Knights: Legends of Ollanhar

by Robert E. Keller

  "Forget I asked," said Galandra, her face grim. "I can see it in your eyes--some terrible burden. I don't think I want to know."

  "It's part of who I am," said Vorden, with a shrug. "I deal with it however I can. I don't hate my life, but sometimes it's a struggle. Sometimes I'm not too happy with myself." That was a huge understatement.

  "That's exactly how I feel," she said. "I hate myself sometimes for what I've done. I'm not a thief or a murderer--but I've laid claim to things that I possibly had no right to claim, and I've killed too easily when I might have found a better way. I always think back on what I should have done differently, but I can't change anything. That's the worst part. You have to live with it forever."

  "Indeed," said Vorden. "A curse upon all mortals."

  Galandra raised her hand for silence. "I thought I heard something." She pointed toward the woods. "In that direction."

  "Someone is approaching," said Vorden.

  They drew their weapons and waited, as the huge figure of Vorhevia strode from the forest and moved toward them like a wall of pale-grey with his flowing cloak and pointy hat in the moonlight. He moved like a shadow, his boots utterly quiet in the leaves and grass, and Vorden and Galandra gazed at him as if hypnotized. They were unable to take action, held captive by the approaching giant.

  "It is time to sleep," said Vorhevia. "The moonlight will warm your path, my children of the lost midnight, and you will pass beyond sight and mind to a place where even the gods forever dream."

  As Vorhevia's shadow fell upon them, Galandra tried to rise--but she dropped gently to the ground and was sound asleep. Vorden fought back, refusing to yield to the spell that was settling over his mind and eyelids like a heavy curtain.

  "Let go, young wanderer," said Vorhevia, pressing close to Vorden, his black and silver beard nearly touching the Knight's chest. "Let go. Let the pale and eternal night take you home along a path lined with fallen stars, far away beyond the black river where the willows glitter like Birlote silver."

  Still, Vorden resisted, struggling to cry out a warning. But his voice was paralyzed by the heavy darkness.

  Vorhevia's black eyes held a silver spark of endless determination. "Sleep, my child. The world is nothing to you now. It never was." He shook his head. "It never was...more than another dream."

  Somehow, Vorden summoned enough strength to give a yell. He didn't know if it was a loud yell or a quiet one, but he was certain he had made some kind of noise. His task done, he surrendered to Vorhevia.

  The High Wizard drew a dagger and shoved it to Vorden's throat, looking irritated. "Good one, young man. I should cut your neck for that. Just a quick slice and then you bleed out."

  Vorhevia sheathed the dagger and smiled. "That felt good. I was angry for a moment and lost control. Yes, it happens even to a man of my stature. But I'm not a barbarian. Not at all. I am a civilized and peaceful warrior on a very precise mission. I'm here to kill your prince, actually."

  In a panic, Vorden struggled to rise--but it was too late. The fight was gone from him and all that remained was the foggy glow of dreams.

  ***

  Not far from camp, Lannon and Lothrin entered a small clearing where they paused, listening. It had been a boring, routine scouting mission that had revealed no sign of danger. They had circled the camp widely three times, at one point pausing to investigate a strange aura that Lannon believed could have been generated by dark sorcery. But the aura revealed nothing else and they moved on.

  "Beautiful night," said Lannon, gazing skyward. "I feel tired...almost too relaxed. I could lay down and sleep right here."

  "I feel that too," said Lothrin, gazing at the Dark Watchman with a curious expression. "My mind seems dull and tired, detached from the world. I could easily sleep beneath the moon."

  "I wonder," said Lannon, "if we're under some spell."

  "I would know if I was under a spell," said Lothrin.

  "Would you?" said Lannon, giving him a piercing gaze.

  "Of course," said Lothrin. Then he frowned. "At least, I hope I would. But you should certainly know. What does the Eye reveal?"

  "The Eye is sluggish," said Lannon. "It wants to wander about, showing me things I don't care to see. It's not working properly."

  Lothrin's bronze-skinned face was strikingly pale as he stared at the sky. "The moon seems so magnificent this night--a Ranger Moon, to guide our path." He blinked. "But there is something else there...a shadow."

  "A shadow on the moon," Lannon mumbled, as time drifted on. He shook his head. "I don't know. I just need some sleep."

