Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar (Ollanhar Series Book 1)

by Keller, Robert E.

  After that, the Knights grew a bit paranoid, wondering if more attacks would come from above. Jace continued to wave the torch high in the air, and Lannon scanned the cliffs with the Eye. This made the journey even slower.

  Eventually the narrow ledge led them to a huge Dark Mother tree that seemed to have grown partially into the cliff. Its black roots extended across the path and over the ledge. It was an ancient and slimy tree, with warty lumps on its bark that oozed black blood. The aura of the Deep Shadow surrounded it, warning the Knights to turn back or die. Feeding on the tree were three Goblin Vultures, making hideous sucking noises, their beaks locked onto serpent-like vines that flowed with the foul blood. The stench of the tree was overwhelming, even in a thunderstorm.

  The Vultures detached themselves from the Dark Mother, screeched, and took flight, wheeling around to attack. One dove at Vorden, and he smashed the beast against the cliff wall with his spiked shield. The Vulture came away stuck to the spikes, and Vorden hurled the beast into the chasm.

  In spite of the blinding rain and darkness, Lothrin managed to shoot one of the Vultures, the arrow finding the dark heart and killing the beast instantly. The Vulture dropped from the sky and vanished below.

  Aldreya blasted the remaining Vulture with a fireball, which struck its wing. Partially on fire, the Vulture dove into Jerret’s legs and both man and beast tumbled off the cliff. Jerret caught the cliff’s edge with one hand and hung there until Vorden could haul him back onto the path.

  The burning Vulture rose again, determined to dive at the Knights one more time before it was reduced to ash by the sorcerous flames. Lothrin shot another arrow, but this time he missed.

  Remembering his (imitation) throwing star, Lannon hurled it at the Vulture and struck it in the head, finishing it off. He summoned the weapon back to his hand as the Vulture fell. He felt good that he still had a throwing weapon—even if it wasn’t the spectacular one that King Verlamer had stolen.

  Glancing down, however, Lannon saw that the throwing star was now cracked. There was some major flaw in its design (an intentional one, no doubt) that he had previously missed. King Verlamer had cheated him once again—probably in the hope that Lannon would find himself in some dire situation where the star blade was needed only to have it break. Lannon wasn’t surprised in the least. He sighed and tossed the weapon off the cliff.

  The Vultures were dead, but the bloated Dark Mother awaited them with its gnarled roots. Angry over the throwing star, Lannon strode forward, hacking at the roots with vigor. The black blood poured out onto the ledge as he cut through the obstacles, but it was quickly washed away by the rain. Soon Lannon had cleared a path past the tree.

  Beyond the Dark Mother, stone steps led steeply upward. As the warriors started up those steps, lightning flashed above to reveal a pair of evil-looking guard towers awaiting them at the end of their climb. It was a chilling sight.

  They climbed higher, as rivers of rain poured down the steps and threatened to wash their feet out from under them. Dallsa slipped and went down, banging her knee hard on the stone. When she rose, she was walking with a limp, wincing in pain with each step.

  “Are you okay?” Lannon called back to her.

  “I’m fine,” she replied. “It hurts, but I’ll heal.”

  Eventually the steep stairway ended at a smooth stone platform, with the guard towers standing on each side of it. The ugly, gloomy towers were adorned with Dwarven runes that spoke of doom. Two iron catapults—permanent fixtures—also stood on the platform. These siege engines were badly rusted, looming over the Knights like twin guardians. Broken, rusted chains hung down from the structures, swaying and creaking in the wind.

  Also guarding the fortress entrance was a tall iron door engraved with the face of Graylius—the ancient Dwarven god who resembled a scaly beast with a fanged snout. Dwarven writing was also engraved there that Daledus read aloud:

  WALLROCK FORTRESS

  THE SECOND HOME OF GRAYLIUS

  IF INVITED, ENTER

  ALL OTHERS WILL FIND DEATH WITHIN

  Daledus nodded. “Typical Olrog warning. Nothing to worry about.”

  Jace raised his eyebrows. “Oh, I think we have every reason to worry.”

  The door had no handle. Lannon examined it and found it was a drawbridge with badly rusted chains. He tried pulling it open with the Eye, but everything was rusted into a lump of crud that wouldn’t budge.

