Knights: Legends of Ollanhar

by Robert E. Keller

  "You're a coward and a bully," said Lannon, gazing at him in defiance. "For all your wise talk, that's all you are. You torment and kill helpless prisoners because it makes you feel important. Isn't that the truth of it? It's not about preserving your way of life. You just like to show your power."

  Henati's face twisted into a scowl. "I have been very patient with you, yet you're too limited to understand anything I've told you. All that's left for you is to be crushed!" He clenched his hand into a broad fist.

  "Crush me, then," Lannon said, overwhelmed with disgust. "Show me your power while I'm in chains."

  "You dare mock me, boy?" snarled Henati, his Dwarven temper coming to life. "It's time you learned to respect your elders!"

  To the delight of the crowd, a red-hot branding iron was handed to Henati. The Supreme Elder glowered at Lannon. "I may be very old, but I'm still a Dwarf! I still feel a Dwarf's rage and a Dwarf's sense of justice! You will soon beg for mercy, outsider, and yet you shall be given none!"

  The crowd went into a frenzy, and a portion of the fence caved in. The guards had to push some of them back.

  The time for debate was over. Lannon Sunshield had lost in a miserable fashion. Not only had he failed to convince Henati that his thinking was immoral, but he had seemed to invigorate and strengthen the Malrog Elder. Now only one thing remained for Lannon--a show of brute force. Lannon realized that when all else failed, people inevitably resorted to threats, intimidation, or raw power to achieve their goals. The concept of it left him feeling empty inside. How could Henati be so blind to the truth and so confident he was right? Surely Henati saw Lannon the same way. But none of it mattered now. The issue would be decided as so many things were--by battle.

  Sneering, Henati shoved the branding iron against Lannon's chest. "Now feel the burn of Malrog justice, you lawbreaking wretch!" The Supreme Elder had lost himself to Dwarven battle lust, his body shaking with fury.

  Lannon gazed sternly at Henati, letting the power of the Eye do the talking for him. Puzzled by Lannon's response, Henati pushed harder.

  "You can't harm me," said Lannon. "For all your supposed wisdom, you realize the truth too late. You have failed!" Lannon was frustrated with his own failure and wanted to show Henati that he too had fallen short of his goals.

  Henati's eyes widened and he backed away. Lannon's chest was unmarked. The crowd gasped in disbelief.

  "Trickster!" Henati shouted, pointing at Lannon.

  Doomar grinned. "Now that's quite a sight!" the condemned Dwarf bellowed, rattling his chains. "Not a blemish to be seen. You must be made of iron, Lannon." His muscles bugled as he strained against the chains with renewed vigor, for he sensed the possibly of escape.

  Overcome with shock and bloodlust, Henati threw down the branding iron and draw his long dagger. "I'll gut you, wretch!" he shouted. With surprising speed and agility for his age, he leapt at Lannon in an attempt to drive the knife through the Dark Watchman's heart.

  Lannon broke free of his irons just in time to seize Henati's arm. He snatched away the Elder's dagger and flung it against a tree--burying it to the hilt in the oak. He shoved the ancient Dwarf away, as the guards closed in. Henati crashed into the three other Elders and knocked over their chairs. All four Elders lay in the dirt, cursing and muttering, as a gasp arose from the crowd.

  "Wonderful," Lannon mumbled to himself as he glanced at the fallen Elders. He hadn't intended to shove Henati quite so hard. Lannon was quickly becoming the most hated enemy of the Malrogs.

  The guards attacked Lannon with berserk fury in defense of their toppled leaders. Lannon struck back quickly, hurling Dwarves away from him left and right and knocking other Malrogs to the ground.

  Lannon then sought to free Doomar from his irons, while still fending off attackers. Hammers and long knives lashed out at him, but Lannon pushed back with the Eye, creating a barrier around him and Doomar. At last Lannon ripped the irons apart, and the oversized Malrog was free.

  His face grim with purpose, Doomar punched a fallen guard who was trying to rise and took the man's hammer. The massive Dwarf then killed a guard with a blow so fierce it shattered the fellow's skull.

  Lannon hurled a Malrog into the fence, knocking over several Dwarven youths. Then he seized Doomar and said, "I need to carry you."

  "No man carries me," said Doomar.

