Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar (Ollanhar Series Book 1)

by Keller, Robert E.

  Lannon was impressed. The Nine Axes were mighty Dwarven Dark Knights, nearly invincible beneath their stout armor.

  “Are you certain?” asked Lannon, still amazed that Dremlock wanted Prince Vannas to go on the journey. “It just seems like a grave risk to take the White Flamestone so far from Dremlock, considering what happened last time while we were in Kalamede.”

  “Yes, we were invaded,” said Furlus. “But things have changed. Currently, this is a war of expansion—a quiet war, if you will. We are attempting to grow, to gather power, even as Bellis does the same. Power, Lannon. And what is more powerful than the mighty Flamestones? We need to obtain the one on Scalmfort Island before King Verlamer does.”

  “He knows of it?” asked Lannon.

  Furlus’ nodded. “Not only does he know of it, but we believe he has already twice tried to obtain it—sending large battalions out to sea. However, his warriors never returned.”

  Chills crept over Lannon’s flesh. He exchanged grim glances with the others. “So the mighty warriors of Bellis vanished at sea…or on the island. But what manner of doom befell them?”

  “We don’t know,” said Furlus. “And that’s exactly why the White Flamestone must go with you. Also, Verlamer doesn’t give up easily. He will send more warriors—perhaps in even greater numbers—and next time he might succeed in his goal. If he obtains the Green Flamestone, it could make him invincible.”

  Prince Vannas smiled. “I guess all of us are going.”

  “Even me?” asked Dallsa, rising from a chair in excitement, bread and cheese dangling from her fingers. However, she also looked a bit fearful.

  “We’ll need a healer,” said Lannon. Seeing the look on her face, he added, “I won’t force you to go, of course.”

  “I’ll go,” she said, her face growing somber. “It’s my duty.”

  “Count me in,” said Bekka Nightspear. “You will need Blue Knights on this quest. I can lead them. I am also a skilled hunter.”

  “Agreed,” said Lannon. “We should take at least ten Blue Knights and ten Red with us—just a small company so we don’t attract too much attention.” He glanced at Furlus. “Does that sound like a wise plan?”

  Furlus shrugged. “Hard to say. Maybe you’d be better off taking an army with you, but since we can’t spare that many Knights right now, I guess it doesn’t matter. All we can do is hope for the best. With the Eye of Divinity and the White Flamestone, there is a chance for success.”

  “When do we leave?” asked Aldreya.

  “Once Lannon is fully healed,” said Furlus. “By then the Nine Axes should have arrived. Meanwhile, I’m going to head over to the town and check on progress. I will also let Daledus know he is going along.”

  Lannon smiled. “Thank you, Master Furlus, for coming here to guard Ollanhar. It couldn’t be left in more capable hands.”

  Furlus frowned. “No need to address me as Master anymore, High Watchman. Just call me Furlus from now on.”

  Lannon found it strange to be considered on the same level as Furlus Goblincrusher. He wasn’t sure he deserved such status at his young age. How had things progressed so quickly? It seemed not long ago he had been an uncertain Squire of Dremlock under constant orders from those ranked above him. The Eye of Divinity, and a strong, stubborn will, had worked in Lannon’s favor.

  “May good fortune find you all,” said Furlus, guzzling some ale and then slamming down the wooden mug onto the tabletop to conclude the meeting. He did not smile, his face darkened by a tense shadow.

  Chapter 4:

  The Tower of Riddles and Dread

  Later that night, when most of the tower was asleep, Lannon found himself feeling restless, eager to begin the adventure. He sat in his bedchamber, tapping his foot on the floor and wondering what to do with himself.

  It was not the way of Divine Knight—especially one in a position of leadership—to find time to be bored, but it was Lannon’s way. After only two decades of life, he still had much to learn. Lannon hadn’t yet matured to the point where he knew how to keep himself busy. He bore many great responsibilities but often found himself bored and lacking direction.

  He felt good enough to wander around a bit, but leaving the keep was too dangerous, considering he was still in a weakened state. Ollanhar Tower held many areas that Lannon had not yet explored—hidden and perilous places where great rewards might lurk. But he wasn’t sure he was fit for attempting such explorations. Instead, he lifted a book from a nightstand. It was titled 600 Uses for Dragon Scales. He read a bit and then laid it down again. He sighed.

