Knights: The Blood of Kings (Knights Series)

by Robert E. Keller

  King Verlamer drank deeply from his goblet, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "The best Norack wine in existence. I cannot stomach the Birlote swill anymore, ever since the Tree Dwellers have turned against us."

  "My lord," said Staldor, "with Taris' battalion delayed in Hethos, I am wondering how long we must delay our own journey."

  Lannon tensed up, realizing the Eye of Dreams was revealing something hugely significant. The dread in his heart told him it was war.

  "It doesn't matter," said the mad king. "As soon as Taris Warhawk's battalion reaches Kalamede, we will begin the march to Dremlock. Now that spring has arrived, we should have no trouble getting some of our finest siege engines through the mountains and forests. We will crush their wall."

  Staldor bowed. "Of course. My concern is that our plans will somehow become known to the enemy. I know I continue to pester you, my lord, and it is not my goal to be annoying. But everything depends on surprise, and if we lose that advantage, the war could be long and bloody."

  King Verlamer glowered down at Staldor. He was a towering figure with broad shoulders. He looked somewhat like Cordus Landsaver, with his long, unkempt hair and beard. But there was a light of insanity in his eyes that made his appearance distinctly different from that of Dremlock's Lord Knight. His hair and beard were unkempt because he'd lost interest in matters of appearance. His crimson robe with white trim was stained with wine and sauces, and it hung open, revealing an equally stained green tunic. His fingernails were black with dirt. To the people outside Bellis, he was considered a madman--but to those within the golden walls he'd become a holy figure who devoutly served the will of his god. They viewed his disheveled appearance as a sign that his faith was more important to him than anything else--even bathing or grooming.

  "Tell me this is the right decision," said King Verlamer, reaching down to stroke the Dragon's scaly head. "Tell me I'm not a fool."

  The Dragon perked up at its master's touch, long claws stretching forth. Verlamer whispered soothingly to it, and the beast cocked its head to one side and let out a quiet, contented squawk.

  "Dremlock's spies are dead," Staldor reminded him. "We're certain of it. The Divine Knights will learn of our advance too late. The White Flamestone will not reach Dremlock in time to fortify the kingdom--even if it escapes the ambush we have planned in Kalamede. Their Elder Hawks will be hunted by our Blood Eagles or shot from the sky by our archers."

  "Then I am wise," said the king, touching his forehead. "So very wise. We weeded out their nasty spies, thanks to the power of our god."

  Staldor knelt and bowed his head. "May we serve him well. But again, I'm sorry to keep bringing this to your attention, but I wonder if there is anything else we can do to secure this kingdom. We've sealed off all possible exits. We hunt for spies endlessly on land and in the skies. Yet why do I feel like we're somehow...being watched. I keep dreaming that an invisible eye is peering at us and an invisible ear hears our words. Perhaps I am just being foolish."

  "Take heart," said King Verlamer. "Our plans will not be known to Dremlock. Our god has given me his promise."

  Staldor rose and bowed again, but looked uncertain. "Then all is well. I shall cease my worrying and trouble you with it no more."

  "Remember, our god will travel with us to Dremlock," said the king. "He will fight by our side, and we will know we cannot be defeated."

  Staldor nodded. "Dremlock's cowardly god, which hides below earth and stone, will do little to assist its own Knights. Yet our god marches with us straight into battle. It makes me very proud to be part of this kingdom."

  "It fills my heart with joy!" said Verlamer, laughing and pounding his huge fist on the arm of the throne. "We have prevailed before the battle begins. Even the White Flamestone cannot threaten us as long as it rests in the hands of a mortal."

  The Knights spoke in agreement.

  "Tonight we feast," said Verlamer, "in honor of our god and to celebrate the coming fall of a pagan kingdom. Storm clouds are headed our way, soon to block out the glorious sun and likely bring rain. Thus, we shall feast within this hall, and what a merry gathering it will be!"