  "We'll never escape," said Lannon, "unless we move fast."

  "Very well," the Dwarf said, with a sigh. "This is an embarrassment, but I'm not going to argue with you. Do what you must."

  Lannon lifted Doomar over his shoulder and fled, drawing on every last bit of the Eye to give him strength. He broke through the crowd like a battering ram and then was hurtling along through the dark forest.

  "This is impossible," said Doomar. "How can you see?"

  "I'll tell you later," said Lannon, not wanting to expend any energy on talking.

  "You're not human," said Doomar.

  "Yes, I am," said Lannon. "Just different."

  "Why didn't you kill any of them?' Doomar asked. "You should have at least killed Henati. That wretch deserved death long ago."

  "No need for bloodshed," said Lannon, "unless given no choice."

  "You have a noble heart," said Doomar. "Then you're probably not too pleased with me for killing that guard back there. I actually didn't mean to hit him that hard. I was just trying to knock him out, not crush his skull."

  "I don't blame you," said Lannon. "We were in a fight for survival. Sometimes it's hard to show mercy when you're surrounded."

  "Yet you showed mercy," said Doomar.

  "I did what I could," said Lannon. "Sometimes I'm forced to kill as well. Tonight wasn't one of those times."

  Lannon stumbled over a log and nearly went down. After catching his balance, he paused. "I really shouldn't be talking, as it wastes precious energy. And I'm going to end up tripping or running into a tree."

  "I'll shut my mouth," said Doomar. "Though I have to say I don't fancy being carried like a baby. Utterly embarrassing."

  "I can put you down," said Lannon. "But you'll probably get caught."

  A moment of silence followed.

  "I'll endure the shame," Doomar said at last, his deep voice somber.

  ***

  After they had continued for sometime, Lannon paused to rest on a hillside. They sat down in the leaves, sweat dripping from their foreheads, listening carefully for sounds of pursuit. It was a hot night, and animal noises came from all around, but there was no sign of the Malrogs.

  "Thanks for rescuing me, friend," said Doomar. "I was certain my time had come, that I would die on that post. I prayed to the Great Light to save me. First time I ever prayed. You are a true miracle."

  "I'm no miracle," said Lannon, embarrassed by the praise. "I just happened to be in the right place at the right time."

  "I disagree," said Doomar. "The escape was indeed miraculous."

  "I think we have a good lead on them," said Lannon, in an effort to change the subject.

  "We should," said Doomar, raising his eyebrows. "I've never seen a human move so fast over these hills, and in the dark no less. And not a scratch from a branch to show for it. You must be a sorcerer of some kind."

  "Do you believe in sorcery?" asked Lannon.

  Doomar nodded. "Only because I met a sorcerer about twenty years ago. His name was Jace. A giant of a man and very wise. He stopped by the village where I lived, and performed some tricks for the crowd. Everyone assumed he was a fake, including me. But then I told him about my haunted home, and he asked to come have a look. He told me it was indeed haunted and actually called forth a ghost from the shadows. He told me it was a harmless entity. I saw it with my own eyes and I felt its chill. My mother saw it too. I knew then that sorcery was real."

  "Interesting tale," said Lannon. "I was traveling with a sorcerer named Jace before I was captured--very likely the same Jace you encountered. Not surprising, though, since he seems to have journeyed all over Galla
merth."

  "Are you his apprentice?" asked Doomar.

  Lannon shook his head. "I am a sorcerer, of sorts, but not his apprentice. Jace and I are very different."

  "We should keep moving," said Doomar. "We still have a long way to go to get beyond the Oldermar Hills. Your speed will come in handy."

  "I'm actually rather exhausted," said Lannon. "I can't maintain that speed while carrying you any longer. You'll have to proceed on foot."

  "At least I'll have my pride back," said Doomar. "But don't worry, I'm part Malrog and I can move quite fast through the hills. I'm also in great physical condition, thanks to working in my forge all day long. I'm a blacksmith, you see. I make some of the finest weapons money can buy."

  "I have no doubt about that," said Lannon. "You have the build of a blacksmith. In fact, you look strong as a bull."

