"We're silly fools," said Galandra. "Simple as that. So let's enjoy being silly fools and see where it takes us, my friend. Maybe we'll survive and get rich."
Jace rose, his hands covered in dried blood from tending to Jerret's wound. "We're off to a fine start here--ambushed by demons and soldiers in the mountains, and barbarians in the lowlands. And I still can't find some decent pipe tobacco." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "No one should have to endure such misery without a good smoke. What is this world coming to?"
Chapter 5:
The Master of Illusion and Shadow
Ethella stood at the edge of a clearing, facing three Golden Knights. Standing beside her was the new High Wizard of Bellis--a man over seven feet tall named Vorhevia. They were waiting for the Divine Knights to return from Malva so they could continue pursuing them.
The Mud Belt had Ethella on edge. This was a savage land where rogues and barbarians lacked respect for Bellis' authority. She had no desire to battle some bloodthirsty clan. With the swamp offering so much concealment for an ambush, she also lived in constant fear of a surprise attack from Dremlock in retaliation for their slaughtered Knights. Although Lannon and his warriors had already claimed vengeance (in the form of the Lawkeeper's severed head), she wondered if it was enough to appease them. They might decide to go after her next.
That fool of a Lawkeeper had put Ethella's life in grave danger, and she could never forgive him. She was glad he was dead and hoped his soul was in torment. Ethella had exchanged messages with King Verlamer after the beheading, and he had seemed dismissive of the whole affair, commanding her to focus on stealing the White Flamestone. He also sent an immediate replacement for the Lawkeeper--the sorcerer who stood beside Ethella and made her flesh crawl.
Aside from living in fear, Ethella was also greatly annoyed. She had expected to be promoted to High Wizard after Omharal's death, but in a surprise move King Verlamer had chosen one of his wealthy lords instead. Not only did she feel this Vorhevia didn't deserve to be High Wizard, but he was also a dark and creepy man whose presence unnerved her. A descendant of Althustus the Dragonforged, he was brilliant, eccentric, and immensely talented--but Ethella felt his ideas were often idiotic, that he wasted his talent on lazy pursuits (spending too much time enjoying various luxuries) and that his mind was off in a fog most of the time. She refused to acknowledge his rank.
Vorhevia wore an ugly grey robe that hung awkwardly on his frame. The sleeves were too long and sometimes concealed his hands. He had a huge, unkempt beard that, like his long and shaggy hair, was a mixture of black and silver hues. His eyes were dark--almost black--and often displayed an insane gleam. He was always pondering the mysteries of the universe and making cryptic statements, and it annoyed Ethella to no end. He took his role as a wizard and a philosopher far too seriously for her liking, and quite often she wanted to punch him in the nose. Everything he said had some overblown, dramatic meaning that only Vorhevia could understand. It all tied together in one big, bloated circle of destiny--grinding on into infinity and grinding on Ethella's nerves. Ethella almost expected to hear dramatic music play every time he spoke.
There were other things about Vorhevia she didn't like. He addressed women with exaggerated politeness that didn't match the coldness in his dark eyes, but he was gruff and dismissive with men much of the time (unless for some unknown reason he liked them). He reminded Ethella of a huge, creepy spider waiting to snare some unsuspecting female in his web. Yet for all that, Vorhevia disliked company most of the time, male or female, preferring to spend hours alone in his tent. His true motivations were impossible to comprehend.
Vorhevia smiled down at her. "Have you come up with a plan, my dear? One that will separate Prince Vannas from his little Flamestone--and hopefully separate him from the cold embrace of life as well?"
"Of course," she said. "The plan is simple. The Divine Knights are few now, and we only have to wait until the prince is alone for a moment. Then our Guardians will emerge from hiding and hack him to bits. We've waited long enough. This is the best chance we'll ever have to obtain the White Flamestone."
Vorhevia sighed. "Good plan, except for the holes."
She glared at him. "And what holes would those be?"
He leaned closer to her, grinning, and she recoiled a bit. "Holes made by a certain Eye of Divinity--which can locate our warriors even when they're in hiding. Holes made by some elite Rangers who are difficult to sneak up on. Holes made by the others who guard the prince night and day."
