Doomar glanced at the approaching ship, looking fearful. His knuckles were white as he gripped the sides of the boat. "It's getting awfully close, Lannon. We might soon be in range of their catapult."
Lannon traded places with Doomar. He touched the water. "Not terribly cold. But not as warm as I'd like, either." A few weeks earlier, the water might have been comfortably warm, but with the fall chill settling in each night, taking a swim would not be a pleasant experience. The Eye, of course, could help shield Lannon from the cold if needed, but he hated to waste precious energy.
Doomar grabbed the oars. "Should I row?"
Lannon shook his head. "Not yet. Just let yourself drift until I summon you--but not too far away. Stay just out of range."
"How can I judge their range?" asked Doomar. "I don't possess the Eye of Divinity, Lannon. And I don't know much about ranged combat."
"Use your Dwarven instincts," said Lannon.
Doomar frowned. "But they're not very reliable."
Lannon shrugged. "I don't know what else to say. Just don't get yourself killed. Your mother would haunt me forever."
"You're actually going to do this," said Doomar, in amazement. "You're going to swim right at a warship of Bellis."
"Why not?" said Lannon. "I need to get close so I can fight."
"But it's insane," said Doomar. "No warrior does that kind of thing. Swimming straight toward an elite warship full of soldiers?"
"It's dangerous, obviously," said Lannon. "But necessary."
"At least they won't be expecting it," said Doomar. "Who would ever expect such a bold move? I suppose that will work to your advantage."
The Dwarf extended his hand. "Good luck, my friend. You have been excellent company. I hope you survive this."
They clasped hands briefly.
"Thank you," said Lannon. "Wait for my signal before proceeding. If my signal never comes, retreat--because I'll be dead or captured. Row as fast as you can and don't look back. Maybe they won't pursue you."
Doomar sighed. "Your words are not comforting."
Having no comforting words to give, Lannon simply dove into the water and swam. "I'm freezing!" he complained.
"Watch for their arrows," Doomar called out. "There will be a lot of them."
Lannon didn't waste energy responding.
***
The soldiers shot at Lannon the moment he came within range. He was forced to slow his pace so he could deflect arrows. Defending himself while swimming toward the warship was no easy task, but fortunately the ship--The Kraken's Beak--kept moving toward him, shortening the distance. The soldiers emptied their quivers, their bearded faces grim with focus, but many of their arrows harmlessly struck the water around Lannon as he maneuvered across the waves.
The soldiers let out cries of disbelief. These were well-trained, hardened men used to dominating their foes. They had helped King Verlamer conquer one kingdom after the next and had grown arrogant in the process. But Lannon had cut through their ranged attacks without receiving a scratch. They were left dazed as a result, their faces pale and their eyes wide. Lannon could sense their thoughts: How could any mortal man swim right at them so fearlessly without being pierced by a dozen shafts? They couldn't comprehend it. It was beyond bizarre to see a lone swimmer attacking a powerful warship. One of the warriors confirmed their thoughts by crying out, "This is madness!" so loud that surely Doomar could hear it.
Lannon worked his way close to the vessel and seized the hull, plunging his hand right into the reinforced wood. The warship slowed. Lannon hunkered down, only his head and arm visible above the water, and he hung there for a moment, resting. The crew seemed to have lost sight of him, as no arrows flew his way. There were shouts and pounding noises as they scurried about on deck. He could sense their growing panic. They felt like they were facing some demon or monster and were desperate to think of a way to stop his advance. They didn't merely fear death or defeat--they also feared the humiliation of being conquered by a single foe.
Lannon examined the hull, wondering if he could rupture it enough to sink the vessel. He decided he could, but the warship was designed to withstand a lot of damage and it would take a long time to bring it down--too long for Lannon's liking. He decided he would have to engage in battle.
Before they could target him again, Lannon levitated up to the deck of The Kraken's Beak. By the time his boots touched the wooden planks, he was weary and in need of another rest. He questioned his decision to levitate, for it had cost him a lot of precious energy. Yet there was no time to worry about that. More arrows flew his way, which he deflected, and then the soldiers drew blades and charged him.
