"It is very risky," said Barlow. "If our spies are captured or killed, we might lose the advantage. Bellis would get here first."
"Yet not securing Kalamede is also very risky," said Cordus. He smiled. "And I have some good news as well. Borenthia has opted to send three-hundred Birlote archers to help secure Dremlock. These are elite fighters from the king's army. They should be arriving in about a week."
Krissana smiled. "This is wonderful news! And quite unexpected."
"Very impressive," said Barlow. "That makes me feel a lot better about sending the White Flamestone to Kalamede."
"It still troubles me," said Vesselin, "to keep the Flamestone beyond Dremlock's walls. But I suppose that nowhere is it truly safe from our enemies. I trust Taris to look after it, and the situation in Kalamede demands our attention."
"My opinion has changed," said Krissana, a proud look on her face. "The Birlote archers will be immensely helpful in defending this kingdom. Yes, I believe we can allow for the mission to Kalamede."
"And what of the Dark Knights?" asked Cordus. "I would like to send our ten best to Kalamede. Just ten, mind you."
"You speak of the Ten Axes," said Krissana. "They are arrogant and wild, and could make trouble for the other Knights."
"They are mighty warriors," said Cordus, "on the level of Furlus himself, if you ask me. Yet they spend their days battling Goblins. We could put them to much better use. Much of the fighting in Kalamede will likely take place in the tunnels below the city. These Dwarves are masters of tunnel warfare and disabling traps. So, do we all agree on this?"
"I'm in favor of it," said Krissana, still beaming over news that her king had sent some of his best archers. "Thanks to the generosity of my king, we will be able to fortify Dremlock and deal with the Ironheart Priests."
"I am in favor as well," said Barlow. "Let us hope we secure Kalamede quickly. Once that task is done, I believe it will be time to bring all of our forces back to Dremlock to prepare for Bellis."
Vesselin sighed. "I'm in favor, but under mild protest. I believe Bellis will strike while Taris is in Kalamede. I just hope our spies will alert us."
"Noted," said Cordus, with a grin. "And our spies do not fail, old friend." He took a celebratory drink. "Now we are moving in a positive direction! Let's get to the next topic. Barlow, you had something you wanted to show me?"
Barlow held up an object in the torchlight. Cordus' eyes widened in disgust at the thing he gazed upon. It appeared to be a large, white eyeball with crimson veins running through it. The black pupil within moved about, as if studying Cordus from head to toe.
"Yesterday," said Barlow, "one of our archers shot down a Vulture that was carrying this object in its claws over Dremlock. We believe this is some type of Goblin, incapable of moving about--an eyeball used for spying. It seems to be completely harmless, aside from its spying potential--though it could have hidden abilities. We suspect it sees things in extraordinary detail and remembers them. Later, it somehow communicates that information to our foes."
"If it possesses knowledge of our secrets," said Cordus, "then it must never be allowed back into enemy hands. Yet clearly there is a need to study it. Hand it over to me and I will place it in our most secure vault." Something about the sight of the creature ignited Cordus' temper. He longed to punish the foul creature for daring to spy on his kingdom. He didn't actually care if it was studied or not, and he couldn't wait to slam the vault door on it and leave it in darkness.
Barlow frowned. "We're not completely sure it isn't dangerous, Lord Knight. Perhaps we should study it a bit more first."
Cordus struggled to fight down rising irritation, even as his gaze was drawn to the eyeball. His temper was quick to get the best of him whenever he felt his independence challenged. "I can protect myself if need be!" he snapped. "I am the Lord Knight, after all. And I say that Spy, if you will, should be sealed in the Sacred Vault. It is too dangerous to be carried around this kingdom."
"Agreed," said Vesselin Hopebringer. "Let Cordus lock the repulsive thing away, before it can make any further mischief. We have studied this Goblin in detail. It has no mouth or other means of inflicting damage. It eats by absorption, and no poisons or venoms have been detected within it. The sorcery it possesses only enhances its vision. As far as we can tell, it is simply a creature that views and remembers things. All of its abilities are focused around spying."
"But Barlow is right," said Krissana. "It may possess hidden abilities. I suggest we leave it in the hands of our sorcerers for further study."