  Lannon groaned, stunned by what he'd witnessed. If all of Dremlock's spies at Bellis were truly dead, then only Lannon knew the truth of the impending attack. Unless he could reach Kalamede in time to warn Taris, Bellis would get a significant head start on the road to Dremlock. Lannon had no clue how King Verlamer had weeded out the spies to the point of being certain none were left alive, but it seemed Bellis was blessed by the power of its own god. Also, Lannon now knew that Taris and his warriors were headed into some kind of ambush at Kalamede instead of simply a mission to cleanse the city of an evil cult.

  Lannon was frantic with the desire to warn Taris, and he found himself drawn back into his body instantly--as if the vast distance he'd traveled to reach Bellis held no significance.

  When Lannon returned to consciousness, he was standing outside the tower in the storm, gazing up at the darkened sky and pounding raindrops. He had no idea how he'd gotten there, and for an instant, he wondered if his encounter with Baltheor's shade had even been real. Lately, it was difficult for him to distinguish between reality and illusion. The memories were so vivid, however, he realized it had indeed been real, but what was the lesson? He felt it had something to do with combat, some realization from Londa's fight with the Troll that had made a big impact on Baltheor. But he didn't feel like standing about in the rain and pondering it--not with the more pressing issues on his mind. Somehow, he had to move faster than he'd ever moved before if he was to reach Taris in time. He could worry about lessons later. No lightning threatened him, and so Lannon set off in a direction he thought would lead him to Kalamede--though he wasn't entirely sure.

  Chapter 11: Wagon South

  For the next two days Lannon raced across Silverland like a galloping horse, moving as fast as his power would allow for long-distance travel and only stopping for brief rests or to search for food. He met a few travelers coming his way, but he dashed right past them without slowing--amused at how odd he must appear charging along at such a speed. He undoubtedly looked like a champion runner training for some important race and not a Divine Knight of Dremlock. But he didn't care. All that mattered to him was warning Taris of King Verlamer's plans.

  The Eye helped him secure his meals by guiding him to abundant plant life and clean water. Having no bow, he settled for fish from the rivers as his source of meat, seizing them with the Eye and pulling them onto land. He wanted to roast the fish over a fire, but he lacked matches and everything was soaked from the rain; so he cut strips off the fish and simply ate them raw--wrapped in plants so he wouldn't taste them. It didn't make for exciting meals, but it kept him going.

  As the days passed and the stormy weather continued, Lannon became increasingly annoyed by his lack of ability to generate fire. He tried several times to channel heat into his sword, but the bony blade remained cold to the touch. He constructed shelters to sleep in at night and hung his clothes up to dry, but he remained cold, wet, and miserable. He was in too much of a hurry to make himself comfortable. His Knightly abilities did protect him from disease and infection, however, and his wounds healed quickly.

  On the third day of travel, Lannon was growing exhausted from trying to maintain such a frantic dash. The Eye was wearing down, slowing his progress. He'd burned up too much energy in his haste, and he realized he should have paced himself.

  At last he caught up with a fancy-looking carriage pulled by a pair of white horses. It was traveling in the same direction as Lannon. Guiding the horses was a lean, well-dressed man with long brown hair--a man about ten years older than Lannon. He wore a blue, feathered hat and a fur cloak. His face was cut and bruised, with dry blood crusted to his forehead, and he seemed to be leaning forward in the saddle--perhaps in great pain. A crossbow lay next to him, which his hand settled upon when he saw Lannon. He nodded in greeting.

  "And where are you headed, t
raveler?" he asked. "I saw you back there, running like the wind. You are quite fleet of foot."

  "Kalamede," Lannon replied, pausing to catch his breath. The carriage looked very inviting, considering it was still raining.

  "I'm on my way to Rogue Haven," said the man. "Same direction you're going. My name is Dalton. I own a shop there. My daughter and I were off visiting relatives near the Grey Lake."

  "If you don't mind me asking," said Lannon, "what happened to you? You appear to have taken quite a beating."

  Dalton nodded, wincing. "Yes, thanks to the bandits along this road. They beat me after I failed to give them money. They tried to take my daughter, but a Ranger happened along and drove them off. You look like a Ranger yourself--or at least like a man who can fight. You've certainly got the foot speed of a Ranger. You don't look like someone who might rob me."

  "I'm not a thief," said Lannon. He considered telling the man who he was, then decided against it. His training as a Blue Knight had taught him to reveal things only if necessary--that secrecy could be a powerful tool. And there were enemies of Dremlock all over Silverland.

