Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar (Ollanhar Series Book 1)

by Keller, Robert E.

  Lannon couldn’t deny that Bellis had accomplished its goal. He was left feeling weary, wondering yet again if Ollanhar Tower was worth defending. Aldreya never seemed to waver, but it was difficult to tell what she was really thinking. The newly appointed Green Knight of Ollanhar was an unyielding Birlote who would hide her true feelings and adhere to honor and duty at all costs. And while Lannon had no intention of surrendering, he was fearful of how far Bellis would go in trying to force them from the tower.

  He feared for his companions, who were isolated from the protection of Dremlock’s army and expected to deal with overwhelming odds. A few days before, Aldreya and Vorden had been attacked by poison arrows from a hidden foe as they walked a forest trail. Vorden had been struck, but his unnatural healing ability had allowed him to survive. The assassin had not been caught, and Lannon was certain he would strike again.

  With all the hard work finished for the day, Lannon wandered from the mossy clearing alone and into the oak forest. He paused to glance back at the tower, which was framed against a sky that was streaked red by the late afternoon sun. Dallsa was preparing a late dinner, but Lannon wasn’t hungry. He was restless, longing to wander alone with his thoughts.

  Ollanhar was shadowy and bulky, filled with sinister sorcery and secrets left from the time of the Dark Watchmen. Lannon was now the master of that tower—the High Watchman of Ollanhar—and the ancient spirits that dwelt beneath the keep recognized his authority. But Dremlock did not. By the will of the Divine Kingdom, Aldreya was in charge of this outpost and Lannon was to obey her commands. It was an odd arrangement—the Green Knight ruling over the High Watchman. In fact, Ollanhar had never had a Green Knight before. The position had been created so that Lannon would have to answer to Aldreya. He usually didn’t mind her being in command, but lately she had grown more rigid and demanding, and he found himself disagreeing with many of her decisions.

  Lannon walked the wooded trail between the massive oaks, the shadows deep around him and the animal life quiet. A chill had crept into the air. As he rounded a curve, he encountered a dark figure standing in the trail. Lannon’s hand clamped around his sword hilt, but the Eye of Divinity revealed this to be one of the Blue Knights who patrolled the outskirts of the tower grounds.

  His name was Merrick Nightborn, a lean Tree Dweller who possessed Ranger skills. “Greetings, Master Lannon,” he said, bowing.

  Lannon nodded in return. It still felt strange to be called Master, especially by a Knight who was a few years older than Lannon.

  Merrick was concealed beneath dark blue clothes and armor, with only his face exposed, and he easily blended with the shadows. “I sense something dangerous lurking about, though I’ve not glimpsed it. It could be a Goblin, or another assassin. I would advise staying out of the woods except in daylight.”

  “I’m on my way to check on the town,” said Lannon, referring to a shop and an inn recently built in the hill country beyond the oak grove.

  “It’s doing fine,” said Merrick. “The Goblins never bothered it. I guess they were too busy focusing on the tower.”

  Lannon already knew this, but he felt like visiting the town anyway. He was too restless to return to Ollanhar. “Very well, but I’m going there anyway to have a drink. Thank you for the warning.”

  “Perhaps I should accompany you, Master Lannon,” said Merrick. “As I said, I sense danger lurking about.”

  “I can look after myself,” said Lannon.

  “Of course,” said Merrick. “But it is my duty to guard your life, and in light of the recent assassination attempt on our Green Knight…”

  “I understand,” said Lannon, “but I will continue on alone.” If some foe was creeping around, Lannon could find him with the Eye, and he didn’t want any distractions. And the Blue Knights always seemed on edge, believing that assassins were lurking everywhere—though seldom did any turn up.

  Merrick bowed. “Have a pleasant evening, Master Lannon.” With that, the young Knight moved past him and continued down the trail.

  Lannon sent forth the Eye of Divinity and scanned the forest for danger, but saw nothing except a common Tree Goblin watching from a lofty branch. The tiny Goblin was no threat to Lannon, and he moved on.

  He came to Ollanhar Stable—a long wooden building nestled amongst the trees— and paused by the door to listen, but all was quiet within. There was an armed guard on duty at all times who watched over the Greywind horses, and Lannon peered inside to find him sleeping in a chair, an ale jug in his lap. With a whistle, Lannon woke the guard—a bearded Red Knight who leapt out of his chair at the sight of the High Watchman—and warned him there could be danger in the woods. The embarrassed guard vowed to stay awake, and Lannon left.