  "I'm twice as strong as the average Dwarf," said Doomar, his voice full of pride. "Before I was a blacksmith, I performed feats of strength for the crowds. I bent steel bars, lifted boulders, and broke chains. But you're even stronger than I am, apparently. You ripped apart those stout irons, when I could not. I've never seen anyone break Malrog irons."

  "I'm not actually that strong," said Lannon. "My power makes it appear that way. You're actually far stronger than I am."

  Doomar shrugged. "Strength is strength, regardless of the source. Muscle or magic makes no difference. My strength is legendary, but yours is inhuman. You must be an extremely dangerous warrior."

  "I do okay in battle," said Lannon.

  "Quite an understatement, I'm sure," said Doomar.

  They started off again through the hills.

  "I will travel with you for a time," said Doomar, "if you don't mind. We can visit my village, where I can pay you for rescuing me."

  "Payment isn't necessary," said Lannon.

  "But you have no weapon," said Doomar. "I can provide you with a stout blade or hammer, and some armor too if you'd like."

  "First I need to locate my companions," said Lannon. "Then maybe we'll visit your village if it's along the way. I have a friend who is in need of a great sword. I would like to see what you have to offer."

  "I have one Glaetherin sword," said Doomar. "It's not pure Glaetherin, mind you. Not even close. I'm a respected blacksmith, but I'm not wealthy enough to afford pure Glaetherin. But it is stronger than steel."

  "It's definitely worth a look," said Lannon. Perhaps at last Vorden would obtain a sword that he couldn't accidentally melt.

  "Our escape isn't certain yet, though," said Doomar. "These hills are infested with Malrogs, and soon all of them will be searching for us."

  Moments after he finished speaking, a great horn sounded throughout the hills--a warning that prisoners were in flight.

  Doomar nodded. "They delayed the horn out of embarrassment. Now the hunt is truly in progress. Can you feel the rage and hatred?"

  Lannon could. It was as if the entire forest had turned hostile, a dark feeling infesting the very air itself.

  "The Deep Shadow is awake in my people," said Doomar, "filling them with power and evil. They will never admit it to themselves, but when the Malrogs grow angry, ancient magic stirs to life."

  "So that's how they defend these hills," said Lannon. "The power of Tharnin makes them fierce and terrible."

  "Yes," said Doomar. "As an outcast, I understand this. But such ideas are forbidden amongst the Malrogs. To speak of it is a crime."

  "The Olrogs are similar," said Lannon. "They too were once in the grasp of Tharnin and still harbor strange abilities as a result."

  "I am both Olrog and Malrog," said Doomar. "So what does that make me exactly? What strange abilities do I possess?"

  "I don't know," said Lannon.

  "I'm a monster," said Doomar, in a very deep, chilling voice. "I have been told that all my life."

  "That's ridiculous," said Lannon. "You're just different than most Dwarves. There is nothing wrong with being different."

  "I almost wanted to die on that post," said Doomar. "Maybe that's why I didn't really struggle. I'm tired of the fight." He leaned against a tree, looking suddenly defeated. "Perhaps you should go on without me."

  Lannon was puzzled. "What's wrong?"

  Doomar looked away. "Just having a moment."

  "We need to keep moving," said Lannon.

  Doomar hesitated, then started walking again. "Sorry, Lannon. Sometimes my emotions get the best of me. I've had a very hard life."

  "Not a problem," said Lannon. He could only guess at the dark thoughts that lurked in Doomar's head. How badly had he been mistreated in life? Lannon could have studied him with the Eye, but he didn't feel it was his right to probe the Dwarf's secrets, considering Doomar had done nothing to earn Lannon's distrust. If Doomar wanted to talk about it, he would.

  "I owe you much, Lannon," said Doomar. "I will not hesitate again until we're safely beyond this forest." He raised his hammer. "And if we must fight, I will hold nothing back." His eyes smoldered with dark fire. "Nothing!"

  Chapter 10:

  The Choices of a Lost Knight

  Far away from the Oldermar Hills, as Lannon and Doomar fled through the forest, Faindan Stillsword stood in the Entrance Chamber of Ollanhar Tower, gazing down at the heavy stone trapdoor before him. Below that trapdoor was some great, dark power that beckoned to him.

  It was a nightly occurrence for Faindan to visit the trapdoor. On each occasion he had been certain he would conquer his fears and go below, but it hadn't happened yet. He had failed to find the courage to even lift the stone slab.