"Nonsense!" Cordus growled. He couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from the vile Goblin. "I will deal with it myself. My Tower Masters and I are the only ones with access to the Sacred Vault. This Goblin must be locked away, out of sight and mind, where our foes can never retrieve it."
Barlow hesitated, then handed it to Cordus. The Lord Knight gazed down at the hideous eyeball, watching the crimson veins pulse with life. The Spy gazed back at him with sudden intensity. It felt cold and slimy in his hands.
"Your time has run out, little Goblin," Cordus muttered to the Spy. "You shall never see daylight again." He shoved the Spy into his cloak pocket.
Barlow gazed at Cordus with deep concern.
"If I may move to a different topic," said Krissana, "have you summoned the Ten Axes? I would like to hear their view on the situation."
Cordus nodded. "They should be gathered outside the Temple by now."
"Before you call them in," said Krissana, "are you certain this is a wise move? If I make speak bluntly, these Olrog fighters have little respect for the Sacred Laws. They are barbarians best suited to guarding the mines."
"They are wild in spirit," Cordus admitted, "but they are very loyal to Furlus. He will keep them in line. And they know their duty is to serve this kingdom. Honor demands that they fight for Dremlock."
Reluctantly, Krissana nodded. "Very well. Summon them."
The Lord Knight called the ten Olrog Dark Knights into the chamber. They shuffled in with a clanking of armor and stood by the altar--a wall of beards, muscle, Glaetherin breastplates and shields, and oversized battle axes. Their black armor was adorned with ancient Dwarven runes in gold depicting love of warfare. Their beards were set in twisted braids called a Death Knot, and their cheeks and foreheads were tattooed with more runes that represented doom to their foes. Aside from Furlus Goblincrusher, these were the strongest Knights in Dremlock. Their knowledge of battle tactics was unsurpassed, yet they preferred to dwell deep underground in the mines, offering strategic advice only when they saw fit. They were arrogant fighters from the Kingdom of Fallenrock in the Olrog Mountains, who believed themselves superior to all others (especially the Birlotes). They were not actually Divine Knights, but warriors on loan from their king.
"The Council has decided," said Cordus, "that the Ten Axes shall ride for Kalamede. There, you will join with Taris Warhawk's battalion and receive orders from Furlus Goblincrusher. We ask this of you because the passages below Kalamede are likely to be heavily trapped and filled with cunning enemies, and your considerable skills will be required."
The leader of the Ten Axes, named Valedos Firehelm, nodded. His face was scarred from a forge accident that had also claimed part of his beard that would never grow back through the scars--a shame and rage that drove him to insanity when in combat whenever he was mocked for his appearance. He wore a full set of Glaetherin armor that didn't seem to weigh him down in the least. "We will go and serve Furlus, and the tunnels below Kalamede will be cleansed in blood."
***
After everyone had left the Temple, Cordus withdrew the Spy from his cloak and sat gazing at it, wondering what secrets it held. He wished Taris and Jace were present to help him unlock those secrets. Dremlock's foes were cunning, and no evil was too wretched for them to explore, no experiment too sinister to be carried out as long as Tharnin Law permitted it. Cordus held a true horror in his hand--a monster no doubt created by the Tharnin alchemists.
The Lord Knight's instinct was to crush the Spy, and he had to struggle to keep from doing so.
"You thought you could expose our secrets," Cordus said. "But you'll never get the chance. You will wither away in darkness." Grinning, Cordus drank deeply from his flask, savoring the potent Birlote wine. It made him dizzy, but it also seemed to invigorate his soul and make his burdens seem lighter.
The eyeball quivered in response, the dark pupil moving about. The feel of the eyeball grew so repulsive that Cordus laid the Spy on a bench and pulled his hand away. He slammed his fist down next to the eyeball. "Goblin wretch! You cannot deceive the Lord Knight!"
He glanced about, his vision blurred from the wine. He realized he was acting like a fool, and he was glad no one was there to see it. He bowed his head, wondering what had gotten into him. Was it the wine, or something more sinister? The Spy seemed to be affecting him somehow, fueling his rage. Perhaps it did indeed possess hidden sorcery.
