But only Tenneth Bard was wounded—his hood thrown back to reveal severe burns on his face that had destroyed one eye. He clutched his face in agony, as his Goblin steed ran to him. With defenders closing in front of him, the Black Knight climbed into the saddle, directed a last gaze at Faindan that could have meant anything, and then rode off toward the woods.
His yellow eyes wide, Almdrax ordered a retreat. But he was surrounded by Brown Knights with spiked shields—led by Lort—who closed off his escape routes like a circular wall. Facing death or surrender, Almdrax threw down his battle axe in disgust and knelt in the dirt.
Some of the Legion fighters fled into the forest, and some surrendered. But the Goblins fought on to the death.
Furlus climbed onto his horse. “I need twenty Knights! We will hunt down Tenneth Bard and put an end to him while he is weak!”
Valedos and the remaining members of the Nine Axes joined him, along with Lort and some of his Brown Knights. Some Red Knights also joined the search party, lances in hand to deliver the finishing blow.
But when Faindan tried to join, Furlus waved him back. “You have done enough, young Knight. You struck a stout blow to Tenneth Bard that will never be forgotten. Stay here and help secure the prisoners.”
Faindan bowed, his confusion growing by the moment.
Chapter 18:
The Cursed Warrior
Lannon dodged the claws and struck back with his blade—only to encounter empty air. The fog swirled around him, obscuring his vision and even confusing the Eye. He thought he glimpsed a hulking form coming toward him and again he attacked—and again there was nothing.
“You’re a coward,” Lannon called out. “Why don’t you show yourself and battle me fairly? Let us fight an honorable duel.”
His answer was a claw from the fog that raked his shoulder, tearing through his cloak and drawing blood. Dark sorcery tried to seep into his body through the wound—sorcery that wanted to poison his will and bring him to his knees—but Lannon seized it with the Eye and destroyed it. However, the wound itself was fairly deep, and blood soaked his cloak. He shielded himself with his power.
Lannon grabbed a heavy oak chair and flung it at a moving shadow. The chair struck something and a loud hiss arose. There was a cracking noise and pieces of splintered wood flew past Lannon.
“Show yourself, coward,” Lannon insisted. “If you won’t fight me in a fair duel, you waste my time.” Lannon flung several more chairs—two of them making contact with the demon.
Another claw attack came from the mist—this one raking across Lannon’s face. But the Eye protected him and no damage was done. This time, while retaliating, Lannon cut into flesh—a shallow wound.
Again the demon hissed at him, and the fog thickened.
Lannon was seized from behind, long arms locking around his chest. The demon squeezed him viciously, with strength many times that of a human. The shield generated by the Eye was tested to its limits against this crushing force, but it gave Lannon enough time to twist out of the demon’s hold. He whirled around and thrust his sword out—to find empty space.
“You’re pathetic,” Lannon called out, continuing to insult his foe. “Is that the best you can do against a Divine Knight?”
For a moment there was silence, as the mist continued to swirl throughout the Dining Room. Then an inhuman voice whispered back, “You wish to duel, Dark Watchman? I have no time for such childish games. So the Bearer of the Eye cannot see though my unfair tricks. You are still quite young and have not reached your full potential. You should not have come here.”
“Are we going to fight, or waste time talking?” asked Lannon. Actually, wasting a bit of time didn’t bother Lannon, for it gave him a chance to try to figure out how to see through the fog. He was waging a furious battle against the confusion, willing the Eye to pierce the haze of evil sorcery.
“My name is Lord Hathannis,” came the whisper. “You should address me properly when in my fortress.”
“So what is your answer?” asked Lannon.
“Take a rest,” said Lord Hathannis. “Sit down, if you can find a chair you haven’t broken. Would you care for some meat, or some wine? It is all very delicious. My cook does a wonderful job preparing the meat for me. And the wine is made from the blood of cursed rats. We call them Mud Rats, because mud is where they like to dwell in the marshes of Silverland. They often bear a most peculiar disease that makes their blood truly delicious. Don’t shun it until you try it.”
