Knights: Legends of Ollanhar

by Robert E. Keller

  "That's what people say about me," Jerret replied, shrugging.

  "No harm done," said Shenosi, looking amused. "I know his kind, and they give me a good belly laugh. All is well, my new friends."

  "Not quite," said Jace, looking grim. "We still need to cross that lake."

  Chapter 15:

  The Lurker in the Oaks

  It was midnight at Ollanhar Tower.

  The moon was bright, bathing the courtyard in a cold, pale glow. The fall chill was deep, promising frost.

  Faindan Stillsword stood huddled beneath his fur cloak, gazing at the dark wall of trees at the courtyard's edge. In that forest lurked the figure that had summoned him with a whisper--a whisper that had pierced Faindan's soul, demanding he respond and promising eternal rewards if he did so.

  But Faindan wasn't fooled. He had endured too much to be fooled so easily by the Deep Shadow. No longer the young, naive Knight, he was now a hardened warrior. His suffering had given him a suspicious mind and a hand that was quick to draw a blade. He knew some dreadful foe waited for him in the woods and that this enemy wanted one of three things from Faindan: to make him suffer, to enslave his mind, or simply to kill him quickly.

  Faindan could somehow sense that whoever (or whatever) awaited him was immensely powerful--perhaps more than a match for the young Knight. But Faindan was looking forward to the encounter. He was certain it held the possibility of ending his suffering. He didn't believe his condition sprang entirely from mere mushrooms, however evil they were, and he was convinced that the lurker in the forest also played some significant role.

  Faindan paused to gaze back at the tower. The bulky stone keep stood dark and silent beneath the moon. Everyone else was asleep or off somewhere on Knightly business. Even the door guards were absent this night. It was Faindan alone taking his chances against the forces of Tharnin. But Faindan didn't mind. Each day offered an enormous challenge just to remain sane. The burning he endured in his mind and soul was constant, the stress on his body manifesting itself as intense physical pain, and he was ready to take risks. Death was a small price to pay at this point.

  He gazed down at the stump of his wrist where his hand used to be. Nothing made sense anymore. He wielded the white fire in his sword, and he had seen Kuran Darkender in a vision. Faindan had the potential to be a Lord Knight, and yet he was so battered, weary, and disheveled--seemingly the furthest thing from a wise and dignified leader like Taris Warhawk.

  "What have I become?" he whispered to himself. But the quiet night air held no answer. He shivered beneath his cloak. Everything was so cold--his flesh, his haunted soul, the stone blocks of Ollanhar Tower. Winter was creeping in, and Faindan wasn't ready for the drifting snow and howling wind and the greater isolation that came with that time of year. Winter seemed so desolate to him.

  He knew that worrying about the changing seasons was foolish--considering he might die in the woods on this night. But that's how his mind worked lately, switching topics of contemplation without warning and leaving him unable to focus on much of anything for long.

  Faindan should have feared what awaited him in the oak grove, but he didn't. He had suffered so much that he doubted any foe, however powerful, could take his misery any further. Torture was practically meaningless to Faindan. What could his enemies do to him that would matter? They could kill him, but that would only relieve his misery. He felt they could no nothing to him.

  Faindan sent fire into his sword and walked into the woods.

  He didn't expect an immediate fight, for he knew the lurker wanted to speak to him. And so Faindan was surprised as a Bloodfang leapt from the shadows. Crimson eyes, filled with fury and hatred, bore into him. The Bloodfang rose up from the trail, its wings beating swiftly as it hovered in the air.

  For a moment the two foes gazed at each other.

  Faindan was filled with disgust, for it seemed he was gazing upon a winged demon. The Bloodfang--with its rodent-shaped head, hellish eyes, squirming flesh, and bat-like wings--looked like some foul creature from the underworld. It gazed upon Faindan with equal disgust as it hovered there, as if the human was drastically inferior and deserved only to be torn apart in the trail.

  The Bloodfang's long talons--backed by crooked arms twice as long as a man's legs--swiped out at Faindan's throat, but the Knight ducked the attack and lashed out with his sword. He cleaved a deep wound in the Bloodfang's chest.

  The wound might easily have killed a lesser Goblin, but it only enraged the Bloodfang all the more. Again the talons lashed out in a blur, seeking to overwhelm Faindan with speed and fury and that monstrous reach. But Faindan's blazing sword deflected the attacks, and the white fire in the blade grew blinding. The Bloodfang shrank back, momentarily stunned.

