Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar (Ollanhar Series Book 1)

by Keller, Robert E.

  Using the Eye of Divinity, Lannon peered into the safe. Six spectacular swords greeted his vision—swords made of Glaetherin and charged with sorcery. These were some of the mightiest blades ever forged. But the other items in there caught his interest even more—a large silver chalice inscribed with the words The Essence Cup, a scroll that showed the location of six hidden chambers in the tower (only one of which Lannon had explored), a book about the affairs of the Dark Watchmen and Silverland, a detailed map of the portals to Tharnin that existed in Silverland, and another book that was very thick and titled Shadows of Ollanhar. This book held the deepest secrets of the Dark Watchmen—a book that Lannon could have easily read from where he stood. Lannon, however, had been warned by Taris not to read the book until he was able to open the safe. Taris believed the book would only tell him lies—until it rested within Lannon’s hands.

  The safe was the ultimate test of Lannon’s power. Until he could unlock it, he was not ready for the knowledge contained within. He didn’t deserve it. As the last of the Dark Watchmen, the items belonged to him. The very walls of Ollanhar were waiting in breathless silence for Lannon to claim those items and prove that he was, beyond a doubt, the High Watchman.

  Lannon drove the Eye of Divinity into the wheel lock, demanding it open. He made three mighty attempts—but each time the wheel finished spinning, no click could be heard.

  At last, Lannon bowed his head in defeat. “I’m sorry, Vorden. I’m just not ready yet. Maybe I never will be.”

  “You surrender too easily,” said Vorden.

  “Not true,” said Lannon, feeling a spark of anger. “I gave everything I had. It just wasn’t quite enough. I want this safe opened more than you do. I dream about it almost every night. But I need to develop my skills a bit more. Maybe this journey will help me reach a new level.”

  Vorden gazed at him in silence for a few moments, then nodded. “I understand, Lannon. You did your best. Try again, after the journey.”

  Lannon felt sorry for his friend. Vorden had to face the perilous quest with a weak blade. But maybe there was still hope. One of the treasures within the safe was accessible to him—the scroll that revealed that hidden chambers in Ollanhar. In the one chamber Lannon had explored, he had found his extraordinary Glaetherin throwing star. It seemed likely that other treasures could be found.

  Vorden started toward the rope, but Lannon grabbed his arm. “Wait a moment. How would you like to explore a hidden chamber? It will likely be dangerous, but we might find something useful.”

  Vorden hesitated, then said, “I’m guessing all the good swords are in this safe, but…I suppose. I have nothing better to do right now.”

  Lannon read the scroll and selected a hidden chamber. Chills crept over his flesh. This would be no easy task, and death could be the result.

  ***

  The secret chamber was located beneath the tower. Lannon and Vorden went downstairs until they reached Ollanhar’s Entrance Chamber, which was an octagonal room that contained soft rugs, comfortable chairs, and one large circular table. A bookshelf filled with thick tomes stood against one wall, barrels of wine and ale stood in the corners, and shelves held jars of tobacco and other luxury items. This was where the Council of Ollanhar held meetings with outsiders, and it also served as an office for Aldreya, with stacks of papers on the table and locked safes on the shelves holding official documents.

  At the center of the Entrance Chamber was a heavy stone trapdoor with an iron ring embedded in it. Their destination lay beneath that trapdoor.

  “I’m not allowed down there,” Vorden reminded Lannon, as the two warriors stood gazing down at the trapdoor.

  It was true. The lowest level of Ollanhar was forbidden to anyone except Lannon due to the immense danger of the ghosts of the Dark Watchmen that lurked below. They would kill anyone other than the High Watchman.

  “I’m making an exception,” said Lannon. “Just stay away from the ancient door down there, and you’ll be okay. I must warn you, though, that you will experience some intense feelings as the shades seek to frighten you away. They are extremely powerful entities.”

  “I can handle that,” said Vorden. “I’m used to the Deep Shadow, remember? I know all of its tricks. I’ve used them myself.”

