Lothrin’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re saying we’ve wasted our time coming here, that my cousin is already dead.”
“We haven’t wasted our time,” said Jace. “Far from it. We still have hope of regaining the White Flamestone. But sadly, the prince probably won’t be around to use it.” Jace bowed his head. “He will truly be missed.”
Jerret wanted to disagree with Jace, but he couldn’t. Vannas probably was dead and gone, and the White Flamestone was now heavily guarded somewhere in Wallrock Fortress. He could see by the look on Dallsa’s face that she felt the same way. Aldreya, however, bore her usual stony expression.
“We can’t give up hope,” said Vorden, but he looked weary.
“Sometimes hope simply runs out,” said Jace, with a big sigh. He tried to light his pipe but everything was too wet. “It seems my hope for a good smoke has run out as well. What, then, is left for us?”
“But it doesn’t make sense,” said Lothrin. “Why didn’t this demon—or whatever it is—just kill Prince Vannas back near camp and be done with him quickly? Why did it lead him away for quite some distance before the trail vanished?”
Jace scratched his head, frowning. Then he grinned at Lothrin. “Ah, excellent observation, my fine Ranger. Excellent observation! I actually didn’t think of that. Well, I’ve changed my mind, then. The prince is probably still alive. Now if only I could get my pipe lit. Can you lend me some Knightly fire?”
Lothrin sighed and walked away.
Aldreya dried Jace’s tobacco with her sorcery. “Now you can’t accuse me of being cold hearted simply because I no longer call you Uncle Jace.”
Jace took a puff and grinned. “Of course I wouldn’t do that. You’re my favorite…Green Knight. I would pat you on the head like I used to—if I didn’t think you would burn my hand off for the effort.”
“And you need a waterproof tobacco pouch,” she added. “There is no excuse for letting your leaf get wet—even that foul Norack leaf.”
Jace held up the pouch. “It used to be waterproof, but I guess it has aged poorly over the fifty years I’ve had it. I suppose I’ll be needing another one.”
They fell silent for a time.
Finally Dallsa walked to the stairs and glanced down into the darkness. “Hurry back, Lannon,” she whispered, her face tense with worry. She cocked her head to one side. “I hear noises down there, like battle!”
“Stay away from those stairs,” said Aldreya. “They are dangerous. What you hear could be a trick of the dark sorcery to entice you below.”
Reluctantly, Dallsa did as ordered.
“We will continue to wait,” said Aldreya.
Jace yawned. “Anyone have anything interesting to talk about?”
“You’re the wandering adventurer,” said Aldreya. “And you’re two-hundred years old. If anyone has anything interesting to say, surely it must be you.” Her tone was somewhat sarcastic.
“Well, I don’t,” said Jace, yawning again. “I’m talked out.”
“That’s a first,” said Aldreya.
Jace waved at her dismissively, then sat down and leaned his back against a barrel. “I suppose I will sleep for a while. Wake me when Lannon gets back…if he ever does.” He bowed his head, eyes closed.
Dallsa glared at him. “How can you sleep right now?”
Her only answer was loud snoring.
***
After Lannon pushed his way through the sorcerous cloud and reached the bottom of the stairs, he stood facing a long hallway lined with stone coffins—a tomb for Olrog warriors who had died defending the fortress. The coffins were adorned with Dwarven runes that told of heroic deeds. Water had leaked down the walls and into cracks, giving rise to mold, and a musty stench hung in the air.
Perfect smell for a tomb, Lannon thought.
Lannon wasn’t overly fond of Olrog tombs, and his gaze passed over his surroundings quickly. Nevertheless, the Eye gave him odd glimpses of things that haunted his mind. The Deep Shadow was like a serpent here—a monstrosity stretched along the hall, burrowing into the coffins and binding them all together. A haze of evil hung about the bones of the dead. It seemed evil lived to create a maze in which all things were snared and confused, and where evil was found, this labyrinth always existed. The Eye of Divinity traced the body of the serpent, seeking an end to it—but the head devoured the tail and created a loop of confusion. The maze was impenetrable to the light and that was why evil could hide itself so easily in the midst of honorable hearts. The serpent shifted endlessly, twisting about as it burrowed through the world, a leviathan of suffering.