Lannon didn't want to kill anyone, but fighting with his fists against fully trained soldiers was not a wise move. This was serious business. The quest for the Green Flamestone was at stake--and all of Gallamerth with it. Although not official, Dremlock was at war with Bellis. Lannon dared take no chances in this fight. He drew his Glaetherin sword, and his power flooded the blade.
Lannon cut down the first soldier to reach him, then became a blur moving across the deck. More of his foes went down beneath the wrath of his sword. He seized some of them and flung them into the lake.
The others hesitated, stunned by what they had witnessed. Then they joined together in desperation and rushed him as a crowd, seeking to overwhelm him. However, packing together so tightly was a dire mistake on their part. Lannon sheathed his sword and wrapped himself in the power of the Eye. Then he struck the group like a battering ram, blasting it apart like a pile of dry leaves and sending warriors hurtling into each other with terrible force and into the water below--a devastating strike that took the fight out of a dozen men in an instant. Some lay on the deck with broken bones and head wounds, while others cried out in the water below. Some begged for help.
Lannon had no idea how many, if any, he had slain. He didn't pause to check and didn't want to know. For all his abilities, Lannon was not immortal and one wrong move could doom him. His focus was on clearing out the ship and saving his friends. This was a war against the darkest evil, and death and suffering could not be avoided. As much as Lannon hated violence, he was bound to it for the sake of humanity--for the sake of all that was good and pure. But he had strong regrets. He wanted to save everyone, but he had no time. By attacking him, these men were choosing their fate and creating their own doom, and Lannon couldn't help them. Had they chosen to surrender, Lannon would have allowed it--but they didn't. They continued to make war on him, and he continued to fight back.
With all of his foes defeated--either lying on the deck or in the water--Lannon took time to disable the catapult. He tore some of the machinery apart, doing damage that would take hours or days to repair.
"Help me, please!" one of the fallen soldiers begged Lannon. He gasped for breath and then said, "I'm in terrible...pain! Put me out of...my...misery!" The man was writhing about from some serious internal damage. Lannon scanned him with the Eye and saw that he had a chance to survive.
"I'm not a healer," said Lannon. "I cannot help."
"Kill me, then!" the man pleaded. "I'm dead anyway."
"I can't do that," said Lannon. "It is forbidden by Knightly law."
"Curse your Knightly law!" the man cried. "And curse you...with it!" He went into a spasm but remained conscious.
Lannon walked to the rail and waved to Doomar. He could see men swimming about below, and others that weren't moving. How many had he killed? This thought made him remember that he had once slain his own teacher, Garrin Daggerblood--a man corrupted by the Deep Shadow. He had also killed one of his close friends--Timlin Woodmaster, who had also been corrupted by evil. Those memories were like a stab of pain to his heart.
He couldn't fathom how anyone could enjoy war. Jerret Dragonsbane delighted in it, always waiting for the next battle as if death and pain meant nothing to him. Every death brought suffering to someone's family, yet Jerret seemed utterly dismissive of that fact, caring only about pr
oving himself. The barbarian mindset continued to elude Lannon, and he was grateful for that fact. He didn't want to be like Jerret. He wanted to care about everyone, even his foes.
Lannon tossed some wooden objects down to the soldiers--crates, boards, and barrels. The soldiers clung to them, bobbing upon the waves. Yet the dead floated with them--a reminder that even Lannon could not avoid killing now and then. And he thought perhaps it was foolish to try. By saving his enemies, wasn't he simply giving them a chance to recover and continue their evil cause? Still, Lannon was not going to stand around on deck and watch men drown. It was not his way. Dremlock's laws allowed for acts of compassion toward the enemy--though at times throughout history Knights had gone too far in aiding their foes and had been charged with treason. Lannon was confident his actions were not treasonous. Kuran Darkender had been renowned for his compassion toward his enemies.
As Doomar drew up alongside the ship, one of the soldiers--who wasn't wounded at all--swam to the rowboat and climbed in. He was a large man with a black beard and a hateful expression. He held a dagger in one hand, and there was murder in his eyes. He gazed at the painting of Doomar's mother that was lying on an empty seat. "Who's the ugly old hag, Dwarf?"