  It was a chilling statement. Indeed, Vorden had once been a Black Knight of Tharnin and the commander of the Blood Legion. Lannon sometimes forgot that Vorden had been consumed by darkness. Lannon in fact wanted to forget, but Vorden always seemed to remind him.

  “Steady your mind,” said Lannon. He lifted the trapdoor, and they headed down some stone steps into darkness. Whispers of doom filled their minds, warning them away. When the ghosts realized it was Lannon, they withdrew from him—but Vorden’s presence caused them great agitation.

  Vorden raised his hand as if to shield his face. “Ugh! They’re swarming on me like bats!” The shadows had left the ancient door that stood at the base of the stairs and had surrounded Vorden.

  “Leave us!” Lannon commanded, waving his torch at the ghosts. “We have business here that does not involve you.”

  Reluctantly, the shades withdrew back into the door. They would obey the High Watchman—as long as they felt he was making war on the Deep Shadow. Yet they didn’t fully trust Lannon and perhaps never would.

  “Wretched ghosts,” Vorden muttered, his face pale. He wiped sweat from his brow. “I actually wasn’t expecting that. It was amazingly intense.”

  “I told you they were powerful,” said Lannon. “What did you expect from the ghosts of Dark Watchmen?”

  They quickly exited the stairs just in front of the thick oaken door bound in iron. For a moment, Vorden’s gaze lingered on the door, above which hung a gleaming battle axe. He seemed lost, his eyes fixed on the dark spaces between the moldy planks.

  “It’s an illusion,” said Lannon. “Resist it.”

  But then Vorden’s gaze rose to the battle axe. He pointed at it, his yellow eyes shining with excitement. “But that axe is real, Lannon! I sense great power within it!” He started forward.

  Lannon yanked Vorden away from the door. “Forget you ever saw it. The shades would destroy you if you tried to claim that weapon. They use that axe to guard this portal to Tharnin, to make sure no human or beast passes through.”

  “Sorry,” Vorden mumbled. “I lost myself for a moment.”

  “Never come down here without me,” Lannon warned, fearing Vorden might return later and try to retrieve the axe. “You would only find your doom.”

  “I’m not stupid,” Vorden muttered.

  They stood before a lumpy stone wall that was barren except for a rusted iron torch holder and a circle of runes. Lannon probed the wall with the Eye and found a powerful illusion in front of him that was generated by the runes. A section of the wall was actually missing, yet Lannon could reach out and touch the stone that wasn’t there, feeling every bump and pit.

  “Amazing,” he said. “It looks and feels totally real, but it isn’t. We can walk right through this wall.” He probed beyond it and found a passageway that led to an iron door that radiated dark sorcery.

  With that, Lannon stepped into the passageway.

  Vorden watched as Lannon seemingly disappeared into solid stone, his face bearing a startled expression.

  “Come on in,” said Lannon.

  Vorden stepped forward and bumped the wall with his armored chest. Looking greatly confused, he beat on the stone with his fist. “It’s totally solid, Lannon. Are you sure this is an illusion?”

  “Of course,” said Lannon. “A very potent one. But you saw me go through. Now all you have to do is make yourself believe.”

  Vorden closed his eyes and focused, and with his Knightly training and mastery of sorcery, he was able to join Lannon in the passageway. “That was easy enough,” he said, as he stepped inside.

  “Yes, that was the simple part,” said Lannon. He pointed at the iron door that was just barely revealed in the torchlight. “That
door, however, is the real barrier, and I assure you this one won’t be easy.”

  The door was dreadful—a monstrous construction of iron and dark sorcery that had guarded the passageway for centuries. It was a large circular wheel, covered in smaller wheels, amidst which protruded a demonic face. The face was that of a mighty Barloak Demon of Tharnin, with a bull-like head bearing six horns and an open mouth filled with curved fangs. Eyes of blue crystal gazed at them. Those eyes were currently lifeless, but Lannon could sense the powerful energy within waiting to be awakened.

  A real demon lurked inside the iron door, endlessly patient yet always hungry for victims. Scattered throughout the passageway were the bones of the dead—those who had survived the shades and had sought the treasures that lay beyond this door. They had gambled against the demon and lost.