“I won’t eat your food,” said Lannon, “or drink your foul wine. I refuse to dine with the enemies of the Divine Essence.”
“You don’t like me,” said the demon, “obviously. You have judged me already. You wish the Crimson Flamestone had burned me to ash so long ago—like it did to so many of my kind.” Lord Hathannis sighed. “I didn’t survive because I was the strongest, the fastest, the bravest, or even the luckiest. I survived the Great War because I was the smartest. Or, at least, one of the smartest. You may hate me, Lannon, but at least respect me for my accomplishments.”
“I can never respect you,” said Lannon. “You’re an abomination to all life, and by the Sacred Laws, I have the right to slay you at will.”
“Yes,” said the inhuman hiss, “you have the right to assassinate me by Dremlock Law. Many of your kingdom’s Knights have tried to do just that. They perished in extreme misery, however. Let me just say that I discovered, through experimentation, methods of tormenting my foes that are so brutal they are disturbing even for me to contemplate. And I have a high tolerance for evil.”
“Why would you do that to anyone?” asked Lannon, overwhelmed with disgust.
“To set an example for Dremlock,” said Lord Hathannis. “A warning that no more assassins should be sent. And guess what, young Knight—it worked exactly as planned. Dremlock eventually became so disheartened after learning what had become of its Knights that no more were sent. I was able to rest easy knowing I was no longer a constant target. Again, it comes down to intelligence. That is why I am alive and well.”
“Yet you remain a miserable creature,” said Lannon. “Your life is not worth living, for all you do is make others suffer. What else do you do in this ugly fortress? You enslave the dead and spread misery, it seems.”
“Misery in your world, Dark Watchman,” said Lord Hathannis. “Not mine. My world is the realm of Tharnin, where I once lived like a king. But that’s not all I do. I spend a lot of time sleeping, actually. If you want to know what else I do here, you’ll have to exchange information with me. Tell me why you are in the Soddurn Mountains and why warriors from Bellis are following you.”
Lannon hesitated, wondering if he should agree to the exchange. He wanted to know what the demon’s plans were, and since Bellis already knew that Dremlock was seeking the Green Flamestone, telling the demon didn’t seem to matter.
Lannon told his story.
When he was finished, the demon laughed. “Your quest was a waste of time. The Green Flamestone was actually lost centuries ago. The one on Scalmfort Island is a fake, placed there to lead people to their doom.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Lannon, though he wasn’t sure.
“I don’t care what you believe,” said the demon. “But I speak the truth.”
“So what about your story?” asked Lannon.
“I’m guessing you figured most of it out already,” said the demon. “I have been the true enemy of Dremlock. I am the real commander of the Blood Legion. And yes, I am in league with Bellis…to a point. I have been ordering attacks on Dremlock for centuries, along with my servant Tenneth Bard. Many of the Goblins that cause you so much trouble come from here. We breed special Goblins in Wallrock Fortress—stronger, faster, and smarter ones—and this is just the beginning. But I’ve talked enough, and we have done our little exchange. I am not satisfied with it, however. I feel cheated. It is time for your death.”
“Answer one more question,” said Lannon. “What exactly are
you, Lord Hathannis? What is a Barloak Demon?” Lannon was hoping his foe would reveal a weakness, though he thought it unlikely.
“Can’t you see for yourself,” said Lord Hathannis, “with the Eye of Divinity? So, you can’t even catch a glimpse of me!”
Lannon didn’t answer, realizing his question had been foolish.
“Didn’t you have history lessons at Dremlock?” asked the demon. “Or don’t they teach Knights about the past anymore?”
“That subject was never discussed,” said Lannon. “I don’t know why.” Much about the ancient war involving the Barloaks had never been revealed during his lessons, and books on the subject were scarce in the kingdom libraries—and the few that dealt with the topic only gave brief mention.
“Very well,” said Lord Hathannis. “You should at least know who you’re fighting. I am an Elder Demon from Tharnin. A spirit creature bound into a body—in this case, the body of a dead Ogre. The process of my creation makes me immune to the force of living things in your world, which is why I can remain here even though it is not my original home. All Barloak Demons are wild spirits bound into flesh.”