  A loud knock on the door broke the silence. A moment later, Vorden Flameblade stood before him. Vorden was wearing his heavy armor—which was unusual for this time of night—and his sword hung from his belt.

  “Greetings, Lannon. How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, actually,” Lannon replied. “Still have some pain, though.”

  Vorden nodded. “So we’re leaving soon on this long adventure. Furlus thinks it will be terribly dangerous—to the point where he sends the White Flamestone beyond Silverland. Yet I still don’t have a proper sword.”

  “I’m sorry, Vorden,” said Lannon, “but there isn’t much to be done about it. How many times have we discussed this issue?”

  “I understand,” said Vorden. “You’re weary of hearing about it. But I would like you to give it one more try. Just one more.”

  Lannon looked away. “It doesn’t matter. I know I can’t do it. Besides, I’m not sure I would even be able to climb up there, with my injury and all.”

  “With the Eye of Divinity,” said Vorden, “you can make the climb.” He sighed deeply in frustration. “As your best friend, I’m asking you to make the attempt. Without a proper sword, I’m very weak. I have a great deal of sorcery but no blade to channel it through. Such a waste!”

  “You have a sword,” Lannon pointed out.

  Vorden drew his heavy steel broadsword—an excellent sword that most Knights would have treasured—and gazed at it with contempt. Then he held it up. He focused on it and the blade grew red hot, smoldering with the fires of sorcery.

  Lannon shrank back from the heat.

  As Vorden shook his head in disgust, the blade began to droop into melted ruin. He slammed it down on the stone floor. “You were saying?”

  “Okay,” said Lannon, “maybe you do need a better blade. But such swords are not cheap or easy to obtain.”

  “Yet Jerret has one,” said Vorden. “And it’s made of Glaetherin—making it one of the sturdiest swords in all the land.”

  “Yes,” said Lannon, “and he deserves it. He earned that blade.”

  Vorden didn’t answer, his expression sullen.

  “You have magnificent armor,” said Lannon. “Maybe the best I’ve ever seen. A full set of Glaetherin armor fit for a king. Most Knights don’t have that.”

  “I can’t strike a blow with my armor,” said Vorden.

  Lannon had no answer for that.

  “What about Birlote steel?” asked Lannon. “Could the sword of a Tree Dweller withstand your sorcery?”

  “I doubt it,” said Vorden. “It might last a bit longer, but sooner or later it would melt. What I need is Olrog Glaetherin and nothing less.”

  Or Dragon bone, Lannon thought. He glanced at his sheathed sword, which lay atop the nightstand. He considered just giving the sword to Vorden, but then dismissed the idea. Lannon also needed a powerful sword. Otherwise he had no chance against foes like that dark rider who had nearly slain him. And the sword was bonded to him and was comfortable in his hands in a way that no other sword could be. It seemed like his friend and he couldn’t surrender it.

  Vorden bowed. “I’ll take my leave, then. Goodnight.”

  “Wait,” said Lannon, wanting desperately to give his friend hope. “I know I can’t open that safe—not yet. But Ollanhar holds other treasures. Maybe we could do some exploring and see what turns up.”

  Vorden shook his head.
“Do as you wish, Lannon. I’m going to town to have a drink. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  With that, Vorden left the room, leaving his melted broadsword where it lay. He slammed the door behind him.

  Lannon sat in quiet frustration for a time. The truth was that weapons and armor made of Glaetherin or Dragon bone were extremely rare. Most Knights got by without them, relying on iron and steel. Most Glaetherin items belonged to the Grey Dwarves or to Knights who had done something truly heroic. Jerret’s sword was an oddity, because many questioned whether or not he actually deserved it. Lannon’s own sword had cost a fortune—a gift from the wealthy Taris Warhawk. Yet at the peak of Ollanhar Tower stood a safe containing several Glaetherin swords that had once belonged to the Dark Watchmen—a priceless treasure trove that Lannon couldn’t access. He sympathized deeply with Vorden, but High Watchman or not, Lannon was unable to help him. King Verlamer had robbed Dremlock of many great treasures—including Lannon’s own irreplaceable throwing star—and nothing could be done about it.

  Lannon lay down to sleep, but found himself feeling far too restless. He grabbed his sword and put on his leather boots. It was time to explore.