Cordus wondered if the Mad King of Bellis, Verlamer Kessing, was behind this new breed of Goblin. Supposedly, Bellis had no dealings with the children of the Deep Shadow, yet Cordus didn't believe it. If Bellis could align itself with the Blood Legion, then it could align itself with Goblins. Bellis was always on Cordus' mind lately, filling him with paranoia. Everything was a plot of Bellis until proven otherwise. The Lord Knight slept little, prayed much, and spent his days pondering maps and messages in an effort to figure out King Verlamer's next move. Cordus kept the truth well hidden (unless his love of wine told the tale) that he often doubted himself when it came to leading Dremlock to victory. He hated the name he'd chosen of Landsaver for it seemed to add to his burdens. How was he supposed to save the land from a kingdom that had grown monstrously large by feeding off the corpses of the kingdoms it had conquered?
The Lord Knight guzzled more wine and tried to push such thoughts from his mind. The Spy seemed to mock him somehow, and Cordus considered drawing his sword and ending its wretched existence right there. He realized the Goblin should never have been brought into the Sacred Temple. It was an abomination before the Altar of the Divine Essence.
Moments later, Barlow Whitesword entered the chamber and approached Cordus. He was much shorter than the Lord Knight, and stood looking up at him. "I...I came back to talk to you about the Spy, Cordus. I don't think it is safe for you to be in possession of that Goblin. At first I thought it was harmless, but my instincts are now warning me of danger. Will you allow me to summon our sorcerers?"
"We already discussed this issue," said Cordus. "After I finish my drink, I'm going to carry the Goblin directly to the Sacred Vault. That will be the end of it. We shall let it die in the vault."
Barlow glanced at the eyeball and grimaced. "Please don't lay hands on it again, Cordus. There is something dreadfully wrong going on here. I think this may be an assassination plot. I should never have brought the Spy to the meeting. Now I fear my mistake will end in disaster."
Cordus smiled and patted Barlow on the shoulder. "You're allowing your fears to rule your mind, my friend. Nothing is going to happen."
Barlow choked up with emotion. "If my foolish move causes your death..."
For an instant, Cordus almost considered giving in to Barlow's request. The Lord of the Brown Knights seemed so sincere in his emotions that Cordus was taken aback. But then, as Cordus again gazed at the Spy, his anger returned. "The sorcerers will keep it alive and study it. I'm thinking that's too good a fate for this wretch. To die in darkness--where it can see nothing--is only fitting."
With a groan, Barlow threw down his shield and slumped onto a bench. "There is no convincing you, I see. You're far too stubborn to begin with, and that wine makes you impossible."
"You're tired," said Cordus. "Go and get some..." He let his words trail off in surprise. The Spy had begun to swell, the crimson veins turning blue. Dark tension filled the air--a warning that evil sorcery was at work.
"Flee!" Cordus shouted at Barlow, but it was too late. The Spy exploded in a blast of dark energy. The blast was so potent that Barlow Whitesword was killed before he ever knew what hit him.
As the energy wave struck Cordus Landsaver, his shining Glaetherin breastplate--charged with divine power that drew any attacks into it--absorbed most of the energy. Nevertheless, the Lord Knight was flung across the chamber and into the wall. He fought to remain conscious, but his mind slipped into the void.
Chapter 4: The Prince and the Thief
Lannon awoke to a misty dawn. The rain had stopped beating down on the tent roof, leaving a silence that Lannon found eerie. Sitting up, he saw that Aldreya and Lothrin were absent. He rose and peered out of the tent, to find that daylight was just beginning to reach over the fog-shrouded grassland. He heard a yawn, turned, and saw Prince Vannas had sat up and was stretching his arms.
"Good morning," said the prince, in a cheerful voice. He rubbed his shoulder. "That was quite a battle last night. It left me rather sore." He chuckled. "And to think that a flock of bloated, sheep-stealing birds could cause so much chaos."
Lannon nodded. "I'm surprised I slept, all things considered." He was referring to his encounter with the Wolf. The Vulture attack meant little to him. Lannon was used to being ambushed.
Vannas frowned. "I would assume Aldreya has begun her training early--but I wonder where Lothrin is. I don't understand why the guards let him roam freely. I realize he is not of exceptional importance to Dremlock, but he is part of our group and should be treated like the rest of us."