"I wouldn't call them holes," said Ethella, "just problems to be dealt with. It's all a matter of careful timing. I'm convinced we can pull off a brilliant ambush and be gone with the White Flamestone before Lannon Sunshield and his Knights are even aware of what happened. After all, the fools think we're after the Green one."
"And I'm convinced we will fail," said Vorhevia.
Ethella's irritation boiled over. "Then what's your plan, oh wise one? You spend enough time in your tent with pipe and wine flask. Surely you must have dreamed up something by now."
"I have," said Vorhevia, who seemed unfazed by her tone. "Dreamed up is a good way to put it. For I am a master of sleep and dreams. When the moonlight shines is when I walk free and unbound, a whisper entering a sleeping mind as quietly as a mouse slips through a wall hole." He touched his long black and silver hair. "I place a pointed cap on my head like a grey mushroom under the moon, and beneath it I work wonders. For in dreams the illusion of life has faded."
Ethella groaned. "What are you talking about?"
Vorhevia frowned. "What I'm saying--in grotesquely simple terms--is that I will seize control of Prince's Vannas' mind through his dreams and lead him into the woods. Then our Golden Knights will, well, hack him to bits."
"Now that's a good plan," said Ethella, "if you can pull it off. But surely the White Flamestone will protect him. And surely someone will be awake and keeping watch. The Knights never let down their guard."
"I have two abilities," said Vorhevia, "that they will not anticipate. Aside from being able to enter dreams, I can also send someone into a pleasant slumber at will. As I said, I am a master of sleep and dreams. The guard--even if it is Lannon himself--will take a nap at my command."
"Then you could kill Lannon in his sleep!" Ethella said eagerly. "Lure away the prince, and stick a dagger in Lannon's heart at the same time."
"I dare not," said Vorhevia, raising his bushy eyebrows. "The Eye of Divinity never sleeps--not even beneath the watchful moon. Any threat to Lannon's life could cause him to awaken and ruin our plans. The risk would be too great. We must do as ordered and focus on the White Flamestone."
"I suppose," she said, sighing.
"That settles it, then," said Vorhevia. "Soon the prince will be dead, and the fire stone will be ours. I'm going to take a walk in the woods to celebrate, enjoy the fresh air. I'll be back in an hour or so."
"This is a swamp," she said in disgust. "The air isn't fresh, and the mud will be up to your knees. And there are snakes. And mosquitoes."
"Swamp, woods, it's all the same," he said, waving a huge hand dismissively. "It's nature at its finest."
"No, it isn't," she said, wondering if he had been dropped on his head as an infant. She opened her mouth to say something more, then closed it again. There was no point in arguing with this fool.
"I usually prefer to be alone," said Vorhevia. "But my mood is soaring right now. How would you like to accompany me? I seldom get a chance to walk beside a beautiful woman." He leaned so close to her she could smell his breath. It smelled like strange spices. He extended his hand. "Come. Walk with me."
"I must decline," she said, with a shudder. "I'm going back to my tent to get away from the bugs. Have a good time...in the swamp."
He bowed, his black eyes shining. "I will. I love it."
"I'm sure you do," she said, frowning. "Well, goodbye."
"Goodbye." He bowed again. He adjusted his oversized cloak and then strode off into th
e tangle of mossy trees, vines, and stinking muck.
Ethella stared after him for a moment. "This is the High Wizard of Bellis?" she muttered to the Golden Knights. As usual, they didn't speak--though she thought she could hear a quiet hiss come from one of them.
Chapter 6:
The Ranger's Impossible Dream
It was evening, and the Divine Knights were camped along the Aktos Trail. They had departed from Malva without further incident, with no indication that the Blue Vultures had chosen to pursue them (though that didn't mean the barbarians weren't following from a distance). They had ridden for half the night and most of the next day, and the area had turned a bit less swampy toward evening, with stretches of firm ground and hardwood forests here and there. As the shadows deepened across the land, they found a large field in which to erect their tents.
It was a cool evening, with no breeze, and the sounds of frogs and insects filled the air. Vorden was keeping first watch, and Galandra, who was too restless to sleep, sat across from him. Lannon and Lothrin were out scouting for danger, creeping silently through marsh and forest, and everyone else was asleep. With Jerret, Saranna, and Bekka still unable to fight, the Knights feared retaliation from the Blue Vultures. And of course there was always Bellis to worry about.