Groaning, Lannon drew the Eye partially inside him. He hated seeing such things, for they were troubling and confusing—knowledge that seemed ultimately meaningless. Why did the Eye show him such strange sights? He felt he would never have an answer to that question.
As Lannon proceeded on, the tunnel seemed to grow even more ancient—the walls crumbling around him. The coffins were left behind—replaced by holes in the walls where the bones of the dead lay. Each hole contained an empty iron candle holder as well. Thick Dwarven skulls peered out at him from amongst rib bones and bits of tattered cloth. The musty stench was far worse here, making Lannon gag. These wall chambers were reserved for Priests of Tharnin who were forbidden to be placed in coffins after death. Their flesh had been removed from the skeletons and the skeletons laid within the chambers in blue robes. However, something had disrupted the bones over time and they were strewn about.
The Eye glimpsed deeper knowledge. The priests were not allowed coffins because they had considered that a sign of vanity. And they were entombed with no other possessions besides the plain blue robes for the same reason. They had left the world as they had entered it—with no material goods. In spite of serving a realm of evil, they had been utterly devout to the end.
As Lannon hurried down the long passageway, his mind kept roaming back to the dead priests and why they had so staunchly served an evil cause. They had obviously believed wholeheartedly in what they were doing, leading lives of endless toil and sacrifice for their dark god—even giving up everything they had before death to spend eternity with a monster. Granted, Graylius wasn’t the worst of the Tharnin deities (he had turned his back on the Shadow Realm, but he was still a warlike beast that sought conquest). How had they become so misguided as to put such fervent efforts into something so wrong? The Eye couldn’t answer that question, and neither could Lannon. It troubled him deeply.
Lannon sensed danger ahead, but he proceeded on anyway with sword in hand. Dark Watchman or not, moving through this moldy tomb of the ancient dead that was infested with evil sorcery was an unnerving experience for Lannon. He trusted his skills, but he was well aware that he wasn’t invincible. He had come close to death multiple times since joining the ranks of Dremlock’s Knights, and he knew that a situation could turn dire in an instant.
Moments later five Ghouls crawled out of the tomb holes and scurried up the walls, watching Lannon with their gleaming eyes. They were quiet as shadows as they crept about over the crumbling stone.
There was something shocking and horrific about the way they moved—extremely swift, sudden motions that reminded Lannon of scurrying insects. Yet it went beyond the natural world and spoke of true evil. These weren’t simple, lumbering Goblins but intelligent creatures caught between life and death, their bodies animated with foul sorcery. They were puppets. Their enslavement was tragic and disgraceful, and only the sword could free them now.
Lannon waited patiently for the attack to come, but only one of the Ghouls leapt at him. It was an impressive leap—as the Ghoul shot from the wall as if it had exploded off the stony surface. But Lannon was ready, the Eye guiding his blade to match the unnatural speed of his foe. He skewered the Ghoul with his sword and shoved it against the wall. The monster hissed at him, clawing at the bony blade, fanged jaws opening and closing. Lannon withdrew his weapon and stepped back. As the Ghoul lunged at him, he beheaded it.
<
br /> He glanced up—to find the other Ghouls scurrying away along the walls. Soon they were lost from view.
He let them escape and moved on. He suspected they would try to ambush him at some point, but his focus was on finding the prince.
Lannon was overcome with a strange sensation that he had experienced in the recent past—some kind of odd battle lust. He found himself eager for more combat, anxious to test his growing skills. A voice in his mind whispered that this fortress was a great place for him to prove himself. He wanted to kill the Barloak Demon—if that’s what indeed his foe was—and conquer Wallrock Fortress. The thought of it sent a surge of energy through him.
Lannon didn’t trust this feeling, as it was out of character for him. Typically he wanted to avoid combat and didn’t care about making boasts or proving himself. Yet he couldn’t deny how powerful it was. He felt like a truly dangerous warrior—one his foes should be terrified of. And he liked it.
Lannon paused, struggling with his thoughts. He told himself that he didn’t want to turn into Jerret—a rampaging barbarian with bloodlust in his heart. Jerret was not the ideal Knight of Dremlock or servant of the Divine Essence, as he seemed to lack peacefulness and gentleness. Lannon told himself these things, but his heart still smoldered with the desire for combat. Ultimately he was forced to ignore the feeling and move on.