  ***

  When Lannon stepped into the hallway, he was surprised to find Vorden standing with his back to the wall. Vorden’s eyes were closed, his face bathed in crimson from the glow of a torch that was mounted above him. He looked like an armored statue that had been standing there for time untold.

  “I thought you headed to town,” said Lannon.

  Vorden shrugged. “I was thinking.”

  “About what?” Lannon asked. “A new sword?”

  Vorden’s shot him an irritated glance. “No, not that. Just things in general.” He sighed. “I was wondering if…if I’m in the wrong business.”

  “What do you mean?” Lannon was gripped by sudden concern. He always hated to see his friends begin to doubt themselves.

  “Face it, Lannon, I’m not who I used to be.” Vorden lowered his gaze. “I can’t get over what happened to me—how I turned against Dremlock and all my friends. The evil sorcery is still within me, trying to break free.”

  “But you’re extremely valuable to Ollanhar,” said Lannon. “You’re one of the best fighters we’ve got. You’re a Divine Knight, Vorden. You swore an oath to defend this tower and what it stands for.”

  “You could release me from that oath,” said Vorden. “And as a friend, you would do so if I asked it of you. Am I right?”

  “Don’t ask it,” said Lannon, dreading the thought. “Ollanhar needs you! We’re about to go on a long and perilous journey, into lands we know nothing about. I definitely want you at my side.”

  “But I’m practically useless,” said Vorden. “What good is a Knight with no blade?”

  Ah, so it was indeed about the sword. Relief flooded through Lannon. This, at least, was something he could deal with.

  Lannon nodded. “I’ll try again to open the safe. But I can’t promise anything. I very much doubt I will succeed.”

  Vorden hesitated. “I don’t know. If you do manage to open it, I’ll be compelled to stay and fight on.” He stood in silence for a few moments and then added, “Maybe it’s time for me to quit, to retire from Knighthood forever.”

  “How can you just walk away?” asked Lannon, in disbelief. “You’re making a name for yourself as a great Knight. You’ve been given a tremendous honor by being made part of the Council here. Your future is bright, my friend.”

  “No, my future lies in shadow,” said Vorden. “Using my abilities causes me to lose myself. I think I would be better off settling down in some quiet town and avoiding trouble. I’m serious about this, Lannon.”

  “You’re afraid,” said Lannon, suddenly realizing the truth. Vorden was feeling the same fear that Lannon often felt—fear of being lost to the Deep Shadow. The darkness was always hungry to enslave souls, and exceptionally talented Knights like Vorden and Lannon were prime targets.

  “Yes,” said Vorden. “Very much so. I fear turning evil again and causing massive destruction. It haunts my dreams, Lannon. And the Hand of Tharnin whispers to me in the night. I’m constantly reminded that I was once a raging monster.”

  “But Taris Warhawk has faith in you,” said Lannon. “He believes you can resist the evil and use your abilities for a noble cause. I wholeheartedly agree with him. Your will is very strong.”

  “Taris is a great sorcerer,” said Vorden, “and an extremely wise man. But he doesn’t know everything. He has been wrong before.”

  Lannon had no answer, so he simply stood in silence waiting for Vorden to decide. He wondered if Vorden was right. Maybe the only way Vorden could save himself from the Deep Shadow was to stop using his abilities. Lannon faced the same peril—the possibility of losing his soul to Tharnin as the Dark Watchmen had so long ago. Who was he to tell Vorden what choice was best for him?

  They stood in silence, as the torch flickered above.

  After several moments, Vorden stepped away from the wall and smoothed out his dark hair. He adjusted his armor. “Well, I guess I’ll carry on.”

  And that topic was laid to rest.

  Vorden smiled. “So you’re going to give it another try, huh?”

  “If that’s what you want,” said Lannon.

  “You know it is,” said Vorden, patting him on the shoulder. “I only ask one thing—that you believe in yourself. I know you can do it.”

  “I’ll do my best,” said Lannon. With each failed attempt to unlock the safe, his confidence diminished, making him wonder if he truly deserved to be the High Watchman of Ollanhar. The glorious treasures within the safe were his for the taking, but only if he was fit to possess them. Somehow, he had to convince himself that he was indeed the High Watchman and not an imposter.