  Lannon scanned the passageway and found other traps—yet they had all been sprung or deactivated. All that remained now was the demon.

  “Well, this looks rather dangerous,” said Vorden.

  Lannon nodded. “Maybe too dangerous. Is it really worth it just to explore a hidden chamber?”

  Vorden shrugged. “It’s your decision, Lannon.”

  Lannon was eager to find out what lay beyond the door, but he didn’t want to put Vorden in danger. “You should wait here until I disable the door.”

  “Nope,” said Vorden. “If you go, I go.”

  “Then stay behind me,” said Lannon. “I can shield us both.”

  They started forward, Lannon using the Eye to protect himself and Vorden trailing along. As they approached the iron door, the large wheel and the smaller ones began to rotate. A howl like the moaning of the wind arose, and then a hiss as steam poured from the demon’s nostrils. Lannon gazed at the demon head with shock and disgust. Everywhere there were turning, squirming motions, as countless wheels and gears clicked and rotated and tumbled here and there into and out of slots. It was as if the iron structure was truly alive, made of hundreds of moving parts that channeled dark sorcery and magnified its power—all with the intent of slaying intruders. No sorcerer, however mighty, was meant to pass this barrier.

  The demon’s crystal eyes glowed with a frosty blue light, freezing Lannon’s soul. The steam from the nostrils clouded his vision, until only those twin lights could be seen before him. Then a blast like blue lightning shot forth and struck him, knocking him backwards into Vorden, who toppled over.

  Lannon turned and reached down to help Vorden up, when another blast struck him from behind. This one was more powerful than he had anticipated, and he pitched forward onto the floor.

  Vorden rose and charged at the demon, with only his dagger in hand. But blue lightning blasted into his chest and he was hurled against the tunnel wall. His armor glowed red hot where the lightning had struck, and with a cry of pain, he quickly removed it. Underneath, his tunic was burned through and the flesh beneath blackened and severely damaged.

  Lannon leapt in front of Vorden and deflected more lightning with the Eye. It took considerable energy to generate such a shield, and Lannon was quickly tiring. The wound that Tenneth Bard had inflicted on him burned with pain, sapping his strength. He wasn’t nearly as resistant to injury as Vorden (who had been strengthened by the Deep Shadow), and he sensed that if the blue lightning got past his shield, he would be dead instantly.

  Before the demon head could launch another attack, Lannon hurled his sword at one of the crystal eyes. He drove it home with all the force and accuracy that his power would allow, and the blue orb shattered. Yet the other eye launched more lightning at him, which he again deflected.

  Lannon drew his sword back to his hand and hurled it again, shattering the remaining crystal eye. The demon howled in anguish and then went silent, having no further means of attack.

  Lannon retrieved his sword, then examined Vorden. His flesh was burned so deeply Lannon could see exposed bone. “That looks very bad!” he said, groaning. The battle had been far more intense than Lannon had expected. He chastised himself for nearly getting Vorden killed. What had prompted him to take such a risk?

  “I’ll heal,” said Vorden.

  “How can you heal from that?” asked Lannon, in disbelief. “I need to get you to Dallsa immediately!”

  Vorden’s expression of agony turned into a sneer. “I’m not just a man anymore, remember? I’m cursed by the Deep Shadow. It binds my flesh and bone. It is the same skill that Tenneth Bard possesses. I don’t require a healer, as long as my heart still beats.” With that, he put his armor on and leaned heavily against the wall, panting hard from the pain. “We shall continue.”

  “Wait here, then,” said Lannon. “Rest yourself. You’ve just had a hole burned in your chest. I’ll explore the chamber on my own.” He found himself disgusted with the Dark Watchmen of ancient times. That door was a cruel abomination of the Deep Shadow (though Lannon couldn’t deny it had done its job well in defending whatever lay beyond it, with the scattered bones telling the tale.)

  Vorden grinned and patted his armor. “Had that energy burned my heart out, I would be finished. I’m thinking it was a close call. It made my armor so hot the flesh just melted apart beneath.”

  Lannon realized how close his friend had come to dying. He hesitated, wondering if they should turn back.

