will lead you to ruin.”
“Why?” asked Lothrin. “Because you’ll kill me if I try to help you?”
The prince didn’t answer. He entered his tent.
“The White Flamestone,” said Aldreya, “is not an evil item, Lothrin. It is a living piece of our god, granted to us as a gift. You would be wise to remember that. It will not lead Prince Vannas astray.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Lothrin. “Even godly power can turn corrupt in the hands of mortals. You would be wise to remember that. The White Flamestone itself may be pure and good, but all mortals are tainted and given to wretched mistakes. I don’t believe the prince can handle this power he has received.”
“Yet the Divine Essence chose him,” said Aldreya. “There was a reason for that. We must trust in our god’s wisdom over our own.”
Lothrin shook his head. “In truth, Aldreya, I trust my own judgment over that of any god. All the days and nights I spent in the wilderness taught me to rely on my own skills for survival and nothing else. Out there, in the wild lands, you learn that life and death come easily—too easily to be anything but the simple result of cause and effect. Even the greatest hero can die of thirst or stumble over a rock and fall into a heap of broken bones. I’m loyal to the Divine Essence and I will serve it—yet trusting in a god is not my way.”
“Yet I’m ordering you,” said Aldreya, “to stay out of Prince Vannas’ business when it comes to the White Flamestone. Otherwise, I fear it will come to blows—or worse. You are not his leader or his parent.”
“Aldreya is right,” said Lannon. “I know how much to want to look after him, but it could result in bloodshed if you get in his way. The Divine Essence is in his heart, and he will defend his destiny at all costs. It makes for a dangerous situation, Lothrin. You need to mind your own affairs.”
“I’m not sure I can do that,” said Lothrin. “I have great loyalty to Dremlock and Ollanhar—but also to the Prince of Borenthia. I made a promise years ago that I would watch over him, and I take that promise very seriously.”
“You’re a Knight now,” said Aldreya, “which means you are living a new life. You are a new person, blessed by the Divine Essence. If Knightly duty demands that you break old promises, then you must do so.”
Lothrin hesitated, then simply walked away.
***
The next day, Bekka asked Lannon if he would guide her on a hunt through the fog in search of rabbits for breakfast. Lannon was tired of wandering around the soggy grassland, but he agreed, wanting to improve their friendship. The two left the shadow of the huge Dwarf statue and walked away from camp on a chill, cloudy morning in search of higher ground.
Bekka was a skilled hunter and seemed to know exactly what she was looking for, while Lannon was there simply to make sure she found her way back to camp in the unnatural fog. She knelt by logs and rocks, scanning the ground, occasionally readying an arrow and standing motionless for long periods of time. She moved with swift and graceful silence over the terrain, her muscular body seemingly tireless, and each rabbit was dispatched with deadly accuracy.
It wasn’t long before she had bagged four rabbits, but that was hardly enough to feed the whole camp. “I need several more,” she said.
“I’m fine with eggs and bread,” said Lannon.
“Daledus will want rabbit meat,” she said, “and probably Jerret and Galvia too.” She smiled. “I don’t want to leave anyone out. We need to fill your bag too, Lannon. You should have brought your bow.”
“I’m not much for hunting,” he admitted.
She gave him a curious look. “Why not? You have the Eye to guide you, and you’re a Blue Knight. Surely you would make an excellent hunter.”
“It doesn’t interest me,” he said.
“I heard you don’t like killing,” said Bekka. “Some of the Knights say you’re too gentle for your own good. Is that why you don’t hunt?”
“I kill when I have to,” said Lannon. “I’ve slain Goblins…and men. But what you heard is true. I would prefer never to kill anything.”
“That’s a strange way for a Knight,” she said. “Most warriors enjoy combat, or they wouldn’t be warriors. While it’s true that Divine Knights aren’t supposed to favor bloodshed, we’re also not supposed to shy away from it.”
“I don’t shy away from it,” said Lannon. “But I always look for an alternative to killing. That is actually written in the Sacred Laws—that Knights are supposed to avoid bloodshed if possible.”
“Of course,” said Bekka. “Yet many Knights are all too eager to settle things with the sword. Perhaps that is a failing of mine as well. I usually go for the blade first when threatened.”
“It’s a difficult way of life,” said Lannon. “We have to be slow to wield the blade and yet be prepared to fight to the death in an instant. The difference between you and I, Bekka, is that I would prefer never to engage in combat.”
“Are you sure about that?” she asked, smiling.
Lannon considered her words. He did have a strong love of adventure and enjoyed putting his skills to the test, but the thought of taking a human life invoked disgust within him. “Yes, I’m sure,” he said.
“A typical Dark Watchman,” said Bekka, “but not a typical Blue Knight. It’s strange how the Watchmen all grew so corrupt. They were very much like you, Lannon, from what I’ve heard. They defended life and fought for peace, resorting to violence only when necessary. Yet they became the darkest souls of all, engaging in horrific and evil deeds in the name of Tharnin. I don’t understand it, but it worries me greatly. I worry about your future, Lannon.”