  "Can't you see it?" asked Lothrin. He pointed. "A faint shadow, like a warning amidst all that beauty."

  Lannon squinted at the pale orb, and it seemed to draw him in, as if seeking to hold him captive. But he didn't see any shadow.

  In the clearing there was a black stone that Lannon could not avoid gazing at--a monument to the stars that stood taller than the two warriors. It showed the map of eight worlds in the heavens and their pinpoints of light. The veins upon the stone showed ancient pathways where distance could be lessoned, where wise travelers exchanged gifts and where great hospitality existed. The ancient pathways now stood abandoned, glowing tributes to the original design of the universe. They had given way to the creations of science and faster routes. The visitors had left their gifts long ago, fading from time and memory, with only a monument or two to signify a glorious age of peace and prosperity.

  "What did you see?" asked Lothrin.

  Lannon didn't know how to answer that in a meaningful way. The Eye often revealed strange and mysterious glimpses of the future and the past that seemed to serve no purpose. At last he said, "Something left here by travelers who are long gone. That's all I know."

  "Gone to where?" asked Lothrin.

  "I don't know," said Lannon. "Perhaps gone beyond the bright, friendly pathways of night and into the deepest darkness."

  Lothrin gazed at him with a curious expression. "What did you say? That didn't sound like you at all, Lannon."

  Lannon didn't remember speaking. He shrugged.

  "I wish I had your gift," said Lothrin. "You must see so many amazing things. If I possessed the Eye, I would want to know everything."

  "It's not that simple," said Lannon. "Some of the things I see are dark and horrific. Most of the knowledge is useless--involving events from long ago or from ages yet to come. I can't even be sure any of it is true."

  "Do you believe your power lies to you?" asked Lothrin.

  "It doesn't lie," said Lannon. "But I could easily misinterpret the things I'm shown. My visions could be symbolic--though I tend to believe they're not. Still, the possibility does exist. Anyway, some of what I see is inspiring, like what this monument revealed. I can't quite understand it, but I sense it represents something good. That's all I need to know, right?"

  "Definitely not," said Lothrin, frowning. "Think of the incredible knowledge you could be gaining--knowledge that could benefit humanity."

  "True," said Lannon. "But knowledge could also destroy us. There are things we are not ready to know. The Eye can glimpse these things, and that makes it very dangerous." Lannon sighed. "I don't really know how to proceed, so I'm going to stubbornly follow the will of the Divine Essence and continue to live as a Knight. If I discover something useful to humanity along the way, so be it."

  Lothrin smiled. "You can't go wrong there. After all, it was the Divine Essence that gave you your gift." But he looked troubled. "Still, with so much knowledge around you, how can you not be constantly absorbing it?"

  "I prefer to stay sane," said Lannon. "Maybe I was the wrong choice for this gift. After all, I'm a simple man set in my ways. Not a great thinker."

  "Maybe that actually makes you the right choice," said Lothrin. "Maybe you were given the Eye because you can handle its power."

  "And the other Dark Watchmen?" said Lannon. "They were also chosen by the Divine Essence. That fact is always in my mind."

&
nbsp; "You must stop dwelling on that," said Lothrin. "You are unique, Lannon. You must have faith in yourself, or you will indeed share their fate."

  "I'm trying," said Lannon.

  A faint cry reached their ears, coming from the direction of the camp. For a moment they simply stood in the moonlight, their thoughts still sluggish--as if they were almost asleep on their feet.

  Then Lothrin said, "That sounded like Vorden."

  With that, the Eye of Divinity sprang into sharp focus. The heavy fog was pushed away from Lannon's mind, leaving him certain some sinister spell had just been broken. "Hurry!" said Lannon. "I think our camp is under attack!"

  ***

  When they reached the tents, a shocking scene was revealed. Vorden and Galandra lay unconscious on the ground, and racing toward the camp were three Guardians--the famed Golden Knights of Bellis. These inhuman warriors were almost invincible in their armor that gleamed pale in the moonlight. They moved with astonishing speed and agility in spite of their full suits of armor, bounding toward the camp with the speed of charging wolves, their swords drawn. They were focused on a single target: Prince Vannas, who was strolling casually toward them as if unaware of the dire threat. In seconds he would be cut down.

