Knights: Book 01 - The Eye of Divinity

by Robert E. Keller

  "We are doing everything possible," said Cordus, "to solve this mystery. You have to trust me, and give us time."

  She nodded. "For now, I'll wait and do as you wish. Yet if the road is closed to the public, how will we make our living? We cannot survive on nothing, Lord Knight."

  "From this point on," said Cordus, "you will be paid by Dremlock. You will keep the road maintained for Knightly use. In exchange you'll receive more silver than you ever made from tips, and superior weapons and armor." He took a leather pouch from one of his packs and tossed it to her. "And now here's a tip for your dedication to defending this road, Saranna."

  Furlus and Taris also tossed pouches to her.

  The Ranger sat like stone for several moments, while rain drizzled down. Her green eyes gazed unblinking into Cordus' blue ones. Lannon watched her in fascination. There was something very compelling about Saranna--something rugged and unyielding, yet deeply feminine.

  Finally Saranna nodded. "I agree to your terms for now. But this means nothing, really. As the whole, the Rangers shall decide what must be done. There's more to this tale than I have time to tell you here."

  Cordus nodded. "The message the Rangers sent us was received, so we know what has been taking place out here. But we can spare no Knights at this time. We are scattered all over Silverland right now."

  "A desperate situation?" said Saranna.

  "As desperate," said Cordus, "as any ever encountered by Dremlock. Now if there is nothing else, we must move on."

  "Farewell," said Saranna, "and ride with caution, for the North Road has become black with peril. Four Rangers were killed in the last month alone. The West Drop and East Bloat trails are both overrun by Goblins. There's going to be a meeting at the Dead Goblin Inn tomorrow night, and then we'll learn the fate of the North Road. No one is safe here anymore."

  Furlus eyed Saranna with a smug look. He pointed a thick finger at her. "Save your warnings, Ranger, for those who need it. We can look after ourselves."

  The Ranger's black wolf snarled, eyeing Furlus distrustfully.

  Saranna bowed. "Whatever you say, Tower Master. Good luck to you all. By the way, don't think we are ignorant about the so-called Goblin Puzzle, for it's no great secret!" With that, she galloped on past them and was swallowed up by the fog. The wolf looked them over once more, and then trotted after her.

  "The Goblin Puzzle?" said Lannon.

  "Don’t concern yourself with such talk, Lannon" said Cordus, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "You're going to Dremlock as a Squire. You will train as the other Squires do and receive no special favors. The first thing you need to learn is that some knowledge is forbidden to you at this time. The Goblin Puzzle is something that falls into that category. If you hear someone mention something you don't understand, push it out of your mind for now. We'll teach you all you need to learn, when the time is right."

  "You'll learn about the Goblin Puzzle soon enough," said Taris.

  Cordus shot the sorcerer a warning glance, which Taris blatantly ignored. "Probably sooner than you'll want to," Taris finished.

  Lannon fidgeted about restlessly, tormented with the need to ask about the Ranger's statements, hoping the Knights would discuss it with each other. But they maintained a staunch silence and instead concentrated upon navigating the Greywinds through the rain, mist, and mud.

  At one point they passed the remains of the wagon. It lay on its side in pieces. Even to Lannon's untrained eye, there was no mistaking the claw marks in the wood. Lannon shuddered, pressing close to Taris. For an instant he felt exposed and vulnerable. Goblins had torn apart the wagon and killed the merchant. Who knew what they might be planning? Maybe they were watching right now from the mist and tree branches.

  Not far beyond the wagon, they came across the first great Iracus Trees--the Mothers. Bloated and twisted, with reddish needles on their low-hanging branches, these Goblin-spawning trees had now almost completely taken the place of the others. Their bark was grey and sickly looking, and their roots were huge, rising up in arches and disappearing again beneath the mud. The Rangers had hacked down any of the trees that dared grow too close to the road, and they lay like giant, pale skeletons in the fog. The stench clung to the travelers' lungs and throats with the thickness of molasses, fixing their faces in tense masks as they struggled to breathe.

