Knights: Legends of Ollanhar

by Robert E. Keller

  With a trembling hand, he turned the page--to find a painting of some sort of demon that looked like pestilence, a shadow with crimson eyes that consisted of swarms of insect-like creatures. The crimson eyes burned into him, and the swarms seemed to swirl up from the page, determined to eat into him.

  "It is late," a quiet voice said from behind him.

  Faindan dropped the book and whirled around--to find himself gazing at Trenton Shadowbane, the elite sorcerer and former Investigator of Dremlock. Embarrassed, Faindan mumbled, "You startled me."

  "Sorry," said Trenton. As usual, Trenton was clean-shaven, his silver hair neatly trimmed. His rugged face bore a somber expression. His lean body, adorned in a green cloak that represented Dremlock's High Council, was propped up by an oak staff topped with a carving of a wolf's head.

  "I'm just...wandering," said Faindan. "Feeling restless." He glanced down at the book. It was now closed. He was tempted to open it and make sure that insects weren't actually flying off the page--that he had imagined it all--but instead he placed it back on the shelf. It was best to let it be.

  "This tower is a bad place for wandering," said Trenton. "Too much evil here that can lead a man astray. Sadly, the cleansing of this keep is far from complete, with Dallsa off on a mission. I'm hoping Dremlock will send more White Knights here, but things are progressing slowly."

  Faindan nodded. "I know I shouldn't wander. But I have nothing else to do. So if I might ask--why are you awake? Shouldn't..." He cleared his throat.

  Trenton smirked. "Finish your statement, young Knight."

  "Well," said Faindan, "I just thought a man of your age would be sound asleep. Not that I'm saying you're old." Faindan sighed inwardly. What kind of stupid conversation had he just started?

  But Trenton only looked amused. "I am indeed getting old, which is kind of foolish. Why should a sorcerer age? Taris doesn't age. Jace doesn't age. But I'm letting myself grow old and die, as if death is a minor thing."

  "Everyone must eventually die," said Faindan. He thought this was a strange, awkward conversation that had popped up.

  Trenton waved dismissively. "But we should live as long as we can, until something destroys us. Old age is a boring end, and completely unnecessary. And defeating it is not that difficult for a skilled sorcerer."

  "Then why don't you defeat it?" asked Faindan.

  "I don't know," said Trenton. "I suppose because it takes a lot of work, and I'm stupid and lazy. Apparently I'm content to weaken and die in a respectable fashion like other men--as if life is not worth fighting for to the last breath. I suppose because a life of a thousand years is no different ultimately than a life of a hundred. It is still merely minor preparation for what is to follow."

  Faindan had no response. This was sorcerer talk, and far beyond his knowledge. He had no idea why Trenton was sharing this with him.

  "Yet maybe when I grow weak enough," said Trenton, "I will reconsider. Age and pain can truly motivate one to change. Those who claim they are fine with growing old are usually young when they say that."

  Faindan nodded. He sensed that Trenton had something else on his mind besides the topic of aging. "Is something troubling you?"

  Trenton nodded. "Very much so." His eyes shown in the torchlight--a desperate gleam. He seemed as wild as a wolf--yet cornered somehow.

  "Is there anything I can do to help?" asked Faindan.

  Trenton shook his head. "At long last, the High Council has voted to do away with all sorcery that does not directly come from the Birlotes or the Divine Essence. Supposedly, our god has demanded a greater level of purity from all Divine Knights. And, being the impure slob that I am, I have been stripped of my power. Even though I have served Dremlock with honor, and served well, I have apparently done wrong somehow."

  "That is bad news," said Faindan. "That means..."

  Trenton nodded. "That means Dremlock has lost a powerful weapon. The beast that I am able to summon is no secret these days. An invincible creature that even an army cannot kill--a creature that has done so much for our god and kingdom. Yet now it is scorned and banished, just like that." He snapped his fingers.

  "Very sorry to hear that," Faindan mumbled. He spoke his true feelings. Trenton's mysterious beast was a weapon that Dremlock could not afford to lose. "How could this happen? With the threat of Bellis hanging over us, why would the High Council want to vote to weaken us?"