  Lannon and Lothrin cried warnings to the prince, but he seemed oblivious to them. He held the black pouch that contained the White Flamestone, as if ready to hand it over to the Guardians. He appeared dazed, his steps slow and awkward. He paused to glance up at the moon.

  Lannon seized the prince with his power and dragged him backwards, even as the Guardians' swords slashed the air where he had been. With a fierce tug, Lannon pulled Vannas to safety--charging in front of him, his own sword drawn. He and Lothrin met the three Golden Knights in a clash of blades, determined to keep them from getting to the prince.

  But one of the Guardians twisted around them and made for Vannas, his sword poised for the kill. Lannon leapt on the Guardian's back and tried to unlatch his helm, while Lothrin defended Lannon. The Ranger blocked several attacks aimed at Lannon from behind, and then Lannon freed the helm, tossing it aside. At that point the Golden Knight gave a furious twist and shook Lannon loose.

  With the Guardian's head exposed, Lothrin drew a dagger and hurled it. The steel blade lodged in the back of the Guardian's skull, piercing green, scaly flesh and the stout bone that lay underneath. The effort of throwing the knife left Lothrin open to attack--even as Lannon moved to help him--and he took a stab to the shoulder that made him gasp in pain.

  Hissing with agony, his forked tongue flicking from between his jaws, the Guardian clawed at the dagger for a moment, but the damage was done. He staggered forward mindlessly, knocking Prince Vannas aside in the process, and then fell across the campfire. Soon reeking black smoke arose, as he burned to a crisp within his golden armor.

  Lannon lifted another Guardian and flung him into some rocks. The Guardian lay stunned for a moment, giving Lannon time to unlatch his helm while Lothrin battled the remaining foe. Lannon didn't look directly at the horrific, reptilian face underneath--a face that possessed hypnotic eyes that could freeze a person's soul. Instead, he simply lashed out with his blade and beheaded the foe. The lizard-like head rolled down the rocks and touched his boot, the jaws still moving as if seeking to bite him. In disgust, Lannon kicked it away.

  Lannon turned to find Lothrin in peril. The Ranger was lying on the ground, the Golden Knight standing over him with his sword poised for a downward thrust. Lothrin's shoulder wound had caused his arm to give out, drastically weakening his battle prowess. The Ranger seized the Guardian's armored leg and yanked, but he was unable to pull the heavy warrior off his feet.

  Lannon froze the Guardian for a moment, giving Lothrin a chance to rise and unlatch the helm. With the reptilian head exposed, Lannon hurled his Dragon-sword right through one of the creature's snake-like eyes. The Guardian toppled over, one golden gauntlet clamped around the bony sword, and lay still.

  Groaning, Lothrin clutched at his shoulder.

  "Are you okay?" Lannon asked, even as he used the Eye to search for more danger. "That wound looks close to the heart."

  "It is," muttered Lothrin. "I was fool for letting down my guard. I'm really tired of these Golden Knights. Too much armor for me."

  "They're tough," Lannon agreed, wearily.

  Prince Vannas simply stood there gazing into the distance, clearly ignorant of the battle to save his life.

  "I need healing," said Lothrin. "Soon."

  "Yet this battle is not over," came a deep voice. A moment later, Vorhevia stepped from the shadows to confront them. The High Wizard of Bellis carried no weapon other than a pale, twisted oak staff. He looked like a giant, black-and-silver bird of prey in the moonlight, with his flowing robe, hawk nose, and black eyes. He gazed impassively at Lannon.

  "Wrong," said Lannon. "Your fighters are dead. The battle is over. I suggest you flee back to wherever you came from. Your ambush has failed."

  "Yes, it has failed," said Vorhevia. "But it was close. A few more seconds and your prince would be dead, the Flamestone in my possession. Surely you must give me credit for a near victory."

  "This isn't a game," said Lannon. "Leave now or face my blade."

  "Don't let him escape," said Lothrin.

  "But you need healing," Lannon reminded him.

  "I'll be fine," said Lothrin. "Arrest him, or kill him, High Watchman. But letting him go is out of the question."

  Vorhevia nodded. "The Ranger speaks true, Lannon. I am guilty of staging this ambush. I deserve to be arrested. Come and take me."

  Lannon hesitated, sensing a trap.

