Knights: The Blood of Kings (Knights Series)

by Robert E. Keller

  Knights: The Blood of Kings

  by Robert E. Keller

  Book 4 of the Knights Series

  Smart Goblin Publishing 2014

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Original and exclusive cover art by Carolina Mylius

  Copyright © 2014 Robert E. Keller

  About the Author:

  Robert E. Keller is a fantasy writer who has had more than 30 stories published in online and print magazines, and he is the author of several epic fantasy novels. You can find more information on his projects at www.robertekeller.net

  Other novels by Robert E. Keller :

  ***

  The Knights Series:

  Knights: The Eye of Divinity

  Knights: The Hand of Tharnin

  Knights: The Heart of Shadows

  ***

  The Curse of Credesar Series:

  The Curse of Credesar, Part I

  The Curse of Credesar, Part II

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter 1: Spring Rains and Shadow

  Chapter 2: The Visitor

  Chapter 3: A Spy in Dremlock

  Chapter 4: The Prince and the Thief

  Chapter 5: A Dream of Servitude

  Chapter 6: The Restless Ones

  Chapter 7: The Ritual of Fire

  Chapter 8: The Drums of War

  Chapter 9: War in Hethos

  Chapter 10: The Dark Watchmen

  Chapter 11: Wagon South

  Chapter 12: Rogue Haven

  Chapter 13: Kalamede

  Chapter 14: The Mouth of Madness

  Chapter 15: The Ironheart Priests

  Chapter 16: Invasion

  Chapter 17: The God of Bellis

  Chapter 18: Courtyard Duel

  Chapter 19: The Gloomy Depths

  Chapter 20: Dremlock Dungeons

  Chapter 21: The Mad King of Bellis

  Chapter 22: The Fishing Trip

  Chapter 23: The Dragon Duels

  Chapter 24: The Challenge

  Chapter 25: The Grand Duel

  Chapter 26: The Council of Ollanhar

  Chapter 1: Spring Rains and Shadow

  A shadow lurked in the spring rains. All of Dremlock's Knights could sense it, but no one--not even Taris Warhawk--could comprehend what it was or why it had come. Its sinister aura drifted through the campsite, chilling to the bone whoever came in contact with it. There was whispered talk of another assassin, like the one who had plagued the now abandoned fortress of Dorok's Hand, but no bodies turned up as the days passed by.

  This was supposed to be a time of celebration for Dremlock Kingdom. Bellis was defeated, the Blood Legion was severely weakened, and the Black Flamestone and the Hand of Tharnin were in possession of the Divine Knights--yet still Taris, Furlus, and their battalion remained camped in the hill country, not far from where the sprawling iron skeleton of The Colossus lay stretched across a hilltop. The mood in the camp was grim, the growing tension a warning of things to come.

  Some of the Knights still needed rest and healing, and they hunkered down in their tents as a heavy spring rain swept the hills. The young Knights sat warm and dry in their tent, contemplating recent events. Lannon was still troubled over Timlin Woodmaster's death, wondering if he could have done anything differently that would have saved the former Squire from a bitter end. It was pointless to ponder such things, but Lannon couldn't seem to help himself. He would sit or lay for hours, running that final battle through his mind and picking apart every detail.

  Prince Vannas sighed and leaned back on his elbows, looking annoyed. The Birlote prince's mood had been dark lately. "We're Divine Knights now, yet nothing seems to have changed. Here we sit in our tent, guarded day and night. What was the point of even earning our promotions? I feel like something wretched and evil stalks us, but we can't go forth to confront it."

  "I agree," said Jerret Dragonsbane, his tangled blond hair in his eyes and his face sullen. The muscular Knight was always restless for action. "We're still being treated like Squires--except for Aldreya, who gets to train with Taris most every day. Everyone knows there is an enemy in the camp--perhaps a traitor--who will attack us in our sleep. Lannon should be out and about, using the Eye."

  Lannon shrugged. "I welcome this time of rest." Then he added wearily, "If only I could actually get some rest and stop thinking about things I can't control." He liked the sound of the raindrops drumming down on the tent roof, for it seemed to soothe his mood. He closed his eyes and listened.