  Lannon leaned wearily against one of the catapults. “Any ideas?”

  “When I was last here,” said Jace, “this door opened easily. Apparently it has not been used much since then and has fallen into decay.”

  “How did you open it?” asked Lannon.

  “A good pry bar,” said Jace. “I wish I had one.”

  Lannon studied the door, wondering how Jace could have pried it open. It seemed to fit almost seamlessly into the mountainside. Sometimes Jace’s explanations were difficult to believe. “So you actually pried it open?”

  “It took some work,” said Jace. “But yes, I pried it open.” He smiled at Lannon. “You doubt my story?”

  “It seems rather remarkable,” said Lannon. “That’s all.”

  Jace shrugged. “I’m a remarkable man, in case you failed to notice. And shouldn’t the Bearer of the Eye know if my story is true?”

  Lannon didn’t reply. Jace was somehow shielded to the Eye, and Lannon had no way of knowing what the sorcerer was thinking.

  “Can we go in there now?” asked Dallsa. “I’m tired of being blasted by the storm. And I’m still worried about the lightning.”

  Lannon tried again, pulling for all he was worth and exhausting himself in the process, as the wind pushed against him and the rain pelted him unmercifully. Grudgingly, the rusty drawbridge came open.

  Lannon led the way. They entered a short hallway, and Lannon sensed an arrow trap in the walls that had been disabled. He mentioned it.

  Jace took a bow. “Yes, that was me. I used to be quite skilled at disabling traps in my youth. Unfortunately, that skill has diminished.”

  Lannon sensed an extreme love of warfare that permeated the fortress. Everywhere he cast the gaze of the Eye there were echoes of rage and hatred for the enemy and a callous disregard for human life. In this keep, humans were reduced to battle statistics, their only measure of value.

  Yet Lannon also glimpsed traces of the evil tyrant who considered this his home, and important secrets were revealed. The Eye of Divinity was reacting to the tremendous influence of the Deep Shadow here, improving Lannon’s gift of sight. However, he wasn’t certain that what he was seeing was the truth or just a trick of Tharnin intended to somehow lead him astray.

  “I think I know what goes on here,” Lannon said. “This seems to be where most of the Goblin Lords are created. I believe the demon that dwells here is in league with Tenneth Bard. This could be the real fortress from which the Blood Legion is commanded.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Aldreya. “This fortress has been a target of Dremlock for centuries.”

  “How can you see all that, Lannon?” asked Dallsa.

  “I’m not certain,” he admitted. “But in places where the Deep Shadow is especially strong, the Eye seems to expand—almost like it is reacting somehow and fighting back.”

  Dallsa shuddered. “The Deep Shadow is indeed strong here. I’ve never felt anything like it. It makes Ollanhar Tower seem like a happy place. The very walls reek of suffering and bloodshed. If not for Prince Vannas, we should never have come to this horrible keep. I sense so much death and despair here. This fortress is an abomination! I can’t fathom why the Dwarves built it.”

  “Times were different back then,” said Daledus, but he bowed his head in shame. “The Dwarves were partially in league with Tharnin and lived only for war. Our minds were filled only with thoughts of flame and iron and crushing those who opposed us. The forges ran night and day, as mighty weapons of war were crafted—the likes of which have not been seen sin
ce. We were ugly to the core. We despise what we were in those days and will never return to it.”

  Vorden’s face was pale, his hands trembling. “This is the place I have so deeply dreaded. The Soddurn Mountains are bad enough, but here I feel…” He shook his head. “I can’t even describe it. It’s like my soul is once again enslaved, as if the Hand of Tharnin has me snared. I feel terribly cold inside right now.”

  “Don’t surrender to it,” said Lannon. “We need you to stay focused. A fierce battle likely awaits us.”

  “I’ll try,” said Vorden. “Yet I feel like I could lose myself here. I’m just being honest, Lannon. If the Deep Shadow gets my soul in its clutches, I could be a great danger to all of you. Perhaps I should leave.”

  “But we need you,” said Lannon. “Prince Vannas needs you.”

  “You’re stronger than that, Vorden,” said Jerret. “The Vorden I know does not yield so easily. You’re going to continue on.”