“Tell me more about your plans,” said Lannon.
“I’ve told you enough,” came an angry hiss. “I have your friends as my prisoners, and they are all I need to bargain with the prince. You are useless to me. It will be a great accomplishment to slay a Dark Watchman.”
The fog slipped away into the corners and vanished. Standing before Lannon was the Barloak Demon in the flesh—a nine-foot-tall giant. His bone-white skin, bald head, and pointed ears were features Lannon had not been expecting. The demon resembled a human in some ways, and a monster in others. His mouth was filled with pointed teeth, and there were patches of scales on his flesh that matched the metallic, golden scales of his loincloth. A shallow wound in his side—where Lannon’s sword had pierced—was leaking black blood.
“Here I am, Lannon,” the demon hissed. “Fight me!”
As Lannon gazed at the pale giant, he was repulsed to the core. This was a monster that had lived in Lannon’s world for thousands of years and had inflicted suffering and death on countless victims—a creature that had originally participated in a war to destroy all life and open the way for the Deep Shadow.
Lannon focused his attack and then leapt forward, thrusting his sword at the demon’s heart. But the demon seized the blade with his clawed hand and tried to yank it viciously from Lannon’s grasp. However, Lannon was prepared for that trick and his firm grip on the sword did not yield. He pulled it free of the demon’s hand and stepped back.
Once again mist swirled around Lord Hathannis, until only the icy blue eyes were visible. “Almost had you, little man. Soon…”
The Eye finally revealed a moving shadow to Lannon that he assumed was the demon, and he attacked it. His sword was seized again, and he struggled for possession of the blade. Lannon got so caught up in the struggle that he let his guard down—and a clawed hand shot from the mist and struck his chest, knocking him to the floor. He kept his grip on the sword, but the stout blow had taken the fight out of him for the moment, as he lay winded and in pain.
Then the demon was standing over him, grinning. “See, you were too young and inexperienced to defeat me.” With that, he grabbed Lannon’s neck with both hands and choked him furiously. Lannon fought to break the demon’s hold—but he seemed to be losing ground.
Lannon finally managed to rip one of the clawed hands away from his throat. Then the demon howled in pain and staggered away, clutching the back of his head, his blue eyes rolled back. Standing behind Lord Hathannis was Jace, who was rubbing his knuckles.
“Finish him, Lannon!” Jace yelled.
Lannon rose, ignoring the pain in his ribs, and locked onto Lord Hathannis’ head with the Eye. The demon turned, and Lannon hurled his sword—driving it through the demon’s thick skull.
Lord Hathannis fell to his knees, clutching at the sword. Then he toppled over and lay still in death, his mouth gaped open and leaking blood.
Lannon retrieved his sword and stood over the demon’s corpse, a great sigh of relief escaping his lips.
***
“Well done,” said Jace, patting Lannon on the shoulder. “You just slew a Barloak Demon, young man—no small accomplishment. And while this one wasn’t as strong as I had assumed—brains over brawn, I suppose—only a Dark Watchman could have done this. Make no mistake, this is your greatest accomplishment, and it is a tremendous victory for Dremlock and Ollanhar.”
“I had some help,” said Lannon. “A lot of help.”
“Think nothing of it,” said Jace, smiling. “You delivered the killing blow, and that’s what history will remember.”
” Yet I just gave Tenneth Bard a promotion,” said Lannon. He should have felt better about the victory than he did. Something was bothering his instincts, but he wasn’t sure what.
Jace’s smile vanished. “Yes…well… Let us not concern ourselves with that right now. We have some companions to free, and the prince…” Jace shook his head. “The prince seems to be a bit out of it.”
“How did you survive?” asked Lannon (though he wondered why he was bothering to ask, since he already knew he would only get a vague answer). “I thought that trap had doomed you.”