  Jerret scowled. "You're getting too used to all these threats to your life, Lannon. It has made you relax your guard."

  "It's not that," said Lannon. "I trust that Jace and Trenton will find this enemy before he can carry out his plan--whatever it may be." Lannon wore his Watchman's cloak--made of Birlote silk--mainly for the sake of comfort. The soft, warm garment seemed to help him relax. In one pocket was the Glaetherin throwing star--the priceless weapon that had slain Timlin Woodmaster. Lannon held the small pouch that contained the star in his fingers for a moment, wondering how many lives it had taken since it was forged. A deadly blade from ancient times, tasting blood once again in the hands of a new Dark Watchman.

  "Don't forget what happened with Thrake Wolfaxe," said Vannas. "He almost killed us all. I wouldn't put too much faith in our protectors, Lannon. You're the one who should be investigating this matter." The prince also wore Birlote silk, and as usual, he had a stack of books beside him (though he seemed too tense and restless to read them lately). His bronze skin was shadowy, his green eyes like twin flames. His silver hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing his pointed ears that were adorned with emerald earrings.

  Lannon shrugged. "When Taris is ready, he'll summon me."

  "We all ponder things too much," said Lothrin Windbow. "We're all a bit too restless." The Birlote archer sat across from his cousin Vannas, and for once he seemed to have nothing to do. His dagger was sharp and his bow was polished, and so he simply sat there like the rest of them and waited. Unlike the prince, Lothrin was dressed in simple clothing that any lowly Ranger might wear--a plain fur cloak and soft leather boots. But his eyes were like those of Vannas--fiery and determined, and holding the confidence of royalty.

  Galvia was asleep under her quilt and snoring gently, her war hammer laying next to her. Her broad face looked contented. The Grey Dwarf seemed more relaxed than the others lately. Being promoted to Knighthood had seemed to lift a heavy burden off her shoulders.

  Jerret gazed at Galvia with envy. "I think she has the right idea--sleep until something interesting happens."

  Aldreya entered the tent, with Taris Warhawk behind her. Both of them wore grey, hooded cloaks that were soaking wet. Aldreya was grinning broadly, obviously excited over her training, as she threw back her hood to reveal her glistening silver curls. Jerret looked away, frowning, as Aldreya seated herself.

  "Greetings, young Knights," said Taris. The sorcerer sat down as well. Although he usually seemed calm and relaxed, he appeared strangely tense this day. The scars on one side of his face--where he'd been burned by the Hand of Tharnin--were lost in shadows beneath his hood. He looked weary.

  Aldreya drew her stone dagger and moved to dry off Taris with the fires of sorcery. But Taris motioned her to sit. Instantly, steam rose from his cloak and then he was completely dry, as the others looked on in amazement.

  Aldreya took to drying herself off the slow way, by moving her flaming dagger over her
body. Still, it was quite effective and steam billowed off her grey cloak and flowing hair.

  "How are you, Master Taris?" asked Lannon.

  Taris shrugged. "Still in great pain much of the time. Being born of dark sorcery, the pain cannot easily be defeated--even with the focus of the mind. However, I am still able to carry out my duties. The pain is only an annoyance and doesn't prevent me from enjoying a good cup of tea." He smiled. "Pain is only a voice trying to get one's attention. It can be ignored."

  Taris appeared healthy enough. But he hid things well, and he could have been in agony for all the young Knights knew. His recent battle with the Specter had added to his health troubles. Taris had sacrificed his body to make sure that terrible creature was defeated, and he'd never complained about it or shown any hint of regret.

  "I have some news," said Taris.

  "Good or bad?" asked Prince Vannas, yawning.

  "I'll take any news," said Jerret, "unless it's boring."

  "Oh, it certainly isn't boring," said Taris. "It concerns a dire situation in the city of Kalamede. A powerful cult of Tharnin--the Ironheart Priests of the Guardian Mountains--has taken up residence beneath the city and has been responsible for theft and murder on a large scale. The City Guard is unable to deal with this problem. Therefore, we must make for Kalamede at once and weed out this cult before it can carry out whatever dark plans it has concocted. This is a very serious situation. The Ironheart Priests are powerful and cunning warriors."

