Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar (Ollanhar Series Book 1)

by Keller, Robert E.

  The other Pit Crawlers hissed and struck furiously at the Knights. Their mouths stretched open wide to expose their fangs, their humanoid faces gone crimson with rage and their yellow eyes reflecting pure evil. Their dark, scaly bodies rippled with muscles that were eager to crush the life from their foes.

  One of them struck at Jace, and the sorcerer smashed his fist down on its head, causing the beast to go berserk and lash from side to side. It crashed into its fellow Pit Crawlers and caused Lothrin and Dallsa to have to duck. Finally the crazed serpent swam away frantically, twisting from side to side as it shot across the water. It went straight into the cavern wall with a thud. Then it lay still.

  Another Pit Crawler bit at Aldreya—its teeth clamping down on her shoulder. The other Knights groaned in despair, thinking she would be fatally poisoned. But Aldreya twisted away from the beast unharmed, her sorcery having shielded her flesh from the venomous fangs, and she hurled a fireball into the Pit Crawler’s face. The beast erupted into green flames. It thrashed about in pain and rage, went under the water (which did not smother the flames) and finally swam away to its doom.

  Jerret smashed aside a striking Pit Crawler with his broadsword, then swung at it and missed as the beast reared back. It struck at him again, and again he knocked its head aside, the stout muscles of his arms delivering a crushing blow. But the Pit Crawler wasn’t finished—striking at him a third time even though it was bleeding from its mouth. This time Jerret beheaded the beast.

  Vorden blocked a serpent strike with his spiked shield, and then smashed the shield against the beast’s head, tearing through the skull. Vorden seemed to fight carelessly, heedless of the danger around him—focusing only on that lone attacker. He motioned the Pit Crawler toward him and mocked the creature, as if he wanted to toy with it. Daledus, however, leapt to Vorden’s aid and finished off the beast with a single stroke of his huge battle axe.

  “Hey, that one was mine,” said Vorden, glaring at the Dwarf.

  Another Pit Crawler moved toward Vorden from behind. Lothrin cried a warning and hurled his Flayer, impaling the beast, but the wound didn’t stop it and it bit the back of Vorden’s head. Vorden whirled around and caught the beast with his spikes, ripping half of its head into ruin. The Pit Crawler collapsed in death.

  Vorden staggered about and then fell into the water, clutching the back of his head. Lannon pulled him to his feet, but Vorden was unable to stand. His eyes were rolled back in his head. Hanging onto his friend with one arm, Lannon beheaded yet another Pit Crawler that was lunging at them.

  Soon all of those Pit Crawlers lay dead—but nearby, the surface of the water churned as a slew of baby Pit Crawlers swam about and moved off through the cavern. The others looked on in disgust, but they had no time to track down these young Goblins and put an end to them.

  They formed a circle around Vorden, wondering if he was finished. Yet the Red Knight was still breathing in a labored fashion.

  Dallsa lay hands on Vorden to administer healing—and then pulled back, a shocked look on her face.

  “What’s wrong?” Lannon asked.

  “It’s his aura,” she said. “I can feel the Deep Shadow inside him—so incredibly strong. How is it that he can resist it?”

  “You must try,” said Lannon.

  With a reluctant nod, Dallsa laid hands on him again. “I can feel the venom in his blood, seeking his heart. But it’s not killing him. He is…simply too infested with Tharnin. The venom is failing.”

  Lannon breathed a sigh of relief. “So he’s going to survive.”

  Moments later, Vorden’s eyes fluttered into focus. “Curse it all,” he mumbled. “One of them got me. Why weren’t you watching my back, Lannon?”

  “Sorry,” said Lannon. “How do you feel?”

  “It was a very shallow bite,” said Dallsa, checking the injury. “Fortunately, only a tiny bit of venom found its way in.”

  “It still took me out of the fight,” said Vorden. “And I feel horribly sick and weak right now. I’m afraid I won’t be much good in combat for a while.”

  “You fought carelessly, Vorden,” said Aldreya. “Why?”

  Vorden shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I feel like I’m invincible…like the ugly power inside me will always preserve my life. Yet I know I can die. A stronger bite perhaps would have finished me. It’s strange…the way I am.”

  “Maybe you want to die,” said Jace, “to escape what you are. I’ve seen that sort of thing many times over the centuries. You might not even be aware that you are trying to kill yourself.”