Lannon shrugged. "Sometimes he likes to be alone. He is a Ranger after all, and they're used to solitude. The guards understand that."
Vannas scowled. "It's something I can never understand. I've always had people around me--friends, servants, family members. I don't care for solitude. Lothrin is strange. He was always like that. That leaf-shaped birthmark on his face is a symbol of ancient sorcery--the leaf that burns."
"But the leaf doesn't burn," said Lannon. "At least, not the one on Lothrin's face. Jace mentioned that. He said only a Birlote with a birthmark shaped like a burning leaf can remove the Crimson Flamestone from its bed of straw. Anyway, I think that's what he said. Too bad Lothrin isn't the one. We could use another Flamestone, as the black one is obviously too evil for Knightly hands."
Vannas laughed. "Jace is a great man, but he is rather insane. I think the Crimson Flamestone will never be removed from the straw. Olzet Ka feared its power and considered it too much for mortals to handle--something I can very much relate to. Why would he ever allow it to be wielded again?"
"I have no idea," Lannon admitted. "But Jace is wise, and if he believes there is something special about Lothrin's birthmark, who am I to dispute it? Jace has been around for two-hundred years."
"Age does not always equal wisdom," said Vannas. "Yes, Lothrin is strange--and quite annoying lately, but that's where it ends. He may have ties to the sorcery of old, but if he was anything truly special, the Divine Essence would have chosen him to wield the White Flamestone instead of me. I mean no insult toward him. My cousin possesses royal blood, and he is a fine Knight and Ranger, but otherwise he is a simple man without much vision."
"I can relate to that," said Lannon. "I was born in the woods to simple folk. I'm not sure what having vision even means."
The prince smiled. "You have vision, Lannon--the Eye of Divinity, which sees everything. That is the only vision you need to find greatness."
"Or death," Lannon said quietly, his mind on the Wolf.
A moment of silence followed, as both young Knights contemplated the dangers that faced them. More ambushes undoubtedly awaited them on the journey to Kalamede, and then they would engage in what was certain to be a bloody battle beneath the streets of that city. Meanwhile, what would Bellis and the Blood Legion do? Would Tenneth Bard return, as Vorden had promised? In spite of all the combat and suffering needed to gain possession of the Hand of Tharnin and the Black Flamestone, Dremlock's future was as murky as ever.
"I'm gu
essing we'll start our journey soon," said Vannas. "I'm looking forward to it. I've grown quite weary of camping here."
Lannon nodded, then turned back to gazing outside. Somewhere out beyond the tents his stalker lurked, bent on his doom. Both Taris and the Wolf itself had hinted that Lannon might be able to slay the beast--if his skills and knowledge were advanced enough. But no one--including Lannon--could predict the Eye of Divinity. No one could give him answers that would ease his mind. Everything was a gamble, and Lannon was weary of living that way. He wanted to understand his place in the world--his destiny. Was he meant to survive and do great things, or perish and be quickly forgotten? The Knights acted as if destiny itself was folly, as if death could strike anyone at anytime. Only Lannon's crazy, shadow-infested father had believed that Lannon had a grand future ahead of him.
"You're thinking of the beast," said Vannas, a knowing glint in his green eyes, "wondering when it will strike. Don't forget that it fears the White Flamestone. In spite of its arrogance, it knows I can destroy it."
"Yet if it chose to attack right now," said Lannon, "you probably wouldn't have time to even get the Flamestone out of your cloak. We would be crushed in our tent. I've seen the beast up close. I know how powerful it is."
"That's a good point, actually," said Vannas. "I will keep the Flamestone out in the open from now on, even when I sleep." Lannon could hear the rustling of fabric as the prince reached into his cloak.
Moments later, Lannon heard a gasp. He whirled around to find Vannas on his feet, a horrified look on the prince's face. A shock surged through Lannon, for the prince's expression could only mean one thing.
"The Flamestone is gone, Lannon!" Frantically, the prince searched his cloak again. He shook out his quilt and then felt around in the tent. He stumbled over Jerret, who awoke with a grunt, hand grasping his broadsword.
"Get off me, you oaf!" Jerret growled, shoving Vannas away. Jerret sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What's wrong with you?"
The Blood of Kings (Book 4) Page 4