Jace scratched his head, frowning. “I suppose I simply…slipped out of its clutches and ran. I can be fairly slippery when I need to be. I actually can dislocate my shoulders if necessary. Anyway, I worked my way loose and that’s the story. It took me awhile to figure out where to go afterward, but I showed up at a good time, obviously. Actually, I had been hiding behind a table and watching the battle for a bit, waiting for just such an opportunity. Lord Hathannis thought he was so brilliant, but he made a huge blunder in assuming that all of us were captured or killed. It’s hard to believe that after all these centuries he is dead. I can’t help but feel overjoyed. This calls for a smoke.”
“Let’s free the others,” said Lannon. But before he went to them, he turned the Eye toward the demon’s body in order to satisfy whatever inner voice was still nagging him. A shock tore through him—for he glimpsed life.
“He’s still alive!” Lannon warned.
The fog swarmed over Lord Hathannis as he rose from the floor. The wound in the pale giant’s forehead had sealed shut. “How can you slay a creature that is already dead?” the demon asked Lannon.
The Dark Watchman had no answer.
With the fog having engulfed the demon, only his icy blue eyes were visible. “Only a true Dark Watchman could have destroyed me,” he went on. “Not a mere lad who pretends to be something he isn’t.”
“You’re making a big mistake,” said Lannon. “You should have kept pretending I had finished you and stayed down. The Eye is only growing stronger, and I will find your weakness.” Lannon meant what he said. Once again the strange battle lust had overcome him, making his confidence soar, but he had no time to deal with that issue. “Jace, go and stand by the others. I will end this myself.”
“Who am I to argue?” said Jace. But he hesitated.
“It is time for something new,” said the demon. “I wanted to kill you myself, but you are a bit stronger than I had anticipated. Yet I have another trick up my sleeve—a snare that is perfect for a young, naive warrior like you. I will reveal to you my greatest strength and what has made me so feared throughout the ages.”
“I don’t like the sound of this at all,” said Jace, his eyes wide. His pipe slipped from his fingers to the floor. Then he flung himself at the demon, swinging his fist. But his attack found only fog.
Lannon realized something was trying to invade his head—something that felt like a hand seeking to crush his mind. He summoned the Eye to him, trying to fight off the evil sorcery, but the grip kept tightening.
“My deepest apologies, young man,” came the demon’s hiss. “This is not a very honorable thing I am doing here, but I really have no urge to continue fighting you. Too risky. This is
just something that must be done.”
Horrified, Lannon called upon everything he had in an effort to break free—and he almost succeeded. For a moment the invading, invisible hand was pushed away, but then it returned even stronger, breaking through his defenses and squeezing Lannon’s mind so viciously that pain exploded in his skull.
I’m going to die, Lannon thought numbly.
But he didn’t die. Instead, he found himself unable to move or even think anything but limited thoughts. He stood there waiting to be commanded—a puppet living only to serve his master. Somewhere deep inside he felt despair over this enslavement, but he was powerless to change it.
“Good,” said the demon. “You are mine now, Lannon Sunshield. This is going to be incredibly amusing. Unfortunate for you that your prince is lost in a trance and cannot help you with his little Flamestone. I’ll deal with him later, after you have done my work and slain yourself.”
Lannon heard the words and understood them, but he didn’t care. He would do whatever his master commanded.
“Kill the sorcerer first,” said Lord Hathannis. A clawed finger emerged from the fog to point at Jace. “Kill him quickly, Lannon.”
Lannon raised his sword and moved toward Jace.
“Wait!” Jace said, raising his hands. “Free your mind, Lannon. Remember your training as a Divine Knight? Remember the Eye?”
Lannon paused, wondering what Jace was talking about. He remembered his training and the Eye perfectly well. Jace was a dangerous foe, but Lannon was certain he could dispatch him. Jace was quite strong, but surely he was too slow to defend against Lannon.
“You are a Divine Knight,” Jace reminded him. “You only fight with honor, and you must obey the Sacred Laws. Think, Lannon!”
Lannon pondered Jace’s words.
“Finish him now,” Lord Hathannis ordered, interrupting Lannon’s thoughts. “The sorcerer is only trying to confuse you, Lannon.”
Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar (Ollanhar Series Book 1) Page 30