  Lannon grabbed a torch and they ascended the stairs past more rooms filled with sleeping Knights, until at last they stood in the tower’s Sky Chamber with its smooth marble walls and dome-shaped ceiling. Sixty feet above them was a hole in the ceiling, from which a rope hung down. Lannon placed his torch in an iron holder on the wall and then gazed up at the hole, dreading the lengthy climb, his injury throbbing with pain. The shadows were thick in the chamber, flicking on the marble walls—remaining Lannon that evil sorcery lurked here that would seek to make him fail. But he had made a promise to Vorden and would not turn back.

  “Why did you bring a torch?” asked Vorden. “We can both see fairly well in the dark. Why would you ever need a torch?”

  “It’s the nature of the Eye,” said Lannon. “I shift its power around based on what I need. Right now I need all my focus for climbing, so seeing in the dark is out. And if I’m very tired or confused, my vision is obscured. And there have been times when I’ve been afraid to use it—afraid of what I might see.”

  “Surely you’ve outgrown that fear,” said Vorden.

  “It will never leave me,” said Lannon.

  Vorden gazed at him thoughtfully. “I’m probably aware of some of the things the Eye shows you—at least the things involving the Deep Shadow. I gained knowledge that will haunt me forever.”

  “You better go first,” said Lannon, wanting to change the subject. “In case I fall. And remember to beware of the dark sorcery here.”

  “You won’t fall,” said Vorden. Nevertheless, he removed his heavy armor and climbed swiftly up the rope—seemingly unaffected by the dark sorcery—until he disappeared through the hole.

  Lannon grabbed the rope and climbed up. It was unpleasant, but the Eye sustained him—dulling his pain and driving away the menacing shadows that swarmed on him. Charged with divine power, Lannon soon joined Vorden on the next floor—the very peak of Ollanhar Tower.

  They stood before the large Glaetherin safe, with its extraordinary wheel lock. The safe dominated the room. Vorden had drawn his dagger and was making it glow crimson with sorcery.

  “Careful,” said Lannon, “don’t melt it.”

  Vorden gave him a wry smil
e. “I’m not that inept, Lannon. I can produce fire without losing a blade.”

  “Then why can’t you fight like that?” asked Lannon.

  “You wouldn’t like the answer,” said Vorden.

  “I think I deserve to know,” said Lannon, “considering I came up here once again to try to open this wretched safe.”

  “Very well,” said Vorden. “In battle, I get consumed with energy and passion. Consumed, Lannon. It’s impossible for me to hold back, and my blade burns too hot. That’s really all there is to it.”

  “So you lack control,” said Lannon.

  Vorden nodded. “I’m not a Dark Watchman like you. I don’t have precise control of my emotions in combat. I fight more like a Grey Dwarf, I suppose. There is a lot of anger inside me, if you didn’t notice. Sometimes I also go berserk and lose myself to it—just like an Olrog.”

  “Maybe you could learn control,” said Lannon. “Ever thought of that?” He truly had no desire to pit himself against the wheel lock again. He was weary to the core of being defeated by it. And he felt Vorden was exaggerating about his lack of control. Vorden had a strong, rational mind. He was not a raging barbarian like Jerret Dragonsbane.

  “I’ve tried,” said Vorden. “It just isn’t how I fight.”

  “I don’t believe it,” said Lannon. “I think you just want a better sword so you can wield more power. That’s what I think.”

  Vorden scowled. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “Of course not,” said Lannon, backing away from a confrontation with his friend. “But I think deep inside that’s what this is about.”

  Vorden hesitated, then shrugged. “Believe what you want, Lannon. But even if that were true, it is a perfectly valid reason considering the dangers we face as Knights of Ollanhar. Now are you going to open it or not?”

  Lannon seized the wheel lock in frustration. He steadied his mind, determined that he would not fail again. He wanted desperately to prove Vorden right for believing in him, but the wheel lock was a mighty barrier. It had been designed to prevent anyone but an elite Dark Watchman from opening it, and Lannon wasn’t on that level yet. He knew it in his heart, but that didn’t necessarily mean he couldn’t succeed. How talented was he? There was no good way to measure it. The Dark Watchmen were long dead, their strengths and weaknesses only revealed vaguely in books.