  "Mercenary?" Dalton asked, glancing at Lannon's sword. "The reason I ask is that I could use a guard on this journey, for my daughter's sake. "Do you know how to use that blade, or is it just for scaring purposes?"

  "I can use it well enough," said Lannon. "I would be happy to ride with you to Rogue Haven, then continue on south to Kalamede. I'm in a hurry, though, so if you're planning on making a lot of stops..."

  "Not at all," said Dalton. "We're in a hurry ourselves. You can sit in the carriage and guard my daughter. I'm sure she'd welcome the company of a polite young man like yourself. I'm certain you'll mind your manners back there." He patted the crossbow. "I've killed a man before, and I'll do it again if need be to protect my daughter. Understand? I'll pay you when we reach Rogue Haven."

  "I understand," said Lannon, giving a slight bow. "And I don't require any payment. A ride in your carriage is payment enough."

  Dalton nodded. "I thank you, then." His eyes narrowed. "I sense you don't want me to ask your business, and so I won't. Just speculating here... You don't look like a Legion Soldier or a Divine Knight. And I've never seen a Ranger without a bow. With that fancy sword and cloak, I'm guessing you're someone of importance."

  Lannon said nothing, thinking that Dalton had a keen eye and sharp instincts. He simply waited for the shopkeeper to finish scrutinizing him.

  "One thing you should know," said Dalton, "is that this road is very dangerous lately, due to a shortage of Rangers. Bandits attack in large numbers and attack fearlessly. I didn't realize how bad it was getting, and my daughter almost paid a grim price." His eyes smoldered. "They were dragging her off to a horrible fate when that Ranger rode them down. Anyway, to make my point--I'm guessing you can fight, but if you ride in my shiny carriage you'll be making yourself a more visible target. Many of the bandits simply want quick and easy money, and if they don't get it, they'll move on. So don't do anything foolish that will get us all killed. We talk first, and fight only if we have to. Is that clear, young man?"

  "That wont be a problem," said Lannon, feeling sympathy for Dalton and his daughter and anger toward the bandits. "I'm sorry to hear what happened. Is your daughter okay?"

  "She's doing fine," Dalton replied. "I took most of the damage. Now get in back there and help yourself to some food and drink." He gave Lannon a menacing stare. "And keep your hands to yourself, if you get my meaning."

  Lannon climbed into the carriage and sat down across from a plump black-haired girl about his own age. She was a pretty girl with large, dark eyes and pale skin. She was bundled up in a fur cloak, and a book lay in her lap.

  She smiled. "My name is Dallsa."

  "Lannon," he said, briefly returning her smile.

  "I always liked that name," she said. "I have a cousin named Lannon who spends every day hunting. It's all he thinks about. Nevertheless, it's not a very common name amongst Noracks. It's actually of Birlote origin. Have you ever heard the poem Lannon of the Golden Leaf?"

  He shook his head, not in the mood for talking. He wanted to simply relax, enjoy the ride, and let his energy build up. He had a Birlote name and a Birlote cloak, but he wasn't a Birlote by any measure--so what did it matter? His father had always been fond of the Tree Dwellers, so it wasn't a surprise to Lannon that his name was of Birlote origin. Lannon's father was strange--seemingly so simple on the surface, as he drank ale and complained about his life all day long, yet filled with much deeper concerns underneath. Lannon realized he didn't actually know his real father very well, as the old man's dark disease had consumed his personality.

  "You're all wet," Dallsa said. "That must be quite unpleasant. You're about my father's size, and he has extra clothes back here. We could stop the carriage and allow you a moment to put on something dry."

  "It's not necessary," said Lannon, not wanting any delays. He'd been cold and wet for so long he was getting used to it.

  But Dallsa called to her father, who agreed that Lannon could borrow a pair of trousers and a tunic. Lannon found the clothes to be a bit long, as he had to roll up the sleeves and pant legs a few inches, but they were warm and comfortable. He hung his wet clothes to dry and put his Birlote cloak back on.

  "Doesn't that feel better?" asked Dallsa. A curious expression appeared on her face, and she touched his cloak.