Vorden wore his armor, except for the helm, and he was growing weary of it. In spite of it being exquisitely crafted to move fluidly with his body, it was still heavy and could start to feel cumbersome and unpleasant if worn too often. He longed to toss it aside and lighten the load, but the thought of catching an arrow in the heart kept him from doing that. Vorden was powerful, but he wasn't immortal. A lucky shot could doom him.
"Shouldn't those two be back by now?" said Galandra. Her red hair shimmered in the firelight, her beautiful face flawless. Only her cold eyes reminded Vorden that she was battle hardened and dangerous.
He shrugged. "Don't worry about Lannon and Lothrin."
"But what if the Blue Vultures ambush them?" she said.
"Then I pity the barbarians," he replied.
Galandra looked skeptical. "Could two men really defeat so many? You saw for yourself how well the Vultures fight."
"Those two could," said Vorden. "They're not normal fighters. They're blessed by the Divine Essence."
Galandra shook her head. "I don't know what that means, Vorden. You're all so strange--so different. Dremlock is beyond my understanding. I saw Lannon swat arrows aside with his bare hands. That makes no sense to me. I saw your prince raise his glowing stone, claiming he could burn down the tavern from afar. Like everyone else, I've heard rumors of such things, but I never quite believed them. Do you really have the power of a god?"
"I don't," said Vorden. He sighed. His power came mostly from the Deep Shadow, which had altered his body in ways that could never be undone. "I'm not blessed like they are." Far from it, he thought.
She winked at him. "You've got some nice armor, though."
He nodded. "It's saved me more than once."
Galandra gazed into the distance and said, "I have trouble believing your words, though--the idea that a god is real and actually blesses its servants. There are rumors that Dremlock is built on a lie--that your god is just some misshapen Goblin and that your divine fire is a trick of alchemy."
Vorden smiled. "The Noracks beyond Silverland doubt us, but the Olrogs and Birlotes know the truth. Our god is real."
"And the Deep Shadow?" she asked.
"As real as anything," said Vorden. "I know all about it, in fact. I know a lot more than any sane person would ever want to know."
Galandra was silent for a time. Then she said, "I'm going to admit the truth to you. I don't believe your god is real, and I don't believe the Deep Shadow is real. I know Goblins exist because I've hunted them many times. They are beasts of nature like everything else. There are no gods, demons, or ghosts. No Deep Shadow. And wizards are tricksters who play upon the fears of the foolish."
Vorden looked away. "I wish our world was like you believe it to be, Galandra. But it isn't. It's a frightening place where such things do exist and anything can happen. As a Divine Knight, I was shown the truth of things, and yes, it is very difficult for outsiders to believe. As a former slave of the Deep Shadow, I learned what true evil is, and it left me scarred forever."
"So all these years I was taught a lie," said Galandra. "Everyone always said that Dremlock's Knights are tricksters, and now you tell me it is all real--that magic exists and that a god dwells amongst humans."
"King Verlamer knows the truth," said Vorden. "In fact, he is a sorcerer who carries ancient magic in his blood."
"Yes, but Bellis also uses fear and trickery," she said. "They have a so-called High Wizard who supposedly does amazing things, but everyone knows he is just an alchemist who uses potions and poisons."
"Wizards are real," said Vorden. "Jace is a wizard--or a powerful sorcerer, anyway. And so is Aldreya. You saw her fire."
"I saw it," said Galandra. "But fire can be created by powders and potions. Are you saying the fire came from her body?"
"Exactly," said Vorden. "And I can create it too."
"Show me," she said, smiling. "Burn something." She picked up a greasy iron skillet. "Melt this with your bare hands, if you can."
"That's a perfectly good skillet," he said. "Why waste it?"
"I'll buy you another," she said. "I'll owe Ollanhar a skillet, and it can come out of my pay." She chuckled. "It doesn't matter. I don't believe you can do it, and that's fine. My goal is not to humiliate you."
"Humiliate me?" said Vorden, glaring. "Hardly. I can turn that to mush."