  Soon he emerged from the trees and into the grassy hill country. In a small valley between the hills nearby stood the shop and the inn. There were also three other stone and wood foundations for buildings that had yet to be completed. This town, which was named Tower Haven, was protected by forty of Dremlock’s Knights—led by the Grey Dwarf known as Daledus Oakfist—who were ordered to remain there at all costs. Their tents stood amongst the buildings.

  As Lannon approached the town, evening was settling quickly about the land. Some of the Knights on guard duty greeted him as he walked between the tents. Sounds of merrymaking came from the Inn—including a roar that surely had to come from the throat of Daledus Oakfist. Lannon smiled.

  The Greenhill Inn was nearly complete, with only a few rough spots here and there that needed attention. It was a two-story building with a large tavern on the first floor and rooms for rent on the second. The tavern was lit by firelight and lanterns. As Lannon passed between the oak tables, the Divine Knights greeted him warmly, raising mugs of ale.

  Daledus stood at the bar talking to the Dwarven innkeeper—involved so deeply in a loud and animated conversation that he failed to hear the others greet Lannon. Amused, Lannon approached quietly and pinched his shoulder.

  Daledus slammed his ale mug down and whirled around, scowling, eager for a fight. Then his expression softened. “Master Lannon,” he bellowed. “Welcome to my inn.”

  Lannon chuckled. “So you’ve claimed the inn as your own. Or maybe just the tavern and its ale barrels? Why am I not surprised?”

  Daledus grinned. “That’s right—I lay claim to it unless any man can trade punches with me and stay standing.” He raised his meaty fist to Lannon’s chin.

  Lannon seized the fist and lowered it. “I’m not here to spar, Daledus. I had enough of that with King Verlamer. The inn is yours, my friend. I came here simply for a drink and to get away from that tower.”

  Daledus nodded, looking grim. “I don’t blame you one bit, Lannon. I couldn’t spend an hour in that cursed place.” He turned to the innkeeper. “Our best ale for the High Watchman. He fought well today, so I hear.” Some of the other Knights cheered in agreement.

  “Just milk,” Lannon said quickly, his mind flashing back to his father. The old man had consumed ale all day long, as empty jugs piled up around his bony legs. Because of that dreary memory—and others like it from his unhappy childhood—Lannon typically refused to drink any liquor.

  “Milk it is,” muttered the innkeeper, pouring Lannon a large mug of it. “Nice and fresh, brought in this morning—good and cold from the ice box.”

  “But it’s not ale,” said Daledus, with a look of contempt.

  The innkeeper shrugged. “The High Watchman gets what he asks for.”

  Daledus Oakfist was a powerful Grey Dwarf. He typically wore heavy armor and carried an oversized—almost absurd—battle axe, but on this night he wore only a green tunic and brown trousers. He had bushy sideburns, and a bushy beard, that he took great pride in. Like all Grey Dwarves, his hair and thick beard were naturally dark and his eyebrows drooping. He had a large nose that did not bleed easily in a fight and a jaw that seemed impervious to being broken.

  The milk was indeed cold and fresh. Lannon savored it in silence
for a moment, but Daledus was never one to keep still for long.

  “Heard the leader escaped,” he said. “Is that true?”

  “The man on horseback?” asked Lannon, thinking back to the dark rider who had nearly killed Aldreya with his axe. “Yes, he retreated and vanished.”

  “What a shame,” said Daledus. “I hope he comes to my little town, so I can put an end to him. One who consorts with Goblins deserves to die.”

  “He is a powerful foe,” said Lannon. “And I’m fairly certain he will return at some point. I believe Bellis has appointed him the leader in the war against Ollanhar. Whoever he is, he intends to drive us from the tower.”

  Daledus smirked. “I also heard Aldreya is now the Green Knight over there. It seems Dremlock changed its mind about you being in charge—once Cordus Landsaver retired, that is. With Taris as the Lord Knight of Dremlock, I guess it was inevitable that a Birlote would be in charge of Ollanhar.”