Doomar's black eyes narrowed. "Get out of my boat. You were not invited. How dare you threaten me with that knife when I have done nothing to you? And how dare you speak ill of my mother?"
The soldier spat on the painting. "I'll cut out your maggoty heart! You're nothing but a sick monster like your friend. No human conquers a warship on his own. Goblin spawn from Tharnin!" His face twisted into a mask of hate. "Goblin spawn, Goblin spawn!" Drool hung from his lips.
"Leave me alone," said Doomar. "Go away." For an instant he looked wounded, and then his face darkened with rage.
With a spiteful hiss, the soldier lunged at Doomar, swinging the dagger. But Doomar caught the fellow's wrist and lifted him into the air. Doomar stood for a moment, shaking with rage, then hurled the soldier against the warship so hard that bones and boards cracked. The limp man dropped into the water.
Doomar stood there for a moment, trembling. Then he glanced up at Lannon. "He shouldn't have attacked me."
Lannon nodded, amazed at the Dwarf's strength.
Doomar wiped off his painting. "I suppose I should have kept this in my pack. I don't want it to get damaged."
Other soldiers had been swimming toward Doomar's rowboat, but after witnessing the Dwarf's lethal display of strength, some of them held back. Two determined fellows continued on, however.
"Stay away from my boat!" Doomar warned.
"Just get going," said Lannon. "I'll catch up."
Doomar rowed away, leaving the soldiers to their fate.
Lannon jumped in and swam after him. He soon caught up and climbed in. He took over the oars and headed for the two remaining warships.
Doomar appeared miserable. "Why are people so cruel and wretched? If he hadn't tried to stab me, I wouldn't have harmed him. And why spit on my mother? What did she ever do to him?"
Lannon had no answer. He was once again rowing like a madman. "People create a lot of misery. There is so much bitterness in this world. Life seems to have little value for some, whereas money is always valued. It doesn't make any sense, if you think about it."
"How do you deal with it, Lannon?" asked Doomar. "The violence, I mean. You did a lot of damage on that ship."
"I shouldn't talk," said Lannon, who wanted to avoid that grim topic. "I need to focus."
"But this is important," said Doomar. "As a Squire, I need to know."
"I'm a Divine Knight," said Lannon. "Sometimes Knights have to injure or kill. Combat is a brutal and messy affair." He shook his head at the memories. "As a Knight in combat, you will see sights that will scar your soul--the darkest side of humanity." He took a deep breath and said, "I've even heard soldiers cry out for their mothers like lost children as they lay horribly wounded."
"I can certainly imagine that," said Doomar, nodding.
"I'm not proud of what I did on the boat," said Lannon. "But what choice did I have? I couldn't leave my enemies intact to operate the warship. My friends are fighting for their lives as we speak."
"Of course," said Doomar. "I don't hold that against you at all. But how do you get used to the bloodshed?" The Dwarf shuddered.
"I didn't kill that many soldiers," Lannon pointed out. "I don't have an exact count, but it wasn't many. I can't even be totally certain I killed anyone." He knew that last statement was ridiculous, but he was frustrated. He had done his best to spare his foes, and Doomar's questions gnawed at him.
"Some were facedown in the water," said Doomar. "I would assume they weren't getting air. Therefore, they were dead or dying."
Lannon sighed. "Can we change the subject?" Lannon wanted to point out that the soldier Doomar had hurled against the warship probably wasn't doing so well, but he realized it would have been petty.
"Please answer my question," said Doomar. "How do you get used to it? You have a caring personality, yet you don't shy away from a fight."
"I don't get used to it," said Lannon. "I'm always troubled by bloodshed. But as a Knight, my duty is to defend the land and do what I must. That's your duty now as well--as a Squire. Compassion is a great thing to embrace, but if someone wants to avoid killing completely, they shouldn't be a Divine Knight who defends the land. They should seek a peaceful way of life instead."
Doomar sighed. "I must reveal something, Lannon. I have an issue with my temper. When someone calls me a monster, I get...upset. I didn't actually intend to throw that man so hard against the ship. I fear that I killed him. And I too hate bloodshed. But people make me lash out. What can I do?"