"Prove it," she said. "Talk is cheap."
Vorden lifted the skillet and sent his energy into it--the demonic fire left over from the Hand of Tharnin. That fire served the will of the Divine Essence now, but Vorden still had to be careful whenever he used it or he might lose himself to the Deep Shadow's embrace.
The skillet grew red hot and started to droop.
Vorden quickly laid it on some rocks to cool. He held up his hand to show her it wasn't burned or even blackened. "Proof enough?"
Galandra's eyes were wide. "Amazing! But you could have faked it somehow. Sorry, but I still can't quite believe it."
Vorden shook his head in amusement. "Then I just warped a quality skillet for no good reason. It seems there is nothing I can do to make you believe. We're all tricksters and that's that."
"I have an open mind," said Galandra. "Just give me time. It's hard to go against what you were taught as a child, and outside of Silverland, children are taught that wizardry is fake. How many wizards exist in the Norack lands? You never find them, except for those who pretend to be wizards and are obvious liars. And most Noracks never visit the Birlotes or the Olrogs, or Dremlock. And no one trusts Bellis, a kingdom of tyrants and thieves."
"Okay, I see your point," said Vorden. "But what do you think this mission is all about? We're seeking a Flamestone--a living piece of our god."
"You're seeking something," she said. "That much I'm sure of. Probably a weapon of some sort to use against Bellis."
"We're seeking a Flamestone," he insisted.
She shrugged. "Time will tell. If we make it that far."
Vorden said nothing, convinced she would eventually know the truth. After all, she was surrounded by Knights who used various forms of sorcery. And if she never did accept it as real, what did it matter?
She gazed at the now slightly misshapen skillet. "That was impressive, though. You could use your hand as a mighty weapon."
He nodded. "I have no choice. I melt anything else."
"There are three of you who fight bare handed," she said. "You, Jace, and Lannon. Warriors who fight without weapons are extremely rare. It's rumored there are monks who do so, but I've never met one."
"Lannon is a great swordsman," said Vorden. "He just chooses to fight with his fists because he doesn't like killing people. Put a beast or Goblin in front of him, and that sword
will come forth and do a lot of damage."
Galandra looked utterly baffled. "He chooses to fight with his fists?" She shook her head. "That strategy would get most people killed."
"I agree," said Vorden. "Believe me, if I had a weapon that didn't disintegrate in my hands, I would gladly use it. But I'm not as powerful as Lannon and I don't have the luxury of choosing who to kill or who to spare."
"But you are quite powerful," she said, her keen eyes gazing into him. "More powerful than an ordinary Knight."
"I have a few useful skills," said Vorden. "But in comparison to Lannon, I'm weak. He's a Dark Watchman, which makes him one of the greatest fighters in history."
"Such a great warrior," said Galandra, "yet he dislikes violence. How can that possibly work? It seems like folly."
"It's wise for him to shun violence," said Vorden. "It keeps him from losing himself to the Deep Shadow. But don't underestimate Lannon. He's killed before, and he'll kill again. He does what is necessary."
"I've killed many times," said Galandra, a shadow darkening her face. "More times than I care to remember."
"Goblins?" said Vorden, though he knew she wasn't talking about the creatures of the Deep Shadow.
"Humans," she replied. "Bandits, mostly."
"How many?" asked Vorden, genuinely curious.
She looked away. "As I said, I don't care to remember." A moment later, she fixed her gaze on him. "How many have you killed?"
Vorden didn't answer. As he gazed into the fire, the horrors of his past gripped his soul. That place within him was too dark to explore, and all he could do was try to avoid it. Memories of the Hand of Tharnin flashed through his mind--of its crushing force and bitter fire leaving broken and burned bodies. What had he done? He still couldn't comprehend it. He knew he was responsible for immense evil, yet he found a way to keep himself detached from it--for the burden was too great to bear. It wasn't enough that Dremlock and the Divine Essence had forgiven him. He had never forgiven himself, and thus he could never truly face up to his actions. He hid away like a monster in the shadows, afraid of the sunlight, always twisting and turning to escape the pain that threatened to overwhelm him.
Knights: Legends of Ollanhar Page 9