  Would this night be different?

  Faindan's torment had become almost unbearable. The tower was relentless in playing tricks on his mind, somehow keeping him isolated from the others. It watched him endlessly

  "This ends tonight!" he whispered to the keep. "You will release my soul at last. I will find a way to defeat you. Somehow..."

  But surely the trapdoor led to death. Everyone at Ollanhar knew never to go down there. Was Faindan being tricked by the Deep Shadow into surrendering his life? That rational thought was there for a moment, then became lost in a hazy fog as the walls seemed to close in on him.

  Faindan had to venture below, because the alternative was to slowly go insane. He knew something was very wrong with his life, that things were not supposed to be this way, but he didn't know how to fix it. He couldn't leave Ollanhar. In fact, he didn't dare set foot outside. He wasn't sure why, but the thought of leaving the keep was terrifying. If he couldn't conquer his demons in here, what hope did he have of surviving in a large and sinister world that could swallow him whole? And he couldn't tell anyone what he was feeling. They would never understand or be able to help him. They would think he was weak or insane and strip him of his Knighthood. They would laugh at him and mock him. He was trapped in the tower, barely able to eat or sleep, seldom encountering anyone.

  Faindan thought back fondly to his conversation with Trenton Shadowbane, for that was his last meaningful interaction with anyone. The shaming of the beast ceremony was the last time Faindan had been outside. What had he been doing since then? Wandering around in torment, it seemed, as Ollanhar gnawed at his soul. There was nothing else left for him in life.

  The tower seemed so terribly empty lately. When he visited the Dining Chamber, he found himself eating alone, with only a sullen Orange Squire for company--a woman who gazed at Faindan with dark, almost hateful eyes and spoke to him in an annoyed tone. It was almost as if she was demonic and plotting against him, but he wasn't sure. She might have simply not liked Faindan. But where was everyone else? Faindan could wander the tower for hours without encountering anyone--and the weather outside was always dark and foggy lately. He hated to even look out the windows, because everything outside looked so gloomy and ugly.

  "This is my world," Faindan whispered to himself. "It has become so...small." He wondered if he would be better off dead. Not yet, he assured himself, but if he eventually discovered the
re was no escape from the torment, then perhaps leaping from a tower window might make quite a statement. It would be a dramatic death and quite liberating. If nothing else, it would serve as a reminder to those who had forgotten him. They had all abandoned him, so maybe a shocking reminder was just what was needed. And it would show Ollanhar Tower that he wasn't its prisoner after all.

  Faindan's biggest fear was that he would survive the fall and end up mangled beyond repair, forced to live out his days bedridden and in agony. He had spent time considering ways he could lower his chance of survival--such as using a blade on himself just before making the leap.

  But maybe a leap from a tower window wasn't even necessary. Maybe he would find death below the trapdoor--in the darkness. Yet that somehow seemed less dramatic and less satisfying, and there was a chance no one would even know of his fate. But he hadn't come here to die, he reminded himself. He still clung to the faint hope that by going below he could free himself.

  Yet was it time to surrender that hope, to climb the long stairway to the highest tower window and make his statement? He rubbed his forehead and groaned, his thoughts swirling about so quickly he couldn't keep pace.

  "Why are you hesitating?" came a quiet voice.

  Startled, Faindan looked up. At first he saw nothing, a cold and empty chamber lit by Birlote torches. Then a human form materialized from the shadows, and the figure stepped forward.

  It was Taris Warhawk.

  "I...don't really know," Faindan stammered. He cleared his throat. "I'm just wandering, feeling restless. I should return to bed."

  The grey-cloaked sorcerer's hood was thrown back, revealing his pointed ears, cooper-colored flesh, and silver hair. Half of Taris' face was a mass of scars, a grim and terribly painful wound inflicted by the demonic Hand of Tharnin. Taris had also suffered brain damage during a brutal fight, and sometimes his thoughts became foggy or jumbled. But he was a wizard of unmatched power and the Lord Knight of Dremlock Kingdom.

  Remembering his manners, Faindan bowed. "My apologies for disturbing you, Lord Knight. I...I never meant to." He wondered why Taris was still awake and actually bothering to speak to him.