  "But what about the Blood Legion?" asked Jerret. "If they're so weak right now, shouldn't we be focusing on them?"

  Taris shook his head. "Dealing with these Ironheart Priests is more important. This is a cult that had apparently never strayed from the Guardian Mountains for more than three-hundred years--until now. We must investigate this matter."

  "Any idea what their plans are?" asked Lannon.

  Taris sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, then replied, "They may be serving Bellis and King Verlamer somehow, perhaps helping prepare for an invasion of Silverland. Or they may have a goal we cannot fathom. Not much is known about this cult--other than that they are powerful servants of Tharnin and have no regard for human life. Their murderous actions in Kalamede have proven that."

  "Their goal must be something horrific," said Lothrin, his eyes distant. "They're killing in the name of the Deep Shadow, seeking something within the city to advance their master's cause."

  No one responded. Lannon was disappointed that they would not be returning to Dremlock. It had been a long time since he'd seen the kingdom, and he missed it fiercely. The tunnels below Kalamede sounded stuffy and unpleasant--far from the noble towers and majestic Knightwood trees of Dremlock.

  "What about the latest rumors?" asked Jerret. "We know there is a traitor in our camp--or something just as bad."

  "So far," said Taris, "this aura that we sense remains a mystery. Jace believes we have a stealthy enemy in our midst that enters the camp each night. It is some sort of silent stalker with...a sense of humor."

  "A sense of humor?" said Lannon.

  Taris nodded. "There are signs that it is mocking us, toying with us. It has stolen meat from above the flames, even as Knights were gathered around the fire pit. We have found large, beastly tracks here and there--and strange scents that inspire fear in the horses. It broke open some bags of grain and made tracks in the grain for us to see. It seeks to intimidate us."

  "Should I use the Eye of Divinity?" asked Lannon.

  "Not yet," said Taris. "We're still trying to understand this night stalker's purpose and what danger it might pose to you. As you've learned the hard way, using the Eye can be quite perilous."

  Lannon nodded, grim memories flashing through his mind.

  "By the way," said Taris, "I have some good news concerning Vorden. He is doing remarkably well in his recovery. I have never seen such a strong-willed Norack lad. He almost has the resistance to Tharnin of a Grey Dwarf."

  Lannon was delighted by the news. "Will he ever fully recover?"

  "I don't know," said Taris. "He will probably always be plagued by darkness, but that wouldn't necessarily exclude him from returning to life as a Squire. Many servants of Dremlock, including myself, have been scarred by the Deep Shadow. Vorden will also likely possess strange abilities--unnatural strength and possibly other things--until the end of his days. The Hand of Tharnin changed him on the deepest levels, altering his body to make him a greater warrior. That sounds like a blessing, but it could also be a curse that he might come to despise. Life for him will be a harsh struggle."

  "Is there anything we can do to help him?" asked Aldreya.

  "Just give him friendship and support," said Taris, "for that is what he needs most. Visit him every day, if possible."

  "I'm going to go see him right now," said Lannon, rising. He raised the hood of his Watchman's cloak. "If I may be excused."

  Taris nodded. "I have no more news for you."

  "Would anyone like to come along?" asked Lannon.

  "Out in the rain?" said Prince Vannas. "No thanks."

  "I would," said Aldreya, "but I'm tired from training. I need a bit of rest."

  No one else replied, and Lannon left the tent alone.

  ***

  Vorden sat alone in his tent, his yellow eyes gleaming in the shadows and standing out in stark contrast to his black clothing. He didn't glance at Lannon, but appeared lost in thought. His black hair had received a trim, and he now had a thin beard and mustache. His wrists and feet were bound in irons, though he could move his arms about without much difficulty. A jug of water and stack of books sat next to him. The tent's interior held a gloomy atmosphere--the presence of the Deep Shadow that still radiated from Vorden.

  Lannon sat down across from him and pulled back his dripping hood. "How are you feeling today, my friend?"

  Vorden gazed at him in silence for a moment, then said, "You're wet. Haven't you learned how to dry yourself?"