  "They did as commanded," said Trenton, "by the Divine Essence. Our god believes that my foul sorcery has helped open doorways to doom, and that without total purity we will fall to Bellis. It believes we cannot obtain a blessing from the Great Light without this greater purity." He sighed. "And who am I to question our god? I'm just a lowly mortal who knows nothing."

  "Yet you don't believe that," said Faindan. "Am I right?"

  "I believe our god may be wrong," said Trenton. "The Divine Essence is only the Messenger of the Great Light, and it is currently cut off from its father. It knows what it knows, but it doesn't know everything. It has made mistakes. It had an impure heart and had not yet mastered itself when it was shattered."

  Faindan almost cringed. This conversation was sacrilege and almost traitorous. "But if the Divine Essence is seeking greater purity for its Knights, then it may be seeking greater purity for itself as well."

  "I've considered that," said Trenton, a sour expression on his face. "But this seems to be the worst time for seeking greater purity. We need every weapon we can obtain, however ugly and evil. No drooling beast is too wretched for our army. Our god should be wise enough to know that. If we lose, Dremlock and our precious Divine Essence is doomed. Yet it's focused on purity? Utterly foolish! These are terribly desperate times."

  Faindan said nothing. He refused to question the Divine Essence (at least, at the moment). But he took careful note of Trenton's views. If the Divine Essence was making mistakes and leading Dremlock into ruin, where did Faindan's true loyalty lie? To his god--or to his kingdom?

  "There will be a ceremony tomorrow," said Trenton, looking thoroughly disgusted, "here on the tower grounds. Not sure why it isn't taking place at Dremlock, but, whatever. The High Council will be there. Everyone at Ollanhar is required to attend. I must summon the beast, and then it will be shamed. After it is shamed, it will supposedly never appear again. The sorcery will be banished forever."

  "Not sure what to say," said Faindan. "Other than that I'm truly sorry. I know you put a lot of hard work and study into...what you do."

  Trenton shrugged. "None of my hard work matters to Dremlock. I am just a Knight, Faindan, and easily replaceable. Recently, I was banned from entering our Sacred Temple--until the beast is laid to rest. After all these years of service, I am considered tainted and in poor standing with our god and temple. It is completely unfair!"

  "You deserve better," said Faindan. What else was there to say?

  "I'm an old fool," said Trenton, "for complaining to a young warrior in the dead of night. I must seem like a raving lunatic."

  "Not at all," said Faindan.

  "Goodnight," said Trenton, turning. "You should sleep as well," he added, as he walked away. "The tower is grim at night. It's just like me--tainted and in need of purification."

  But Faindan was far too restless to sleep.

  ***

  It was a cold, grey, ugly day. The fall chill was deep, whispering of an early winter. The mood was somber on the tower grounds, the gathering small. No one wanted to be there. The event was being treated almost like an afterthought--yet it was very significant to Dremlock Kingdom and Ollanhar Tower. Only the presence of High Council members--Taris, Furlus, Lort, and Shennen--revealed the true importance of what was taking place.

  On an oak platform with steps leading up to it stood Trenton Shadowbane. He wore a plain brown robe, his hands clasped before him. His face bore a scowl (which was not unusual for Trenton). Near his feet stood two buckets.

  Faindan was gripped by disgust as he studied the scene. Were they really g
oing to shame and humiliate Trenton, a man who had served with dedication and honor? Faindan tried to remind himself that it was the beast that would be shamed and not Trenton, but it did no good. He found the whole thing disturbing.

  Taris Warhawk--the famed Birlote sorcerer and Lord Knight of Dremlock--stood before the platform to speak. "Some of you may wonder why we are gathered here," he said, "for this is something the High Council has chosen not to speak about until now. There will be no debate. Keep your feelings buried and never talk about what you see here. Today you will witness the humiliation of a beast. Not Trenton Shadowbane, who is a well-respected and distinguished member of our High Council, but a creature from another world that has been deemed unworthy to serve Dremlock. We will distance ourselves from this creature forever."

  Furlus strode forward and stood beside Taris. The muscular Dwarf was in full armor--from horned helm down to spiked boots--though his bearded, weathered face was visible. "We are reluctant to surrender this mighty weapon," he said, "this wolf-like terror that no blade can bring down. We did not come to this decision lightly. But we must obey the Divine Essence. Trenton will not be harmed in this ceremony, but in fact will emerge from it in better standing with our god and kingdom."