  There was no Knight that Lannon respected more than Taris Warhawk, and he felt compelled to defend his character. “I’m sure Taris had a good reason for making Aldreya the leader.”

  “Sure,” Daledus said quietly. “It’s Birlote politics. Always before it was the High Watchman who was in charge of Ollanhar. Everyone knows that. But Taris has to appease the Birlotes of Borenthia if Dremlock wants them to remain friendly. Come on now, Lannon. You know it’s true.”

  Lannon shrugged. Daledus was probably correct, but Taris was a sorcerer of unsurpassed wisdom and Lannon was not about to question his decisions. “I’m fine with things as they are.”

  “Of course you are,” said Daledus. “Because you’re a nice fellow willing to take it on the chin to keep everyone happy. You should speak up now and then, though. Stand up for yourself.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Lannon mumbled.

  “By the way,” said Daledus, “I hunger for adventure. I miss being part of the Divine Shield and roaming the land. If anything comes up, let someone else defend this town. I want to go with you.”

  “Of course,” said Lannon. “I’d be happy to have you at my side, my friend. You’re one of the strongest warriors I’ve ever known.”

  Daledus nodded. “Good,” he muttered in a low voice, “because the men in here have had about enough of me. Bunch of thin-skinned Noracks, always offended over everything. An opinionated Dwarf is too much for these weaklings to handle. You Noracks are a strange lot. Won’t take advice unless you ask for it. Always worried about someone’s tone of voice or expression, or even worse—their politeness!” He slammed his fist down on the bar. “I tell you, Lannon, it makes me want to punch a man straight in the jaw for whining about this or that. But better to have a drink so as not to leave a grown man crying from a broken nose and shame himself…” He guzzled some ale, losing some of it down his beard.

  Lannon took a quick sip of milk.

  “So when do we depart?” Daledus asked.

  Lannon shrugged. “Unfortunately, right now I think we’re stuck at Ollanhar. Things aren’t like they used to be.”

  “You never know,” said Daledus. “A new day could bring anything.”

  Lannon didn’t respond, preferring to enjoy his milk in silence. He too found himself longing for adventure, but he guessed that a new day would bring more of the same—defending Ollanhar from Bellis. Yet in the back of his mind he kept thinking of the dark rider and hearing the words: “You don’t recognize me, Lannon Sunshield. Doesn’t my voice sound familiar to you?”

  ***

  When Lannon stepped from the inn, darkness shrouded the land and a lake of stars shone in the sky. Watch fires were blazing, and the Knights on guard duty held lanterns as they patrolled the grounds, but beyond the circle of light where the tents stood was only blackness. The little town was peaceful, and Lannon longed to stay awhile, but it was time to return to Ollanhar and all its troubles.

  Lannon left the warmth and light behind and made his way into the darkness, allowing the Eye of Divinity to guide him. The Eye revealed more than any light source could, as Lannon strode through the grassy hills.

  Soon the wall of ancient trees stood before him, the narrow trail becoming crisscrossed by gnarled roots as it vanished into the wooded depths. A wolf stood in the trail, sniffing the air, thinking that Lannon was unaware of its presence. But it was not spared from the gaze of the Eye. Suddenly sensing it was being watched, the wolf hurried off into the underbrush.

  As Lannon navigated the winding trail, he began to sense the danger Merrick had spoken of. The Eye glimpsed traces of dark sorcery—an indication that something powerful and evil had passed that way. Lannon drew his sword, wondering if he should have taken Merrick’s advice and avoided wandering the woods alone at night. Now that he could feel the presence of evil, he was made aware of his vulnerabilities. Some of the servants of Tharnin were immensely powerful—perhaps too powerful for this young Dark Watchman to deal with—and walking alone significantly improved his chances of being attacked. Like Prince Vannas and his White Flamestone, Lannon was a target of the Deep Shadow. And the Deep Shadow seemed to hate Lannon even more than it hated the prince—not only seeking Lannon’s destruction but always hoping to make him suffer as well. Of course, Tharnin’s ultimate goal was to turn Lannon into a slave, as it had done to his predecessors so long ago, and Lannon usually feared that fate far more than pain or death.