  Vorden bowed his head in thought. “I don’t know. You could be right, Jace. Maybe I’m hoping death will bring me peace.”

  Lannon found Vorden’s statement very disturbing. “You need to do everything you can to stay alive, my friend. We all need you. This world needs you. You’re one of the best fighters Dremlock has.”

  “I know,” said Vorden, but he still looked doubtful.

  “Don’t waste your great gift of life,” said Jace. He winked at Vorden. “Life is rare indeed. Especially intelligent life. You weren’t meant to squander it foolishly. Ride the river until the end, wherever it takes you. It’s the only way.”

  Vorden rolled his eyes. “I don’t need a lecture in philosophy.”

  “Vorden, your attitude is putting us all at risk,” said Aldreya. “You need to pay attention to what’s going on around you. That wound should never have occurred. We can’t always be concerned with watching your back.”

  “Then don’t,” said Vorden, his face darkening. “I can look after myself, and I don’t need anyone to—” He went into a coughing fit and fell to his knees.

  Lannon helped him up again.

  “Let us continue on,” said Lothrin, as he yanked his Flayer free of the dead Pit Crawler. He started off without waiting for a reply. The others followed, though Vorden slowed them considerably.

  When Lothrin reached the other side of the lake, he cried out in rage. “I have found the one who stole Prince Vannas’ cloak! Stay back and let me deal with him myself!”

  The others ignored the Ranger’s command—with Lannon darting ahead until he stood beside Lothrin.

  Crouched in a stone tunnel beyond the lake was a Ghoul that wore the prince’s silk cloak. The Ghoul was trapped—as the tunnel reached a dead end behind it. It had done its work in leading them to the Pit Crawlers, but its clever snare had failed. Not a single Knight had perished.

  Lothrin pointed his Flayer at the Ghoul. “What have you done with my cousin? Tell me, and I might let you escape!”

  The Ghoul hissed words in return—words that sounded like “Prince Vannas is dead. I devoured him.”

  Enraged, Lothrin strode over to the Ghoul. The creature tried to seize Lothrin’s Flayer, but the Ranger was too fast—shoving the creature to its knees. “Last chance!” Lothrin warned, raising his burning blade. “Where is Prince Vannas and the White Flamestone?”

  The Ghoul went for Lothrin’s throat—only to be met by the burning Flayer that claimed its head. Lothrin stood over his fallen foe, chest heaving, his eyes still filled with rage. “The fool should have talked!”

  “Calm yourself,” said Aldreya. “The battle is over.”

  Lannon was impressed with how easily Lothrin had dispatched the Ghoul. It seemed the Ranger had slain the powerful creature as if it were any common Goblin. Lannon wondered why Lothrin was so swift and skilled compared to other Knights and if it had something to do with his lineage and the strange birthmark on his face. Or did all Birlote Rangers possess such abilities?

  Lothrin sheathed his blade, gazing down at the dead creature. “What if it was telling the truth? What if it did devour the prince?”

  “I believe it was lying,” said Lannon—though he wasn’t completely certain. Creatures of the Deep Shadow were skilled liars, and even the Eye of Divinity sometimes had trouble seeing through them.

  Lothrin removed Vannas’ cloak and checked it for bloodstains. “The cloak is
in excellent shape,” he said. “That’s a good sign.”

  Lannon scanned the tunnel and found a hidden iron door in the stone wall, concealed by a powerful illusion. He grabbed a handle and pulled open the door, as the others looked on in amazement.

  “Where did that come from?” asked Jerret, rubbing his eyes. “You were pulling on empty air, and then…there it was.”

  “I broke the illusion for you,” said Lannon. He pointed to some runes engraved in the cave wall. “That’s what generates the illusion, as long as the door stays shut. As soon it comes open, the illusion apparently stops working.”

  Aldreya studied the runes carefully. “Very interesting. We’re dealing with extremely powerful sorcery that even Divine Knights cannot easily see through. It even fooled me. Obviously, this door leads somewhere important.”

  “So let’s see what’s beyond it,” said Vorden. He took a few steps toward it and then collapsed, still terribly weakened by the venom.

  Sighing, Lannon lifted him over his shoulder.

  Dallsa checked Vorden again and nodded. “He’s merely unconscious. It will be good for him to sleep for a while.”

  “But not so good for me,” said Lannon. “He weighs a ton in that armor.”