  "It doesn't get wet," Lannon explained.

  "It must be Birlote silk," she said. "Although it's probably quite obvious to you, I have a fascination with the Tree Dwellers. I've always wanted to see Borenthia, but it's such a long journey and common Noracks like myself aren't always welcome there. The Birlotes do their trading outside the city, unfortunately, so even if I went there for business I wouldn't be allowed in."

  Lannon too had always wanted to visit Borenthia. As a Divine Knight of some importance, he--unlike Dallsa--would probably be admitted into the Tree City. It didn't seem fair, for he could tell by the shine in her eyes that she cared much more about Birlote culture than he did.

  Dallsa sat back and gazed through a glass window, her face becoming somber. "My father thinks we're headed for more trouble. We've run into bandits three times on this journey. The first two times they simply took our money and goods and were content. But the third time, we had no money to give and they grew angry. They demanded me as payment. They would have made me a slave. They beat my father so severely I thought he was going to die."

  "That's a terrible story," said Lannon. He wondered how some people could be so heartless toward others. And he wondered why there were less Rangers on the roads these days. Perhaps the pay wasn't worth it to them anymore. With the Divine Knights involved in a desperate war, the Rangers had been severely neglected. Many had simply quit in search of an easier way of life.

  "Yes, and it could easily happen again," she said. "You're taking quite a risk by riding with us, Lannon. I know my father is just trying to protect me, but you were probably better off on foot. The bandits look for suitable targets like this carriage. They probably wouldn't waste their time on a lone man walking the road, for that doesn't speak of money to them."

  He shrugged. "I'm fine with the risk." He didn't bother to explain that bandits were the least of his concerns--that he was actually engaged in a struggle for the fate of Silverland and perhaps all of Gallamerth. That would have required him to do a lot of talking, which he wanted no part of.

  "I see you wear a sword," said Dallsa. "May I have a closer look?"

  Lannon hesitated, never fond of parting with his Dragon sword. But he felt the need to be polite, considering the circumstances. He drew it and handed it to her. "Be careful. It's very sharp."

  Dallsa's eyes lit up as she studied it. "Amazing! What kind of bone is this? I've never seen anything like it. It's beautiful. This looks exactly like the Kingdom Sword of Dremlock. Of course, the Kingdom Sword is a fake and couldn't be used as an effective weapon. This blade is obviously of
high quality."

  "It's made of Goblin bone," said Lannon. "Actually, the bones of a Dragon. And yes, it was designed to look like the Kingdom Sword."

  Her eyes widened. "Someone slew a Dragon? Truthfully, I didn't believe they existed until I heard about the trouble at Dorok's Hand with Dremlock's Knights. Was that sword made from the bones of the Dragon at Dorok's Hand?"

  "No, it was just a small Dragon," said Lannon, "kind of like a Vulture. Nothing like the beast at Dorok's Hand. And as far as I know, it was already dead when the bones were discovered--somewhere up in some cliffs in the Bloodlands. There are more of these bone swords, and they're all quite expensive."

  "It's a wonderful sword," said Dallsa, "no doubt worth a fortune. But can you use it? You look too young to be a hardened mercenary."

  Lannon sheathed it. "I know a few tricks with the blade."

  "I fear you may lose that sword," she said. "If the bandits take notice of it, consider it gone. That would be a big find for them."

  Lannon shook his head. "I won't give up my sword."

  "You will," said Dallsa, "if your life is at stake. Look at what happened to my father, for refusing to give up his horses and carriage."

  "How is he doing?" asked Lannon. "He looks to be in great pain."

  "I believe he has some cracked ribs," she replied, "and a few minor wounds. He is in a lot of pain. I cleaned his wounds, though, and I think he'll be fine. Actually, my father says I have a healer's touch. He thinks I could be recruited by Dremlock as a White Squire. But I've been afraid to give it a try, for some reason. And Admittance Day never comes to Rogue Haven. It's just a small town that once was used as a hideout for thieves. The Divine Knights ignore it."

  "You should visit one of the larger cities," said Lannon, "on Admittance Day. If you have a healer's skills, you should learn to use them."