  But Lothrin drew his Flayer and leapt in for the kill. Yet Vorhevia somehow seized the swift Ranger's shoulder and froze him. Vorhevia gazed into Lothrin's eyes, and the Ranger fell to his knees.

  "Sleep and know wisdom," said Vorhevia. "Sleep until the stars fade out, the winds blow no more, and only undisturbed dust remains. Sleep until the bones of the earth are lost from time and memory."

  Lothrin toppled over and lay still.

  "Now it's your turn," the High Wizard said to Lannon.

  "Another puppet of Tharnin," said Lannon, sighing.

  "Hardly," said Vorhevia. "As a descendant of Althustus the Dragonforged, I am immune to the charms of the Deep Shadow--just like King Verlamer. We are immune--but you, Lannon, are not."

  "You might think you're immune," said Lannon, "but you serve Tharnin one way or another. Everything you do benefits the shadow realm."

  "No, Dark Watchman," said Vorhevia. "I serve myself first, and my kingdom second. After that, there is nothing."

  "A fool lost in his own dreams," said Lannon.

  "What do you know of dreams?" said Vorhevia. "I am the master of dreams. I walk between realities, in places few will ever venture."

  Lannon had endured enough. He pointed his sword at Vorhevia. "You're under arrest. Kneel down and await my commands!"

  "Arresting me is your reality," said Vorhevia. "Not mine. I am not bound to your perception in the way you think I am. I can simply walk away."

  "Whatever," said Lannon, attempting to seize Vorhevia with the Eye.

  But Lannon's power seemed to miss its target somehow, as the High Wizard stepped behind a thick tree.

  "You can't hide from me," said Lannon, giving chase.

  But he found no one behind the tree.

  Frantically, Lannon scanned the woods, but he could find no trace of Vorhevia. Nothing remained but the plants and animals of the forest.

  ***

  As Lothrin Windbow plunged deep into the realm of dreams, he found himself gazing upon his future son Ethrin--who was walking along a forest trail at night with a bearded trapper. The fact that Ethrin had yet to be born--or even conceived--meant nothing to Lothrin. In the dream, he accepted things for what they were. In fact, this became his reality and he knew nothing else.

  Lothrin marveled at his son--but he was also disappointed. Ethrin didn't look like Birlote roya
lty. In fact, he barely looked like a Birlote at all. His skin was paler than that of a Tree Dweller, and his ears were only slightly pointed. Instead of being silver in hue, his hair was brown and tangled (and clearly in need of a wash) with only a few silver streaks, and his face bore stubble.

  Ethrin was clearly half Norack.

  "My future wife must be Norack!" Lothrin whispered to himself, in shock. He had never anticipated marrying a Norack or producing an extremely rare half-Birlote child. How could this happen?

  But clearly visible on Ethrin's cheek was the legendary and unmistakable birthmark--the leaf that burned. Ethrin was the descendant of Olzet Ka, and the one who could lift the Crimson Flamestone from its bed of straw.

  But Ethrin seemed so strange to Lothrin, and the Birlote Ranger was appalled as he watched the scene unfold.

  It was a bright night, with moonlight shining down on the forest trail, and neither Ethrin nor his friend carried a lantern.

  Ethrin stumbled over a stick and nearly went down. "Stupid stick," he mumbled. He turned to kick at it and missed, nearly falling over again. Slung across his back was a simple hunter's bow and a quiver of arrows.

  The trapper, whose name was Vaska, gazed at Ethrin as if in deep thought. "It's not the stick that's drunk." Vaska was a hefty man, standing well over six feet tall, with steel traps hanging from his belt that clanged together as he walked. His knuckles were skinned from a fist fight in the tavern.

  Ethrin shrugged. "I'm not drunk. Just tired."

  "You're drunk," Vaska insisted. He tried to kick a stone out of his path and almost toppled over. "But I'm drunker. I'm so drunk, in fact, that I feel like singing." He broke into a horrid melody about a lost love.

  Ethrin clamped a hand over Vaska's mouth. "Quiet, you fool. You'll wilt the trees with that bellowing."

  Vaska knocked his arm away. "Don't like my singing, cover your ears. You might not appreciate it, but the ladies love it." He sighed. "Someday I'll sing a woman right into marrying me. You just watch."