  "Where will we sleep tonight?" asked Lannon.

  "At the Dead Goblin Inn," said Furlus, with a touch of pride in his voice. "We can rest the Greywinds, take a break from the stench, and get good food. It's for Rangers, mostly. Yet the inn actually does well for business, since it's the only one along this stretch. It's run by an Olrog."

  "The Mother Trees are thinning out," said Cordus. "The Dead Goblin lies just ahead. I can almost smell the incense from here." Even as he finished speaking, the Mothers gave way to the lesser Iracus Trees again, with the road becoming mostly free of roots. The rain suddenly burst into a downpour, and the Knights drove their horses into a gallop. As they passed down a long, straight stretch of the trail, a sign faded into view from the fog that said:

  DEAD GOBLIN INN

  CLEAN ROOMS, GOOD FOOD,

  AND BEST OF ALL,

  NO STENCH!

  The inn was set back a bit from the road, almost obscured by the mist. It was three stories high and made mostly of huge logs. The Knights took the Greywinds behind to a stable, where they surrendered them to a young Ranger whom they tipped generously, and then entered the inn.

  The Dead Goblin was an appropriate name for it. Behind the bar was mounted the boulder-sized head of a Cave Troll, which was the main attraction. But there were also many smaller dead, stuffed Goblins within--such as Vultures, Tree Goblins, and a Foul Brother standing in one corner, its sad, dumb eyes gazing into nothingness and its hands raised as if to ward off the attack that had felled it. Thick stalks of incense burned in every corner, filling the inn with a sweet aroma that almost, but not quite, blocked out the stench of the Bloodlands.

  Lannon stared in fascination at the trophies. Every corner he glanced at seemed to contain something interesting, and his eyes could not take in all the sights with just one pass, or even ten. Mingled with the Goblins were wooden carvings, twisted Iracus Roots that had sinister shapes, and paintings of famous Rangers of the past.

  Several Rangers sat at tables, talking over dinner and drinks. None of them greeted the Knights. Their faces were grim, and they muttered quiet words to each other. A dark tension hung about the place. The Olrog innkeeper, whom one of the Knights addressed as Sambar, was a bit shorter than Furlus, and his huge beard and flowing hair were a darker shade of grey--almost black. Ale was poured for Furlus and Cordus, and milk for Lannon. Taris drank water.

  "There was some trouble earlier this day," Sambar said grimly.

  "We've heard," said Cordus, sighing.

  "More and more attacks!" said Sambar. "Goblins showing intelligence--even organizing into groups. What in Tharnin is going on, Cordus?"

  "I wish I could say for sure," said Cordus.

  "I fear the legends of old," said Sambar. "The Deep Shadow was not destroyed in the ancient war. All the Crimson Flamestone did was drive the Barloak demons back to Tharnin. The Shadow itself still exists. Could it be that another great assault is soon to be waged upon our world?"

  Lannon wasn't sure what Sambar was referring to, since he didn't know much about the history of the land. But he wanted to hear more, for he felt a sudden, overpowering anxiety grip him at Sambar's words.

  Cordus shook his head slowly. "There are many mysteries. But real history is fused with myth. I think the greatest peril to our world lies right here in Silverland, as it has for centuries. Beyond that, who knows?"

  Sambar sighed. "Yet as far as Silverland goes, I fear the North Road is soon to fall. There are barely enough Rangers left to maintain it. I don't know if I can keep the inn open much longer. If the Dead Goblin closes, that's pretty much the end of the North Road. The Rangers need a place to sleep, to e
scape the stench, and so do travelers."

  "It's a matter of money, then?" said Cordus.

  Sambar stroked his beard. "It certainly is."

  Cordus nodded. "Dremlock Kingdom will make a contribution to the Dead Goblin Inn--money and supplies as needed."

  "That solves half the problem," said Sambar. "But what about the attacks? Rangers are getting killed defending a road few use anymore."