  To Faindan's shock, he felt wonderful--perhaps better than he had ever felt before. The divine power that surged through him and into his weapon burned away the torment. A rush of optimism returned, making him believe that all would be well and he could accomplish anything.

  Charged with power, Faindan's flaming sword beheaded the Bloodfang as the beast raised its arm high into the air to swipe at him. The snarling head landed at Faindan's feet and he kicked it away. The headless body toppled over as it caught fire. It burned to ash in moments.

  Looking down, Faindan's vision was greeted by a bizarre and unexpected sight--he was holding his sword as if with two hands. Of course, this seemed impossible considering one of his hands was still missing and he could see the stump. Yet he could feel the sword in both hands.

  For several moments Faindan simply stood there and relished his freedom. His soul was not only free but in a state of euphoria. It didn't matter to him that the hideous Goblin had missed him by mere inches or that he wasn't yet out of danger. He just wanted to savor the bliss while it lasted.

  At last the fire in Faindan's blade turned greenish and dimmed. He left it as it was to light the path. The ambush had failed, and some of Faindan's confidence had returned. This was a triumphant night for Faindan, so far.

  "Well done," came a gruff voice.

  Faindan turned toward the sound. "Who's there? Show yourself!"

  The underbrush rustled, but no one appeared.

  "Show yourself!" Faindan again commanded. He raised his sword, fearful that an arrow might emerge from the dark.

  Then a man stepped into the trail--into the pale, greenish glow of Faindan's burning sword. He stood well over six feet in height and wore a black cloak adorned with black chains. His grim face displayed a black beard and insane, violet eyes. From his belt hung two curved swords. He also wore the infamous Hand of Tharnin--the bulky iron gauntlet of doom.

  "Tenneth Bard," said Faindan, nodding. It was almost a relief. And least this was an enemy Faindan had dealt with before and one who seemed at least partially human. "I'm not surprised. What's your game on this moonlit night? Other than a game of assassination, that is."

  "A game of recruitment," said Tenneth Bard.

  "Strange way of recruiting," said Faindan, "to send a Bloodfang after someone. Are you recruiting for the Grim Reaper?"

  Tenneth Bard's face was humorless. "You are an extremely powerful Knight, yet you waste it on petty emotions. You suffer needlessly to the point where you have considered taking your own life." The Black Knight shook his head in disgust. "Such folly. You can do so much better."

  "Don't waste your time," said Faindan. "I hate the Deep Shadow and all it stands for. Why would I serve a force of such misery? And the fact that your ugly beast just tried to rip me apart makes me kind of biased toward you."

  Tenneth Bard frowned. "What is this talk of the Deep Shadow? The cause of Tharnin does not interest me, nor does the cause of Bellis. I have my own cause. I am seeking to raise a powerful army and restore Greypillar, a kingdom I once ruled over that was larger than Dremlock. I am seeking hired mercenaries--the best that I can purchase--and I'm offering riches and power as payment."

  Faindan laughed. "So now that you failed to kill
me, I should abandon my Knighthood and join you? What could you possibly offer that would be worth the price?" Yet Faindan was intrigued.

  Tenneth Bard stepped close to him, his insane eyes piercing deeply into Faindan. "I offer an end to your suffering. Has any divine power even dulled your pain? The White Knight that Dremlock sent cannot do it. Even your god cannot, or will not, help. But I can do it. I know ancient healing techniques that can remove a curse even as nasty as the one that plagues you."

  Faindan was convinced Tenneth Bard spoke true, and he longed for the cure. But the price was terrible to contemplate. He would have to turn his back on his god and kingdom and serve some evil cause. Such a thing was utterly selfish. Surely he would be better off dead than joining Tenneth Bard.

  Faindan shook his head. "I can't betray my god."

  Tenneth Bard sighed. "Your god is just a glorified Goblin, a creature from the sky that lies in pieces. It possesses some power through its servants, but its time is long over. It should have died ages ago."

  "The Divine Essence is no Goblin," snarled Faindan, feeling deeply offended at the notion. "It destroys Goblins, like the one you persuaded to ambush me. It is the sacred Messenger of the Great Light."

  "It might as well be a Goblin," said Tenneth Bard. "A beast of crystal with a handful of fools for servants. It even doubts itself, whereas I have no doubt about my destiny. Are you going to continue to serve this shattered doubter? There is only one real god in this forsaken universe, and it is the Great Beast of Tharnin. But even the Great Beast struggles these days against its enemies. That's why I choose to serve myself instead of these strange creatures. I am my own god and my own king, and that's true freedom." His eyes smoldered with passion.