  Trenton's scowl deepened.

  "The High Council of Dremlock," Taris went on, "has reached a unanimous decision--with Trenton abstaining from the vote."

  "We stand by our decision," Furlus added.

  Shennen Silverarrow took position beside the other two Tower Masters. "Bear in mind," he said, "that this is not in any way tied in to Trenton's character. He remains a trusted Council member who is deserving of our respect. This is simply a decision for the betterment of our kingdom."

  "The shaming of the beast," said Taris, "is an ancient ritual that has been used before. I will say no more on that, and if you're curious, I suggest you spend some time in one of our libraries doing some research. I'm not particularly fond of the ritual, and in fact I consider it rather pointless. But at Dremlock we have our traditions, and we shall honor them."

  "Trenton, would you like to speak?" asked Furlus.

  "I don't have much to say," said Trenton, "other than that I object strongly to this. I am not an evil man, and I do not use evil sorcery. The beast itself may be evil, but I employ its services for noble purposes. It is simply a weapon, and how can a weapon be evil? It depends on how it is used. Let the record show that I am opposed to this decision and believe it will come back to haunt us. Yet let the record also show that I obey the word of the Divine Essence and the High Council and that I am a willing participant in this ritual."

  "Your words are noted," said Taris. "Now let us proceed. You shall summon the beast, then allow it to remain until I command otherwise."

  As Faindan and the others looked on, Trenton's body became engulfed in shifting shadows. Bubbling flesh cracked open and then became covered in coarse black hair, and his face stretched into a wolfish muzzle. His fingers tapered into vicious claws. Moments later the terrifying beast was revealed in full, looking stronger than ever--a creature that seemed half man and half wolf, muscles rippling with immense power upon its frame. Its eyes smoldered with a hellish glow, its rage deep.

  The beast knew why it had been summoned.

  But Trenton was still there as well, controlling it. Beneath the burning rage was a calm, subdued spirit--something almost sad. It seemed appalling to Faindan that this mighty beast was about to be mocked.

  The beast's crimson eyes found Faindan. The man-wolf seemed to be glowering at him alone, as if it hated him above all others. Faindan blinked and rubbed his eyes, thinking that surely he must be imagining it. Why would the beast direct its hatred at him, when he wasn't even on Dremlock's High Council? He closed his eyes and then opened them. The beast was still glowering at him. The depth of evil revealed in those eyes was grotesque.

  Chilled to the bone, Faindan looked away. He could sense the monster was still staring at him, and the tension grew within him. He was overwhelmed by the feeling of utter hatred that bore down on him. He refused to look. He refused to be a willing participant in this madness of whatever game the beast was playing.

  The moments slipped past.

  At last Faindan dared to look, and he found the beast was not staring at him. In fact, its head was bowed. He wondered if it had ever really stared at him or if his mind was playing tricks on him. Was this some scheme of the Deep Shadow designed to drive Faindan insane?

  Two men--actors--wearing black masks ascended the platform. They tugged at the beast's long hair, yanking tufts of it free as they laughed loudly. The beast growled but did nothing, its head still bowed. The men poked at it, and then--using daggers--shaved off some of the hair on its chest, leaving grey flesh visible. They flung the tufts of hair into the air and roared laughter.

  Faindan was filled with disgust. This seemed completely unnecessary. Taris Warhawk also looked displeased, but the Lord Knight did not interfere. Faindan found himself feeling sorry for the monster. As evil and repulsive as it seemed to be, it surely didn't deserve this treatment.

  But that wasn't the worst of it.

  The masked men then seized the buckets and threw reeking swill all over the monster. Slimy gunk dripped from its ears and muzzle. They pointed at the beast and hooted and jeered.

  "Leave us forever, you shameful fiend!" the actors cried, dancing about.

  "Crawl back under your rock!" they bellowed.

  The beast growled at them menacingly, but they didn't back down. They continued to dance around it, mocking it relentlessly.

  At last the beast threw back its head and howled.