Lannon wasn’t sure he wanted to partake in this discussion. It seemed once again Bekka was questioning his ability to lead. Nevertheless, he found himself commenting. “I’m concerned as well, Bekka. Everyone at Dremlock is. But there’s not much to be done about it.”
“Yet what about this Taith lad?” she said. “Now another Dark Watchman has joined us—with another uncertain future. Is this a wise move on Dremlock’s part, to train this boy to unlock powers that might be better left shut away? I tend to believe we should just find him a home and leave him be.”
“Is it a wise move?” said Lannon. “I wish I knew. I too wonder if everyone would be better off if Taith just lived a normal life. I really don’t want to see the Dark Watchmen rise again, because history has shown us what will happen. Yet Aldreya is convinced that Dremlock will train as many Dark Watchmen as we can find, due to the threat of Bellis. I guess I don’t really have any answers and should give up trying to figure it all out.”
>
“Don’t do that,” said Bekka, her face grim. “You have reason and compassion, Lannon. Dremlock needs you to stay strong and question everything. You’re a voice of sanity in a sea of madness.”
“Thank you,” he said, truly grateful. “And your opinions are important as well, Bekka. I’m glad you’re part of the Council.”
“As long as I am on the Council,” said Bekka, “I will speak my mind and fight for what I believe in. My father was a soldier and a guard at Gravendar, and he taught me to stand up for myself and never back down.” For an instant, her voice cracked and she seemed overcome with emotion. “Remember yesterday when I mentioned that my brother had drowned? Well, my father shared his fate while trying to save him. I just stood on the lakeshore and watched, too shocked to do anything. The last thing I saw was fear in my father’s eyes before he sank with my brother in his arms—not fear for his own life, but fear for what would become of me. He knew he was leaving me alone to my fate, and it tormented him in his final moments.”
“Your father should be very proud of you,” said Lannon. “You’ve become a great Knight and made the Council. I’m sure he is pleased.”
“How can he be pleased,” said Bekka, “when he is dead?” She bowed her head. “His last memory of me was consumed by fear and regret.”
“I meant his spirit,” said Lannon.
Bekka met his gaze, then looked away. “I don’t believe in a spirit, Lannon. I believe the dead sleep forever. Death ends everything.”
Lannon wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He didn’t want to arrogantly crush her beliefs even though he strongly disagreed with her. He opted to remain silent and let her decide things for herself.
“My father is gone,” said Bekka. “Swallowed up by the earth. There is nothing left of him except my memories.”
Lannon continued to remain silent.
Suddenly, Bekka gave him a piercing stare. “You disagree?”
“Yes,” Lannon admitted. Now that she had asked, he felt justified in revealing his own beliefs. “Actually, I can see the dead, Bekka. I can even speak to the dead. There are spirits all over the place, including some that live right under our tower of Ollanhar. Some of them are very powerful. The Dark Watchmen, for example, remain restless and have never left our world.”
“But they are not who they once were,” said Bekka. “They are just shades of the living—leftover energy from life. Illusions without substance—no different than dreams or memories. Even if you could speak to my father’s shade, I wouldn’t want you to. It wouldn’t be him. The man who raised me is gone forever, and no tricks of sorcery or the mind will change that. The world is full of tricks, yet the dead never return. Look around you and tell me I’m wrong.”
“You are free to believe what you will,” said Lannon. He found her view to be cynical at best, and he couldn’t understand what motivated her to feel that way—but even a Divine Knight was given freedom of thought.
“Thank you,” said Bekka. “I know you are a strict follower of the teachings of the Divine Essence, so it must be difficult not to preach to me. It is a reasonable and polite attitude like yours, Lannon, that I pay attention to. Nevertheless, you are misguided. The dead are asleep and will not trouble me.”
“Actually…” Lannon mumbled. He found himself gazing at some kind of dark Ghoul that had crept up behind Bekka. It was a man cloaked in black, with a pale face and yellow eyes. His mouth hung open as if his jaw had come unhinged, to reveal long, curved fangs.
***
The Ghoul leaned close to Bekka, fangs moving toward her neck. A cold aura radiated from the creature that spoke of ancient stone crypts and dreadful isolation, of loss of hope and the doom of all living things. He had come to drain them of life and energy and leave only empty flesh—a man cursed by the Deep Shadow long ago and suspended in a state where he was neither alive nor dead but somewhere in between, a stalker of the innocent who loved to destroy life. His appearance was a mockery of who he had once been.
Lannon drew his sword. “Behind you, Bekka!”
Bekka drew her Flayer and whirled around. She took a step back in shock, as the creature gazed at her, its jaws snapping shut. Not one to hesitate for long, Bekka lashed out with her Flayer and cut a deep wound in the Ghoul’s chest—an impressive strike driven by the power of Knightly sorcery.
The Ghoul glanced down at the wound impassively, seemingly unaffected by it. Then it seized Bekka’s Flayer and ripped it from her hand. It tossed the weapon aside. It’s jaws opened wide again, and it lunged at her—again going for her neck. The move was so swift that Bekka had no time to dodge, and the Ghoul’s hands clamped onto her shoulders, pulling her toward the gleaming fangs.