Soon Lannon found himself wandering a sprawling maze of tunnels, in which he saw many strange sights—such as dungeon cells packed full of human bones, gruesome torture chambers, and halls lined with incredibly lifelike Dwarven statues. He did not encounter the escaped Ghouls, and he was disappointed. He still hungered for combat, but there were no enemies to be found.
At last the strange feeling departed from Lannon and he returned to normal. He was left wondering if the curse of the Dark Watchmen had temporarily had him in its clutches, and he shuddered. Was this what the future held for him? For a moment he faltered, wondering if he should go on. He remembered Vorden’s warning about the danger of losing himself in this fortress.
But then Lannon’s thoughts focused on Taris Warhawk. The legendary sorcerer had great faith in Lannon and believed Lannon could overcome the curse of his predecessors. Lannon took comfort in that.
Soon Lannon located Prince Vannas’ trail, and his excitement grew. Vannas had been alive very recently—though Lannon also sensed the presence of the immensely powerful creature. The trail was strong and easy to follow. The only question now was whether or not Lannon could avoid a fight.
***
In the forge, Dallsa kept pacing about.
“You should sit and rest,” said Aldreya.
Everyone else had found places to sit.
“I can’t rest,” Dallsa replied. “Not with Lannon gone. And he has been gone a long time. I think we should search for him.”
“Your feelings for Lannon are too strong,” said Aldreya. “A Knight should not be so infatuated with another Knight. It is dangerous.”
Dallsa’s face reddened. “I’m well aware of that, Aldreya. And if you’re going to lecture me on that topic, please do it in private. I know the Sacred Laws and I know where I stand. I’m allowed to care deeply for Lannon.”
“Calm yourself,” said Aldreya. “I never said you couldn’t care about him. But your feelings are overcoming your judgment. You’re a Divine Knight and on the Council of Ollanhar. You should behave accordingly.”
“Actually, I’m still a Squire,” said Dallsa.
Aldreya shook her head. “Not exactly. You’re a Knight Appointed—which means you’re a Squire that has the authority of a Knight. That promotion was necessary for you to be on the Council, as Squires are not allowed.”
“Fine,” said Dallsa, “but I’m still not a fully recognized Knight. It will take time for me to change my behavior.” Wringing her hands together, she paced around by the stairs. “What are we even talking about? Where is Lannon?”
“Actually,” said Vorden, “Dallsa has a point. Where is Lannon? This is taking far too long. I think we should do some exploring below.”
“How?” asked Aldreya. “Don’t forget the stairs are guarded by dark sorcery that Lannon felt was too strong for us.”
“But you’re a sorcerer,” said Jerret, as he chewed on some jerky. “Why can’t you break the spell? Or is it too strong for you?”
Aldreya brushed her curly hair from her eyes, looking thoughtful. “Maybe I could break the spell. But maybe I shouldn’t.”
Jace woke up and looked around. “What are we discussing?”
“What about you, Jace?” asked Dallsa. “You’re a sorcerer too. Why can’t you rid the stairs of the dark sorcery?”
“Ah, there is a problem with that,” said Jace. “I don’t have any magic.” With that, he bowed his head and started snoring again.
“A sorcerer with no magic?” said Dallsa. “How can that be?”
Jace raised his head again. “How many fireballs do you see me tossing around? How many have I ever summoned in my two centuries of life? I’ll give you a hint: it’s less than one. I may be known as a sorcerer, but I assure you I am quite incapable of breaking evil spells. Now, to contradict my earlier statement, I may possess just a bit of what you would call magic. Just a tiny bit, yes, in my blood. But not enough to deal with the fiendish darkness that haunts those stairs.”
“Well, someone has to try,” said Dallsa, “because I have a strong feeling that Lannon is in trouble. He needs us!”
“A strong feeling is not evidence,” said Aldreya.
“Unless it’s Birlote instinct, of course,” said Jerret, rolling his eyes.
Aldreya didn’t reply.