  "You need better weapons and armor," said Cordus, "which will be supplied. And as soon as any Knights can be spared, I will send them down this way."

  Sambar nodded. "But we need help in a hurry, Cordus, or it's going to be too late. Only the most rugged Rangers remain, and they're growing bitter toward Dremlock Kingdom." Sambar added in a whisper, "Look at their faces."

  The travelers turned. The Rangers were staring hard at Cordus, anger in their eyes. A couple of them shook their heads in disgust.

  "As soon as I reach Dremlock," said Cordus, turning back to Sambar, "assistance, with the exception of Knights, will be sent immediately. The North Road is vital to Dremlock Kingdom, as it gives us a direct route to the southern cities."

  "But not so vital you can spare a few Knights?" questioned Sambar.

  "We have none to spare," Cordus repeated wearily. "Do not doubt my words, innkeeper. If I could spare even a single one to help defend the road, I would do so. But right now it's just not possible. Now we would like some dinner."

  Furlus licked his lips. "You know what I want, Sambar."

  Sambar nodded. "Red meat, of course. If you weren't so ugly, Furlus, I'd mistake you for an Olrog."

  Furlus chuckled. "Furlus Goblincrusher is everything an Olrog should be, Sambar. I've got blood like the fire pools of the deep, and skin like mountain rock."

  "And the face of a mountain goat," said Sambar.

  That statement brought on laughter from everyone but the Rangers, who continued to glare at Cordus with deep contempt.

  Lannon kept staring a sword that was made of some type of animal bones that hung behind the bar. The sword was elaborately constructed, the bones fitted neatly together to form an elegant and fierce-looking weapon.

  "That is a real dragon-bone sword, my young friend," said Sambar, nodding to Lannon. "It's for sale, at thirty silver pieces. Kingdom pieces, that is."

  Furlus Goblincrusher chuckled. "Thirty kingdom pieces, for a sword made of bones? Waste of good coin, if you ask me."

  "Dragon bone is quite rare," said Sambar. "And stronger and sharper than steel. And much lighter too."

  "I didn't think real dragons existed," said Lannon. "I read in my book, The Truth about Goblins, that dragons are just winged Goblins, like the Vultures."

  "Your book spoke true," said Sambar. "Dragons are a type of rare winged Goblin. The ones spoken of in legend probably never existed. But modern dragons are a very special sort of Goblin, possessing great power. No man has ever slain one, or even seen one die, but their bones can be found in the cliffs beyond the West Drop. They're not easy to obtain, and very difficult to forge into bladed weapons."

  "And those bones are better left to rot," said Furlus. "The best weapons and armor are made from Glaetherin, the strongest metal in existence."

  Sambar nodded. "That may be true, but dragon bone is stout stuff nonetheless, and only Divine Knights are permitted to wield Glaetherin. Even you must admit, Furlus, that dragon bone is a worthy material."

  Lannon's eyes were fixed on the magnificent sword. "I wish I had enough silver. I would definitely buy it."

  "You're better off with weapons and armor forged in our kingdom," said Cordus, waving in a dismissive gesture. "That sword is no doubt a fine weapon, but it is vastly over priced. Sambar has been trying to sell that thing for years."

  "The boy clearly wants the sword," mumbled Sambar. "And goodness knows I could use the money. This is a chance to help me out and help keep the Dead Goblin Inn open for business."

  "But it looks exactly like the Kingdom Sword of Dremlock," said Cordus, frowning. "Some might mistake it for that and believe Lannon has been given special permission to wield it. This could cause resentment."

  "It is better than the Kingdom Sword," said Sambar, "which everyone knows is a fake. Your Kingdom Sword is actually made of Cave Troll bones rather than Dragon bones."

  Furlus chuckled. "Yes, it's true. Our legendary Kingdom Sword is nothing but old Troll bones carved to look like those of a Dragon. It's the worst kept secret in Dremlock, yet always a topic for debate."