  Beyond the iron door, they found stone stairs leading upward in a spiral. They climbed up about thirty feet—their wet boots making squishy noises—and found themselves in a narrow tower with torch holders in the walls around them. The walls seemed to press in on them as they continued upward.

  Lannon scanned his surroundings and glimpsed echoes of warfare. This tower had once been part of a larger fortress that had suffered great damage and had crumbled away. Countless battles had been fought here, until the blood and bitter memories had seeped into the stone blocks. Centuries upon centuries of brutal conflict had left the tower twisted and ugly and corrupted by the Deep Shadow. This narrow keep held an aura of misery and death—of human life being cheapened by greed and lust for power. The Divine Knights were crammed into a stuffy, bleak space that desperate soldiers had once occupied.

  Lannon revealed what he saw.

  “These mountains were torn apart by war,” said Jace. “Many castles once stood here, occupied by Olrog lords who served Tharnin. The Grey Dwarves fought against the Birlotes and Noracks in these peaks—and against each other. Now the Dwarves are gone from here and only ruins remain of their once proud fortresses. But as always the Deep Shadow lingers on, tainting everything with evil.”

  At the top of the tower they found windows looking out upon the mountainside. The storm was still raging, and windswept rain blew in on them. Lightning flashed close to the tower, blinding them temporarily.

  Gazing through the window, Lannon caught a glimpse of another tower rising up from the mountainside and revealed in a lightning flash—far to the west beyond forests and cliffs. The Eye of Divinity locked onto the distant tower, and a feeling of dread gripped Lannon. He sensed massive power radiating from it.

  “I glimpsed another fortress,” he said. “I sense great evil there.”

  “Could be where we need to go,” said Jace, leaning wearily against the tower wall. “I think it is Wallrock itself, if I remember right. The direction seems correct, anyway. If so, that is very unfortunate. That is a heavily guarded keep, ruled by something very ancient and powerful.”

  “A Barloak Demon,” said Lannon, with certainty.

  Jace nodded. “And probably an Elder Demon at that. A creature that survived the wrath of the Crimson Flamestone and lives defiantly in our world. Such incredible boldness and arrogance.”

  “This creature,” said Aldreya, “whatever it may be, could be responsible for much of the evil that plagues Silverland. We knew there were other forces at work against us besides Tenneth Bard, Bellis, and the Blood Legion. We suspected there was a true Goblin Master spawning some of our greatest foes. At least, that’s what Taris told me a few weeks ago. If the Lord of Wallrock is indeed this Goblin Master, then slaying it would be a great victory for Dremlock.”

  “It has been attempted before,” said Jace. “More than once. Yet not a single Divine Knight has ever returned from there. If it wasn’t Prince Vannas and the White Flamestone at stake, I would strongly suggest we avoid going there. I shudder to think of the horrors that await us in that keep. I ventured there once, long ago, and was lucky to escape with my life. The things I saw…I will never forget.”

  “What did you see?” asked Lannon. He wasn’t sure he actually wanted to know, but he was compelled to ask anyway.

  But Jace only shook his head. “I would rather not say. And it was long ago. Who knows what lurks there now? Regardless, we must go and face what must be faced. The White Flamestone must be recovered.”

  “I can lead the way,” said Lannon. “The Eye will guide us.”

  They left the guard tower and went back down to the lake cavern. Vorden awoke and was able to walk again, though his steps were still quite slow. They made their way carefully across the water, anticipating more Pit Crawlers—but none rose from the deep. Their bodies were uncomfortable beneath their wet clothes. They could have dried themselves off with sorcery, but it would have been pointless considering they were headed back into the storm.

  At last they emerged from the cave—to find their horses missing. The wind and rain had not let up in the slightest, as sheets of water blasted them unmercifully. The wind seemed to come from everywhere, changing direction constantly, negating any attempt to shelter themselves with tree or boulder.

  Aldreya sighed. “Very clever. They managed to lure us away from our horses, and now we shall have to proceed on foot. I think that was their plan all along. They knew we would survive the Pit Crawlers and merely wanted to distract us so they could capture our horses. Our foes want us to grow weary.”

  Lannon scanned the ground and found no signs of a struggle. However, he did sense dark sorcery all about. “It looks like they were placed under some spell of Tharnin and simply led away.”