“We should have faith in Lannon,” said Lothrin, “and give him more time. If we go blundering around down there, we could make things worse.”
“He’s had enough time,” said Vorden. “Lannon is as swift as the wind, and he sees everything. He should have completed his mission by now.”
“What is your opinion, Jace?” asked Aldreya.
“He can’t hear you,” said Jerret. “He’s sleeping.”
Jace glanced up. “Who’s sleeping? Oh…it appears I was. No worries, I heard the question anyway.” He yawned. “And the answer is: yes, we need more fireworks at the celebrations. And more cheese.”
“You must have been dreaming,” said Aldreya. “I actually want to know if we should go below and search for Lannon.”
Jace leapt to his feet. “Of course we should! We can’t leave Lannon to fend for himself against the demon. It’s much too powerful. I know—because I ran into it the last time I was here. It took me prisoner and tortured me for three days before I managed to escape. It is a very cunning foe—though I should call it a he, since all Barloak Demons are considered males. Don’t ask me to explain, as I haven’t the time. Anyway, Lannon must have been snared, or he would have returned by now. This is very, very bad. We must go below at once!”
“So you’ve known about the demon?” said Aldreya. “Why didn’t you mention it before?”
“I did,” said Jace. He scratched his head. “Didn’t I? I’m still very tired.”
“You heard him, Aldreya,” said Dallsa. “Now let’s go.”
Aldreya rose and went to the stairs. “I am reluctant to do this, as I could spring the trap on all of us. If the darkness takes me, I suggest the rest of you flee. Don’t try to rescue me. That’s an order.”
“We wouldn’t dream of it,” said Jerret, with a wry smile.
“Thanks,” she muttered, glaring at him.
The others gathered on the other side of the chamber, as Aldreya hurled several blazing fireballs down the steps. She hesitated, peering below, and then launched a few more. Weary from expending so much energy, she rested for a moment, breathing heavily from the strain.
“I think I did it,” she called out. “The dark sorcery has retreated or been burned away. The stairs are clear. But let’s wait a bit.”
They waited, but the stairs remained free of the cu
rse.
“I guess Lannon was wrong,” she said. “I broke the spell. And it was easier than I had anticipated.”
“I’ll go first,” said Jace, “to light the way.” The sorcerer strode to the stairs and started down carelessly, waving his Birlote torch around. He glanced back. “Come along now.”
The others followed.
When they were about halfway down, a dark fog suddenly arose from the depths and surrounded them. Parts of the fog squirmed and wiggled like fingers reaching for the fools who had thought it was defeated.
“The spell remains!” Aldreya cried. “Flee!”
They ran back up the stairs, and all of them made it except Jace. The fog engulfed the huge sorcerer—his eyes wide with horror—until only his torch was visible. Then the torch clattered to the steps.
The others groaned in frustration.
“Hurl your fire at it,” said Lothrin.
“I dare not,” said Aldreya, “for I could burn Jace to ash.”
“But he will be smothered!” said Dallsa.
A feeling of coldness in the air caused them to whirl around. The chamber door stood open, and a white mist had flooded the forge. As they watched, a ghastly figure walked toward them, flanked by eight Ghouls. It possessed the shape of a male human, but it was at least nine-feet tall—a lean figure with bone-white flesh, a bald head, and pointed ears. He was dressed only in a golden, scaly, metallic loincloth, though the mist seemed to wrap around him like a cloak. His hands ended in long white claws. He gazed at the intruders with icy blue eyes. That image was there for an instant, and then he blended with the fog that swirled around him and shifting shadows that crept over his body.
Dallsa gasped and shrank back from an aura that was like poison to her soul. The others simply stood and stared, too overwhelmed to react. When they realized their mistake, it was too late—as the white mist wound around them like chains, binding them fast. Not even Aldreya could escape these chains of sorcery that held them in such a powerful grasp they couldn’t even speak.
All they could see was white fog and shifting shadows—and icy blue eyes that cut through the mist and gazed upon them. They could not have anticipated the true power of this Barloak Demon—the mighty snares it could cast at will that had doomed so many Divine Knights in the past. They were just five more victims to the demon. Five fools who were defeated without a fight.
Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar (Ollanhar Series Book 1) Page 28