  "But my sword is the real thing," said Sambar. "I can prove it." He took down the sword and handed it to Furlus. "See if you can break it."

  Furlus grunted as he sought to snap it two, his huge muscles bulging from the strain. Finally he handed it back to Sambar. "Yes, innkeeper, it is Dragon bone. But it is still second rate compared to Glaetherin."

  "It is slightly different than the Kingdom Sword," said Taris. "As you can see, this sword has a red sash tied to it, whereas the Kingdom Sword is adorned with a green sash. A minor difference, but still a difference."

  "And there you have it," said Sambar. "The sashes are a different color and no one could possibly confuse them. The boy should have this sword."

  "Do you really want the sword, Lannon?" said Taris. "You would not be allowed to carry it until you pass the Color Trials and become a true Squire. And you must never try to claim that it's the Kingdom Sword. You'll have to leave the red sash fastened to it at all times."

  "Yes!" Lannon said excitedly. "I would love to have it."

  "I'll purchase it for you," said Taris. "You can carry it until we reach Dremlock, and then you must leave it my care until after the Color Trials." He nodded to Sambar. "Consider this an additional contribution for your dedication to keeping the Dead Goblin Inn open."

  Furlus shook his head. "It's a fine enough weapon, but not worth nearly that many kingdom pieces."

  Cordus shrugged. "It's Taris' money, and he may do what he chooses with it. And if it helps Sambar out, it's for a good cause."

  Taris paid the innkeeper, and Sambar sheathed the sword and handed it to the sorcerer. Taris then presented the sword to Lannon. "May this serve you well," he said, eyeing Lannon sternly from beneath his hood. "Over time, a dragon-bone sword--just as with any sword made of Goblin bone--will bond with its owner, and in spite of what Furlus believes, it will serve you well enough. This is my gift to the savior of Dremlock Kingdom."

  Cordus slammed his fist down on the bar. "Taris! That's enough of that talk. The boy hasn't even passed the Color Trials yet."

  "Lannon may fail the Trials," said Furlus. "What then of the sword?"

  "I will speak no more of it," said Taris, turning away.

  Cordus patted Lannon on the back. "It's a good sword, and I'm sure you'll do fine in the Color Trials."

  The sword felt light and perfectly balanced in Lannon's grasp. He could barely bring himself to believe that Taris had just given it to him.

  Sambar started to open his mouth as if to say something, but then he closed it again and shrugged. "More ale?"

  That night the travelers bathed themselves and slept in clean rooms. Lannon's belly was full of good food and drink, he had a new sword, and Dremlock Kingdom was growing ever closer. He should have been content. Yet even upstairs, behind locked doors, he could feel the anger of the men and women below. It seemed to fill the air, contrasting the sweet aroma of the incense and merging with the faint stench of the Bloodlands, which could never be completely concealed here. And deep uncertainty weighed down on him, making him restless. Just what was expected of him in the days ahead? How much were Knights concealing from him, and ultimately, what was the risk? His deepest fears whispered to him in his father's voice that death wasn't the worst fate one could encounter.

  Chapter 3: Goblins, Hills, and Elder Lands

  After a quick yet delicious breakfast, they set out from the Dead Goblin. The rain had slacked off, but the mist remained heavy. The Iracus Trees thickened, and the Mothers appeared ag
ain, their arching roots crisscrossing the road. The Knights drove the Greywinds as fast as they dared.

  At one point Furlus' horse stumbled and went down, dumping him headfirst into the mud. Lannon started to laugh, but when he saw the look on Furlus' face, he strangled it. Bellowing curses, Furlus lunged up, his beard dripping filth and his dark eyes blazing with fury. He wiped his beard with his sleeve, grabbed the root that had felled his horse, and tore it two. Dark blood poured out from the severed ends. The angry Tower Master cast the ends aside.

  "I've had enough of this, Cordus!" Furlus' brow was knotted with rage. "We leave a comfortable inn and ride like Tharnin through this slop--for no good reason! We could have stayed another night and waited for better weather."