  Vorden waved him on. “Do what you must.”

  Lannon sent the Eye beyond the door to search for danger, but found none. With that, he pushed on the door with all his might, but it failed to open.

  Lannon paused to catch his breath. “This thing just doesn’t want to budge. I think it’s rusted shut or something.”

  Vorden staggered over to him. “Let me help.”

  Lannon shook his head. “Don’t try it, Vorden.”

  Vorden ignored him and, grunting, pushed on the door. Lannon did the same, and with a screech of metal, it opened inward.

  Vorden paused, swaying, and Lannon thought he might topple over. Then Vorden motioned him along. “I’m fine. Just a bit dizzy. The pain is getting dulled a bit. It’s the dark sorcery…flooding into the wound.”

  They entered a round chamber which held a bulky iron furnace at the center. Pipes from the furnace vanished into the walls and ceiling. Blocks of wood and lumps of coal stood in heaps nearby. Beyond the furnace was another passageway.

  “What do you make of that?” asked Lannon.

  “It’s a furnace,” said Vorden. “Obviously.”

  “I know that,” said Lannon. “But what do you think it was for? Heating purposes, or something else? Forging weapons, maybe?”

  Vorden examined the rusty device. He traced his finger over some Dwarven runes engraved in the iron. “I see no evidence of a forge. I would guess it once heated the tower in winter. Too bad the East Tower of Dremlock didn’t have one of these to warm the upper chambers. It was always freezing cold in there.”

  “Odd place for it, though,” said Lannon. “Of course, it was probably installed when the Dark Watchmen were still alive and it was safe to come down here. Now, because of the ghosts, it’s pretty much useless.”

  “Too bad,” said Vorden. “Come winter, we’ll wish we could make use of it. Maybe we can locate another route to this chamber. Or make one.”

  They moved on into the passageway. It ended at another iron door—this one protected by a wheel lock. Lannon sighed.

  Vorden glared at him. “Just give it a try. You used to open wheel locks all the time at Dremlock.”

  Lannon let the Eye of Divinity guide his hands. He sensed this lock wasn’t as sophisticated as the one that guarded the safe above, and after a single attempt a loud click arose. Lannon shoved open the door.

  The chamber beyond was a small museum of sorts. Various items lay atop wooden stands. Most of the items held little meaning for Lannon and Vorden (a book of Birlote poetry and one concerning Olrog machines, a rusty iron candle holder shaped like a serpent, a lump of green crystal that appeared to have been melted, three iron darts, and a pair of steel gauntlets)
. There was also an Olrog helm made of impure Glaetherin and a rare Birlote war shield covered with gleaming spikes.

  Wincing in pain, Vorden lifted the ugly helm, which had square eyeholes and horns that made it look almost demonic. “I was nearly killed for this? Only a Grey Dwarf could wear this monstrosity. Maybe Daledus would want it.”

  Lannon lifted one of the iron darts and examined it, then laid it back down. “That helm and shield are worth a lot of silver. I think this is a great find for Ollanhar.” He watched with concern as Vorden lost his grip on the helm and it clattered to the floor. Vorden slumped against the wall, breathing hard.

  “I still think you need a healer,” said Lannon.

  But Vorden waved him away angrily. “No, I just need some rest. There is nothing in here that I want. Bunch of junk.”

  “What about the shield?” asked Lannon, his gaze fixed on the round, gleaming object that lay atop one of the wooden stands. He read the inscription below it, written in the Sacred Text that only a Dark Watchman could read:

  King Gormanol’s War Shield

  Lannon was impressed. “Looks like it belonged to a Birlote King.”

  “I don’t carry a shield,” said Vorden. “It would just get in my way. More useful to a Brown Knight. Besides, I would end up melting it into ruin, and it’s obviously worth a lot of money, not to mention its historical value.”

  “If you want the shield,” said Lannon, “take it. You deserve it, my friend. Maybe Dremlock doesn’t think you’re important enough to be given an elite weapon, but I do. If you end up melting it in battle, so be it. It’s made of Birlote steel, though, so it’s probably fairly durable.”