  Lannon shook his head. "I still haven't mastered common sorcery--not even a flicker of flame. I've given up on it."

  Vorden sighed. "Someone as powerful as you, Lannon, should not have to sit in wet clothes. Let me help." Vorden raised his hand and focused, and Lannon's body warmed. Steam rose from his cloak.

  Vorden smiled. "Are you surprised? Did you think these irons could contain my power?"

  Lannon wasn't surprised. "Taris knows of it. But he also knows you won't hurt anyone."

  "If so," said Vorden, "then why am I still in irons?"

  Lannon had no answer. "You're improving, and I'm sure sooner or later you will be set free to resume your training."

  "As you can see," said Vorden, "my tent holds no lantern. Why? It's because I don't need one. I can see in the dark. I can do many strange things, Lannon. The power of Tharnin has cursed my body, yet the Deep Shadow itself has abandoned me. My power is just leftovers--created by an altered mind and body, like the power wielded by the sorcerers of ancient times. Surely it is forbidden by Dremlock. Jace learned that the hard way."

  Lannon had an answer for this. "Taris said that such sorcery is forbidden only if one seeks it--as Jace did. Some Olrogs have natural sorcery--like Galva's ability of Fire--that are leftover from ancient dealings with the Deep Shadow. The Grey Dwarves were altered like you have been, Vorden, yet they're allowed to be Divine Knights. You can't help what you are. As long as you use your power for honorable purposes, you won't be banished from the kingdom."

  "But that's the real issue, isn't it?" said Vorden. "There is still evil in my heart--whispers left from the Hand of Tharnin, as if the demon is still speaking to me. Until I am completely free of that, there is no way I will be allowed to go back to life as a Squire. I'm not sure I can ever be cleansed of it."

  "I don't know," said Lannon. He wanted to speak words of hope to Vorden, but he didn't want to give him false hope.

  "I'm glad you came to see me," said Vorden, "because I have a warning for you." He leaned forward. The shad
ows seemed to hang thick about his face, contrasting the gleam in his yellow eyes. "Tenneth Bard wants you dead--or in the clutches of the Deep Shadow like the Dark Watchmen of old. That's no secret. But there is a new creature that stalks you, something nearly immortal. It hunts you relentlessly."

  "What manner of creature?" asked Lannon, chilled by the conviction in Vorden's words. "And how do you know about it?"

  "It is a Goblin," said Vorden. "I couldn't bring myself to speak of it before, because the evil was blocking my attempts. This Goblin has existed on our continent of Gallamerth since the ancient war involving the Crimson Flamestone. It was a servant of the Barloak Demons that escaped into hiding after the war. It was one of several unique and extremely powerful Goblins."

  Lannon shivered. His back suddenly felt very exposed, and he glanced behind him. "Why hasn't it attacked?"

  "It is a cunning and patient creature," said Vorden. "It will wait for the best opportunity to strike, like an expert assassin. It is also somewhat insane and cannot easily be controlled. The beast was being kept at Old Hammer Hall. Now it has been turned loose at last."

  Vorden gazed at Lannon for a moment, then said, "Tenneth Bard is winning the war against Dremlock. The beast is just another servant."

  "You think he is winning the war?" said Lannon, surprised. "Last I knew, we had defeated Bellis and the Blood Legion, and captured the Black Flamestone and the Hand of Tharnin. And..." He paused, not wanting to speak of Timlin Woodmaster's death. "Anyway, how exactly is Tenneth Bard winning the war?" Lannon was still hoping the Black Knight was actually dead and that Vorden was mistaken, but Vorden seemed so convinced that Tenneth Bard would return that Lannon didn't try to dispute him.

  Vorden smiled. "That was a tiny victory over Bellis. Surely you don't believe that's the end of the conflict. And Tenneth Bard is connected to Bellis' expansion somehow. I am certain of it."

  Lannon knew Vorden spoke true. Bellis had an enormous army and likely wouldn't let a loss in a small battle sway King Verlamer from trying to conquer Dremlock. But Lannon remained hopeful further conflict could be avoided.