  “Led to Wallrock,” said Jace, “where all things end up that are taken by the creatures of these mountains.” He fixed his piercing gaze on Lannon. “Take us to the fortress, Dark Watchman. We look to you now for hope.”

  Lannon nodded. It was time to go to a place that even Divine Knights feared, where all of his skills would surely be tested to the extreme. Undoubtedly, the creatures of Wallrock had never dealt with a Dark Watchman before, and there was a chance they would underestimate Lannon. Yet he thought back to the mighty Barloak Demon he had encountered in Old Hill Forest, and he shuddered. If the beast at Wallrock was that powerful, Lannon and his friends might indeed join the long list of Knights who had vanished forever beyond those ancient walls.

  Chapter 13:

  The Shield Master from Silvergate

  Lort Greyshield stood on the path before the Sacred Temple, hesitating. He was apprehensive about his meeting with the High Council—to the point where it gnawed at his stomach—and he wondered what it was all about. Only once before had Lort been summoned to a meeting of Dremlock’s elite Green Knights—and that had only been a brief affair at which he had been given an award for bravery in combat. This summoning was much different. They wanted Lort to attend from start to finish, and they had referred to the meeting as extremely important.

  Lort walked quickly across the beautiful courtyard filled with flowers, trees, and sparkling fountains that surrounded the Sacred Temple, passing through the shadow of the huge statue of Kuran Darkender that stood atop the green copper roof. Birds chirped in the grass and in the small, colorful trees, as the sun’s rays began to warm the land. It would have been a fine morning just for taking a stroll through the kingdom, but Lort barely noticed the magnificent sights around him—his focus locked onto the North Tower that rose up into the pink sky.

  He paused to adjust his brown robe and smooth back what little grey hair he had left on the sides of his head. He had the stocky build of a typical Brown Knight who was used to wearing heavy armor and
carrying a heavy shield. He was also somewhat socially awkward and dreaded meetings—especially important ones. He feared he would make a fool of himself before Dremlock’s elite.

  “Calm down, Lort,” he mumbled to himself, as he approached the enormous tower. He didn’t like the unsettled feeling in his stomach. He was expected to go before Taris Warhawk—the legendary sorcerer and Lord Knight of Dremlock. That was enough to cause any Knight’s stomach to churn. Taris was the wisest of the wise, a sorcerer so powerful that, according to rumor, even Bellis Kingdom had been unable to take him prisoner (it was said that Taris simply walked between the bars of his cell). Taris had supposedly reached the level of the Birlote Wizards who were so rarely seen outside of the tree city of Borenthia. Lort had no idea how to act in the presence of such greatness.

  He paused before the North Tower, gazing up at it in awe. It was much larger than the East and West towers, with six balconies encircling it. Six muscular Red Knights stood atop stone steps that led to a tall iron door. They gazed at Lort sullenly, waiting for him to state his business.

  Lort cleared his throat. “I’m, um, here for a meeting with the High Council. They are expecting me. I think I’m a bit early.”

  The guards pulled the door open and waited.

  Again Lort adjusted his robe and smoothed back the tufts of hair on the sides of his head. Then he strode into the tower.

  He found himself standing in Dremlock Hall upon a rich silver carpet. Nearby stood five long tables adorned with candy dishes, jugs of expensive Birlote wine, and jars of fine tobacco bearing markings of Borenthia. Paintings of famous Knights lined the hall, gazing down at Lort with such sternness that he felt like they were challenging his character.

  He hurried to the table where members of the High Council sat—Taris Warhawk, Trenton Shadowbane, and Shennen Silverarrow. These were three of the most intimidating men at Dremlock. Taris Warhawk was a lean Birlote dressed in a dark, hooded cloak. Half of his face was a mass of scars from a severe wound he had received from the demonic gauntlet known as the Hand of Tharnin. His silver hair was trimmed short, revealing his pointed ears. His eyes were piercing, gazing right through Lort and making him squirm. Trenton Shadowbane was the former Investigator and a powerful sorcerer who inspired many strange rumors. He was a slender elderly man with grey hair, a weathered face, and cold eyes that reminded Lort of a predatory wolf. And then there was Shennen Silverarrow, who was perhaps the most terrifying figure at Dremlock Kingdom—a master assassin who knew a thousand silent ways to kill. Shennen was a Birlote with unnaturally pale skin and a sullen, quiet demeanor. His silver hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He wore lightweight blue armor with a sheathed Flayer attached to his belt.