Lannon froze the Ghoul, and then yanked Bekka away from it. While the creature was still suspended by the power of the Eye, Lannon sought to behead it. However, his blade encountered fierce, invisible resistance—as if the neck were shielded with dark sorcery. The wound was shallow, the blade glancing away.
Lannon was disappointed in himself. His embarrassing strike wasn’t even as accurate and forceful as Bekka’s.
Bekka dove for her Flayer, as Lannon again struck at his foe—this time trying to drive his blade through the Ghoul’s heart. It was a mighty thrust, and he got deeper penetration this time—yet the Ghoul still seemed unfazed. It ripped Lannon’s sword from his hand and tried in vain to snap it in two. When it realized it couldn’t break the Dragon-bone blade, it hurled it away into the fog.
Bekka rose with her burning Flayer and struck the Ghoul from behind, inflicting another deep wound. The Ghoul whirled around and seized her neck, pulling her close and biting into her shoulder. She cried out in agony as the curved fangs sank deep into her flesh. Bekka writhed about in sheer torment—a shocking sight for Lannon to behold. He could sense her precious life force being drained away, sending her into a panic as she fought to keep from being drained until she was a lifeless shell. He could sense the horror of her experience.
Lannon wrapped his arm around the Ghoul’s neck and squeezed until the fangs withdrew. He yanked the creature away from Bekka, and kept on squeezing. Bekka fell to the ground, apparently unconscious, as Lannon fought to maintain his hold. The Ghoul weakened under the pressure, but it was not a living creature and could not be strangled. At last, Lannon was forced to release his foe.
As the Ghoul faced him, Lannon summoned his sword from the fog. He focused all of his energy into the blade and waited for his foe to make a move. Yet the Ghoul watched him with cunning eyes and kept its distance.
The Ghoul whispered to Lannon in the tongue of the Deep Shadow that it was an ancient king who resided in a castle in the peaks. Ever since being cursed, it had killed many humans over the centuries—including Divine Knights. It came from high up in the Soddurn Mountains, where others of its kind lurked in stone crypts. It promised Lannon a quick death if he surrendered.
They circled each other. Losing patience because of his desire to help Bekka, Lannon leapt in for the kill, but the Ghoul seized his sword again. For an instant, they fought for possession of the blade, and then Lannon’s fingers slipped and again it was yanked from his clutches.
The Ghoul tried to hurl the sword far away but Lannon was ready. He snagged the weapon as it flew through the air and called it back instantly to his hand. The Ghoul’s eyes widened in shock at this display of skill.
Once again Lannon focused the Eye into the blade and waited, and this time his foe lost patience and leapt toward him. Lannon struck a flawless blow to the Ghoul’s neck, breaking through the barrier of dark magic and cutting deep into the tough flesh. The Ghoul staggered, black blood pouring from the wound.
Lannon struck again, and this time the head came free.
The Ghoul was slain—the dark reign of the ancient king at last ended—but Bekka had received a wound so terrible that the thought of it made Lannon shudder. This was more wretched than Faindan’s curse—a wound that went to the very core of Bekka’s being—and it w
as going to prove more difficult to overcome. He wasn’t sure Dallsa could cure it.
With a frustrated sigh, Lannon lifted Bekka and headed for camp.
Chapter 10:
The Fiend in the Moat
Faindan Stillsword survived the night.
He awoke at dawn, terribly sore, the stench of the dead Wolf strong in his nostrils. For a long time he lay there, dreading what he would find when he looked upon his precious horse—dreading his own injuries that perhaps ran deeper than he could yet know. The last thing he wanted was to see his horse lying dead from its bloody wound—for not only would his best friend be gone, but his chances of surviving the journey to Ollanhar would be greatly reduced.
But avoiding the truth would not help him. Sooner or later he would have to face his fears and learn just how dire his situation was. Eyes closed, he listened for the sound of an animal breathing, but heard only birds chirping.
Groaning in pain, he struggled up from the ground. He was delighted to see that his horse was standing nearby. Its neck bore a grim wound, but it didn’t seem to bother the Greywind too much. Faindan moved about, testing his strength. He winced in pain with each step, but he sensed his injuries would heal in time, and he was able to walk about in the meanwhile.
“And so we live on,” he said to his horse, grinning. “The Deep Shadow hasn’t finished us yet.” The horse bowed its head, inviting him to ride. It scraped at the ground with its hoof, eager to move on.
Faindan gazed at his dead foe—the huge, muscular beast sprawled out on the ground, its tongue hanging from its muzzle. “I guess you thought I would be an easy kill,” he said, “with only one hand for fighting.”
In the light of dawn, the size and power of the Wolf was clearly revealed, and Faindan was amazed that he was still alive. The beast could have easily torn him to pieces, yet somehow he had overcome it. Faindan gagged, the evil stench reminding him of stale crypts where only the dead could be found—yet there was also an underlying smell of some odd spice like traces of incense, an unnatural scent for an unnatural creature that was born of dark sorcery. Faindan was gripped by both awe and disgust, chills creeping over him. Was there no limit to how powerful and evil Goblins could become?
Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar (Ollanhar Series Book 1) Page 17