"Yes, you have a temper," said Lannon, raising his eyebrows. "But the soldier tried to stab you, remember? You defended yourself."
"Is that wrong?" the Dwarf asked.
"Of course not," said Lannon. "We all have a right to defend ourselves, along with our homes, our lands, and our families. Even our money and goods. People choose their own fate. That soldier chose his."
"I understand that," said Doomar. "I mean is it wrong for me to have a bad temper?"
"As a Squire, yes," said Lannon. "You must learn to control it. I realize that's not always easy for a Dwarf, but it should be your goal." The truth was that most Dwarves took great pride in being hot-tempered, even those who had become highly disciplined and honorable Knights. They relished battle and bloodshed. The odds of Doomar containing that side of his personality were slim at best. He was already the most passive and somber Dwarf Lannon had ever met, and really, what more could be expected of him? Still, Lannon offered the challenge.
"I'll try," said Doomar. "I truly will."
But Lannon barely heard him. As he looked on in dread, the largest warship began moving toward the Temple vessel. It seemed to be closing in for the kill--perhaps with the intent to ram the much smaller ship. Lannon realized he wasn't going to make it in time. But where was the White Flamestone? Why hadn't Prince Vannas burned those enemy ships to ash? It seemed there were only two possibilities--either Vannas was dead or the Flamestone was lost.
***
As Ethella's warship came within bow range of The Golden Promise, one of her giants fired a spear-sized, smoking arrow onto the Paladin ship's deck. The arrow burst apart, sending hissing, flaming fragments all over the deck. The scattered objects burned with crimson fire, quickly igniting whatever wood was touched, threatening to turn the ship into a fireball.
The ship's deck was utter chaos as crewmen scurried about with buckets of water in a frantic effort to extinguish the strange flames. Meanwhile, arrows tore across the deck. A young Paladin Hopeful went down, her thigh pierced with a feathered shaft. Another one caught an arrow to the throat and died instantly. Huenov and the Rangers fired back in an effort to provide cover.
Then Huenov cried a warning from the lookout: "They're trying to board us!" He then proceeded to shoot at several large rowboats
packed with fighters that were approaching from the two warships. A few soldiers went down from his arrows, but the rowboats continued on swiftly across the waves.
Aldreya ordered Prince Vannas to hide behind some crates. The prince obeyed without question, sullenly hunkering down in his hiding place. He lay there looking miserable, the fight seemingly gone out of him.
Due to the flames and the arrows, The Golden Promise was not able to prevent Bellis from boarding. Ethella's soldiers hurled grappling hooks over the rails and swiftly scaled the ropes. Soon the deck was flooded with soldiers--agile fighters who wore black, lightweight armor that protected them from head to toe. Ethella's archers were forced to be more selective with their attacks, however, for fear of hitting the invading warriors. The battle was going to be decided at close range, with blades. Ethella's goal was to finish things quickly before Lannon could arrive--but she wasn't certain of victory, for as the fight raged on, her huge warship moved out of range again, leaving the smaller one to fend for itself.
The invading soldiers were elite swordsmen called Stormers (so-named because of the coordinated fury of their attacks). They charged the Knights and crewmen, their crimson swords matching the color of the late-afternoon sun. They were used to swift victories. In fact, they had never lost a battle. They were part of King Verlamer's elite Hammer Force--groups of extermination squads who struck fast and hard and with supreme skill. They didn't take prisoners. Their goal was to slaughter everyone as quickly as possible.
Yet Galandra struck first--shooting one between the eyes with her slingshot. The metal slug shattered bone and dropped the attacker instantly. She gave a weird cry of victory as her foe slumped to the deck.
Two of the warriors charged at Jerret Dragonsbane. Their attack was so flawlessly coordinated it seemed Jerret was encountering a single foe that fought with two swords. They moved with mesmerizing grace and skill. But the barbarian was ready. After blocking their strokes with his broadsword, he drove the burning blade through the heart of one. The other fighter tried to impale Jerret, but he smashed the sword aside and beheaded the man.
Knights: Legends of Ollanhar Page 27