  “Jerret is right,” said Daledus. “You’re not the type to surrender to your fears like a weakling. I know you better than that.”

  Yet Vorden hesitated. “I don’t know. You’re facing enough troubles without me to deal with. I really fear there is a danger.”

  “If you’re that concerned,” said Aldreya, “then go and wait outside. I don’t want you losing your wits and turning against us.”

  “Nonsense,” said Jace. “Vorden will be fine. These feelings are quite common for a former slave of the Deep Shadow. He’ll shrug it off.”

  “A slave of the Deep Shadow,” said Vorden, nodding. “That’s what I was—and maybe what I still am. And I can’t be trusted.”

  “You’re a Divine Knight,” Lannon insisted. “A hero.”

  “If Taris believes in you, Vorden,” said Lothrin, “then so do I. I don’t want you to turn back. I want you at my side as we face the darkness.”

  “Only Vorden knows his heart,” said Aldreya. “And he alone must decide if he should continue on.”

  “Tell me what to do, Lannon,” said Vorden, a pleading look on his face. “I don’t want to abandon all of you, but…”

  Lannon was chilled, realizing that Vorden truly feared losing control. “I don’t know. I have the same problem as you.”

  Vorden sighed. “Yes, somewhat. But right now you are in full command of yourself, Lannon. Maybe it will change in the future, but you’re confident that you can resist the evil. I’m not nearly so confident. So please stop suggesting we’re in the same situation, because it’s making me angry.”

  Lannon considered apologizing, but his own anger was awakened. He stepped close to Vorden and drew him aside. “Every single Dark Watchman who ever lived ended up in league with Tharnin. Every single one! So don’t tell me I don’t understand what you’re feeling, because it haunts me every day.”

  “Okay,” Vorden mumbled. “I get it.”

  “We must stop wasting time,” said Lothrin. “Prince Vannas is in great peril, and every moment could bring him closer to death.”

  “Indeed,” said Aldreya. “The discussion is over.”

  They moved on and entered a circular chamber—and Vorden reluctantly followed, plodding along behind everyone else.

  “Speaking of forges,” said Lannon. “We seem to have found one.”

  “I’m not surprised,” said Daledus. “There is probably more than one forge in this keep.”

  The chamber was filled with long tables upon which various weapons lay—many of them unfinished. Lannon sensed the curse of the Deep Shadow was upon the weapons, and he ordered the others not to touch them. Upon one table lay a large gauntlet—a replica of the Hand of Tharnin.

  Vorden approached the gauntlet and gazed down at it, looking deeply troubled. He reached for it with a trembling hand. He paused for a moment, his eyes filled with memories of pain. Then he lifted it and, with a cry of rage, hurled it against the wall with a deafening clatter, shattering the blue stones in the gauntlet and causing two of the iron fingers to break off.

  “You killed it,” said Jerret, nudging it with his toe.

  “So much for the mighty Hand of Tharnin,” said Dallsa, patting Vorden on the back. “Even though it was a cheap imitation, I’ll bet that felt good.”

  Vorden nodded. “Very good.”

  Daledus lifted the broken gauntlet and frowned. “I don’t know who was working this forge, but this definitely was not crafted by the Dwarves. Piece of junk.” He dropped it and kicked it away.

  Jace threw up his hands in frustration. “Wonderful, Vorden! You likely just alerted the entire fortress to our presence.”

  “Sorry,” said Vorden. “I lost control. I warned you all what could happen to me in here. I also fear for you, Lannon. I hate to say it, but I’m growing increasingly worried that you too could lose yourself to darkness here.”

  “I’m fine,” said Lannon. He felt very focused.

  Vorden opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again and turned away—opting to let the conversation end.

  Lannon scanned the room, searching for more clues. Aside from the tables, there were also two large iron furnaces and wooden barrels that typically held water for cooling weapons. One of the barrels had a rusty broadsword sticking out of it, indicating the forge had been abandoned in a hurry and hadn’t been used in awhile—yet Lannon couldn’t glimpse the reason for the abandonment.