  But on this night, beneath the sprawling trees, it was death that Lannon feared most, for it seemed like a very real possibility, as the Eye continued to glimpse traces of evil sorcery. Lannon sensed he was being stalked—that some grim confrontation was soon to take place—and he wasn’t confident he was strong enough to survive. This human or beast was using the dark sorcery to hide from the Eye, scattering it along the trail like a fog of confusion, and this foe didn’t care if Lannon knew of the ambush. Lannon could sense an arrogance so deep it was startling.

  Something moved in the shadows next to the trail, and the Eye locked onto it—but it was only a black squirrel scurrying up a mossy oak. Lannon breathed a sigh of relief, but it was only temporary relief, as the foe was still stalking him. He turned this way and that, scanning with the Eye, but he glimpsed nothing but the fog of sorcery that swirled around him. Yet the feeling grew intense that his enemy was bearing down on him.

  Then a deep, inhuman voice broke the still air: “Lannon! Look upon me!” A ball of yellow light suddenly sprang from the darkness and rose into the air, looking like a small version of the moon. It hovered above the trail, just below where the great branches closed together, and lit up the area beneath. Revealed in that light was the dark rider on the Goblin steed who had led the battle against Ollanhar. As before, his hooded cloak kept him concealed, and the Eye could not expose his secrets. He held his huge battle axe in one hand.

  “You again,” said Lannon, chills flooding over him. “What do you want?” Now that the rider had him alone, Lannon was certain there was going to be a fight to the death. He strove to steady his mind in preparation.

  The rider sat in silence for a time, perhaps contemplating whether or not to simply attack. Then at last he said, “You did well in battle earlier, as I knew you would. I watched you from the shadows as you cut down my Goblins as if they were nothing. Your power has grown so rapidly since you first arrived at Dremlock Kingdom. You are now the most dangerous Knight of all, perhaps with the exception of Taris Warhawk. You have become a worthy opponent, Lannon, and I look forward to slaying you.”

  “Who are you?” asked Lannon. “Why don’t you just show your face and get it over with? If we’re going to fight, at least let me know who I’m fighting. Is that too much to ask?”

  “No, it isn’t,” said the rider. He threw back his hood to reveal a grim, black-bearded face with fierce (insane) eyes that gleamed with a violate hue. “Well, do you recognize me? Look into my eyes and you will glimpse the truth.”

  “Tenneth Bard!” Lannon was barely aware he had spoken. He was chilled to the bone at the
realization. The insane eyes told Lannon all he needed to know—this was Tenneth Bard, the ancient Black Knight and sworn enemy of Dremlock. His appearance had changed immensely, however, from the phantom-like mass of shifting shadows that had haunted Lannon during previous encounters. He now looked quite human, except for his gleaming eyes.

  The rider nodded. “Yes, you do recognize me. I see it in your gaze. I have returned at last from the smothering embrace of the Deep Shadow. My humanity has been restored. It was a long and perilous struggle to achieve this—a struggle that you cannot even imagine—but it has been worth it. To ride the land once again…to smell the scent of tree and earth and taste the meat of a fresh kill…” He breathed deeply for a moment, shaking his head. “The wonders of life…”

  Lannon found his voice again. “If you are indeed Tenneth Bard, then what do you want? My fight is with Bellis now.”

  “No!” Tenneth Bard snarled, clenching his hand into a fist. “Your fight is still with me!” His Goblin horse snorted in response, its yellow eyes burning with hatred for Lannon. “I came very close to destroying both you and Dremlock Kingdom. When my plans failed, I had to form an alliance with King Verlamer, a man I despise. But I have other goals that Verlamer is not aware of. I seek to make the Blood Legion mighty once again, and there is something else I desire—the Hand of Tharnin. I believe I am strong enough to control it. Once it is in my possession, I will no longer have to answer to Verlamer or anyone else. I will then take revenge on all those who have wronged me.”

  Lannon sighed. “Becoming human hasn’t made you any wiser. No one can control the Hand of Tharnin. And to live for revenge is an empty life. Tenneth Bard or not, you are pathetic.”

  The rider smiled. “I’m pathetic. Is that so? Yet over the centuries, I’ve simply grown more powerful. Kingdoms rise and fall, but I have benefited immensely from everything I do. I enjoy my life far more than you could imagine. I have a noble purpose—to bring a new order to the land. I have happiness and a purpose. What more could one ask for? What do you have?”