  Faindan's heart was gripped by great sorrow. Somewhere underneath that swill-covered fur was Trenton Shadowbane, perhaps fully aware of what was taking place. Although the ritual was not intended to humiliate Trenton, somehow he and the beast were one, and it all just seemed very wrong. Faindan couldn't fathom how--or why--such a bizarre ritual had ever been dreamed up. It was almost like a disturbing play starring the actors and the beast.

  At last, mercifully, the actors left the platform.

  "It is done," Taris announced. "The beast has been shamed and will never return. May it find peace in its own realm."

  The shifting shadows engulfed the beast, and soon Trenton Shadowbane was again revealed. Trenton's clothing was fully intact and showed no trace of swill (though the platform still held puddles of slime).

  "Welcome back," said Taris, looking grim.

  Trenton nodded. "I have an announcement to make, if I may speak."

  "Of course you may speak," said Taris.

  Trenton hesitated, as if lost in thought for a moment. Then he said: "I am hereby retiring from the High Council of Dremlock, and from Knighthood." He removed his shield ring that signified his status on the Council.

  The onlookers were utterly silent.

  Taris, Furlus, and Shennen looked saddened.

  "Are you certain of this?" asked Taris. "There is no way I can change your mind?"

  "No," said Trenton. "My career as a Divine Knight is finished."

  "If you retire so suddenly," said Taris, "it will be without benefits or recognition. Surely it would be wise to put in a notice first and finish out your duties. As Lord Knight, I must strongly advise you not to do this."

  "But I must do it," said Trenton. "I will simply walk away today and never return. This is my protest, and I must ask that you honor it."

  "I understand," said Taris, taking the ring. "Good luck to you, my friend."

  "And to you as well, Lord Knight," said Trenton bowing. "Good luck to all of you. You will need it to win this war."

  With that, Trenton Shadowbane walked away.

  ***

  For the next two days, Faindan pondered what he had witnessed. How could Trenton have simply left everything behind? Where would he go and what would he do? With no money or even a horse to ride, the former Green Knight would surely have a great struggle ahead of him. Faindan wante
d to help Trenton--to at least give him some silver to make things a bit easier--but he was confined to Ollanhar and he doubted Trenton would accept any gifts regardless.

  Faindan found himself thinking of Trenton late at night, the grim memories of the shaming ritual swirling through his mind and keeping him awake. The crude, ugly, and seemingly pointless ritual began to seem even more twisted and sinister as he pondered it. It felt as empty as Faindan himself did--a shell that was detached from reality. He touched his face and it felt numb. Nothing seemed quite real anymore. It was like a gloomy dream from which he could not awaken.

  The walls closed in tighter, whispering words of despair into his mind. He felt smothered to the point where his breathing was affected, and he thought that if he did fall asleep he might suffocate and never awaken.

  On the third night, his dread and anxiety grew so potent that he could endure it no longer. He rose from his bed, then donned his armor, his sword, and his shield. If Ollanhar was determined to drive him mad, he intended to go down fighting. He would go to the darkest depths of the tower--a place he had been warned never to go. And there he would confront whatever awaited him.

  Yet Faindan paused. Why wasn't he speaking to Furlus or Taris, telling them how tiny and dark his world had become? Why was he so determined to deal with this on his own? He wasn't sure. He felt so detached from reality that he couldn't summon enough rational thinking to know if he was making the right choice. It seemed everything and everyone was working against him--even Taris and Furlus--and he couldn't possibly confide in them. But what if he was wrong and they would offer him the help he so desperately needed? He had no answer.

  He paced about restlessly for a bit, then decided he must continue with his plan and venture below the tower. As he approached the door, he thought he saw the masked faces of the actors that had tormented Trenton's beast, grinning at him from the oak boards. His hand clamped down on his sword hilt, but the faces were no longer there--if they had ever been there to begin with.

  Faindan thought he could hear soft music and laughter. The laughter faded quickly, but the music remained. He knew it was the music of the dead--a tune that sounded both familiar yet unfamiliar, a tune that was not quite right or normal and flooded his body with chills. The music was known to him from long ago--an ancient memory from before life--and it would someday be known to him again. It would play when he died and his spirit crossed over, a mellow yet triumphant sound welcoming him to a new home. He shuddered, wanting nothing to do with such thoughts, for his mind was too wrapped up in darkness.