  Then a shocking realization invaded Lannon’s mind. He sensed something huge might have been in the works here—a plan even Bellis might not have known of. He realized Tenneth Bard may have been preparing for another invasion of the Barloak Demons like the one that had nearly doomed the world in ancient times. It was just a brief glimpse but it shook Lannon to the core. He reported what he had seen to the others.

  “If true,” said Aldreya, “there must be a portal to Tharnin somewhere in this fortress. It will eventually have to be sealed.”

  “That is grim news,” said Jace, “but not entirely unexpected. We knew all along what Tenneth Bard’s goal is—to open the way for the Deep Shadow. Another invasion of the Barloaks makes perfect sense, but it would be no easy task to pull off. The Barloaks were so badly damaged by the Crimson Flamestone it is unlikely they would ever return to our world. They can be very stubborn. You know how demons are—petty and unyielding.”

  The forge had two exits—an iron door and a stairway that led down into darkness. Lannon examined the stairs and found them guarded by a trap of sorcery—a black cloud that would smother anyone who tried to go below.

  “I believe I can shield myself from the trap,” said Lannon. “However, I doubt I could protect anyone else. And I don’t think any of us can break the spell. I would have to go alone.”

  “I don’t think we should split up,” said Vorden. “Obviously some extremely dangerous foe is lurking in this fortress, and it might take all of us to defeat it. We should see what’s beyond the door first.”

  Lannon sent the Eye past the door—but found only another tunnel. The door itself was unlocked. “That route doesn’t seem as well guarded,” he said. “Therefore, I have to conclude it’s less likely to lead to Prince Vannas.”

  Jace stood in silence for a moment, his eyes distant. “If I remember right, I believe I went past that door last time I was here. It led to a confusing maze of traps and unimportant locations. I suggest the stairs. Lannon can slip down there and perhaps rescue Prince Vannas without a fight.”

  “I like that plan,” said Lannon, not wanting to put the others at risk. “And I can travel much more quickly alone.”

  “I don’t like this,” said Dallsa, pressing close to him. “What if you encounter the thing that captured our prince? Can you defeat it alone?”

  “I don’t know,” said Lannon.

  Aldreya paced about in thought, torch in hand, then said, “I suppose you should go below and do a quick search. We will wait for you here.”

  “Aldreya!” Dallsa groaned. “What are you doing? Lannon should not go down there alone. It�
��s too dangerous.”

  “Not for a Dark Watchman,” said Aldreya. “Dremlock recruited Lannon for missions where a single warrior is needed. It is the way of his kind to walk alone into great danger, to go places where others wouldn’t dare.”

  “She’s right, Dallsa,” said Lannon. “This is what I do.”

  “Well, it’s foolish!” Dallsa insisted.

  “Let him go,” said Daledus. “Lannon knows what he’s doing.”

  Without another word, Lannon walked to the stairs and started down. Instantly, the black cloud of sorcery closed around him, seeking to cut off his breath. He pushed it back with the Eye and kept moving.

  ***

  Jerret watched Lannon vanish below—beyond the light of Jace’s torch. Lannon had gone into total darkness with only the Eye of Divinity to guide him. Being able to see in the dark was a huge advantage, yet Jerret found himself questioning their decision to split up. The party had just drastically weakened itself, gambling on Lannon’s speed and skill. It was a significant gamble.

  “Now I guess we wait,” said Jerret, with a sigh. He sheathed his sword and folded his arms across his chest. “I hate waiting.”

  “I suspect it won’t take long,” said Jace. “With the Eye to guide him, Lannon should quickly locate the prince…or his body at least.”

  Lothrin glanced at Jace, then looked away.

  “The prince is alive,” said Dallsa. “I know it in my heart.”

  “Then you have better instincts than I do,” said Jace, “because I’m not sure of anything. If Vannas still lives, it is only by some miracle of the White Flamestone. Our foe would have no reason to keep such a dangerous warrior alive. We aren’t dealing with a fool here who captures his enemies for no good reason—only to watch them get rescued later. We’re dealing with a genius of strategy who has fought and won many battles throughout the centuries. I’m certain of that.”

  “I trust the Divine Essence,” said Aldreya.

  “All well and good,” said Jace, “but your god has little influence in this domain. Here, evil rules supreme.”