  "It's madness," said Faindan, but his will seemed to falter. He suddenly felt weak, uncertain of his own destiny. The curse of the Deep Shadow was rising within him again, sapping his will and crushing all hope.

  Tenneth Bard brushed a lock of hair from his eyes and leaned close to Faindan. "Don't be a wretched, silly fool. You struck a mighty blow to me that left me wounded and in great pain. It was a wonderful blow. Only Lannon Sunshield himself has wounded me to such a degree. I'm still amazed and inspired by what you accomplished. And the way you have resisted your curse is also impressive. Yes, I have been watching you with techniques unknown even to Taris Warhawk. I know what lurks in your heart."

  "I doubt it," said Faindan. "If you knew, you wouldn't have bothered summoning me. Now go back to wherever you came from before I warn the others. Don't think they won't hear me on this quiet night."

  His face darkening, Tenneth Bard raised the Hand of Tharnin. The blue stones in the gauntlet flared to life. "Call them if you must, but know that I will fight and some will die. This device makes me a god--one even greater than your precious Divine Essence. Even King Verlamer fears me now."

  "Maybe I'll deal with this myself," Faindan said. Again his sword blazed hot, and the triumphant energy flooded through him, burning away the curse and filling him with confidence. "Maybe we should settle this with a duel."

  "You would die," said Tenneth Bard. But he looked uncertain. He stroked his black beard thoughtfully. "I seldom pass up the chance to duel a Knight, but you're too weak right now to challenge me. It wouldn't be a fair contest. Yet perhaps the time will come when our blades will meet."

  Faindan raised his sword, and the white fire grew blinding. "I may be cursed, but I can still fight. I made quick work of your Goblin."

  Tenneth Bard lowered the gauntlet. "Enough. I didn't come here to fight you. And the Bloodfang was merely a test to see if you were still worthy to join my cause. You certainly are worthy, but you're conflicted. You need time to contemplate your future. Return to your tower for now. I will summon you again."

  "Just stay away from me," said Faindan. The fire diminished in his blade, and he was left feeling weary. "I suggest you ride off and trouble Ollanhar no more, for once Lannon returns he will hunt you down and kill you."

  Tenneth Bard shook his head. "Aldreya and Lannon will never return from that quest. I have seen their fate. The sea will swallow them. But you have a chance to save yourself, Faindan. Not by serving a failed god or the Deep Shadow, but by serving a righteous army that can stand against Bellis. Do you really want to end up as one of King Verlamer's slaves?"

  "Our Knights will return," said Faindan. "You will see." But Faindan wasn't as confident as he tried to sound.

  "A sad dream," said Tenneth Bard. "But cling to it if you must." With that, the Black Knight laughed and vanished into the shadowy woods.

  A few moments passed.

  "What are you doing?" Faindan called out.

  "Waiting," came Tenneth Bard's voice from behind a tree.

  "For what?" asked Faindan.

  "For my stupid horse," muttered Tenneth Bard. "He wandered off. Wretched Goblin. Sometimes he does this."

  "Good luck, then," said Faindan, shaking his head.

  He started back toward the tower.

  Chapter 16:

  The Clash Upon the Waves, Part 1

  Ethella and Vorhevia stood on the bow of the warship The King's Pride, gazing down at the sparkling waves. Behind them stood two Thallite giants, dressed in full crimson armor and looking like shining gods beneath the sun. They held the banners of Bellis Kingdom high in the air as inspiration to the other warriors. There were also four Golden Knights and two-dozen soldiers armed with swords and bows. A great catapult called The Widow Maker rose up from the deck--a Thallite device that had sent many ships to a murky grave--and it was loaded with heavy steel balls and ready to launch. Two other warships flanked The King's Pride (The Sea Horn and The Kraken's Beak) and they too were filled with armed warriors.

  Vorhevia gazed at Ethella, his great black-and-silver beard blowing in the wind. His face bore an irritated expression. "So now that we have assembled this small fleet, what do you intend to do with it?"

  Ethella delayed answering, enjoying Vorhevia's irritation. The towering, creepy wizard was angry because he was being kept in the dark. Ethella alone had made plans at the urging of King Verlamer, and it had left Vorhevia feeling as if his authority had been undermined. Ethella loved it.

  Vorhevia sighed. "I await your answer."

  She considered ignoring him, but knew she had already pushed him as far as she dared. "I intend to launch an attack, obviously. What else would I do with three warships? Our king has given us new orders. He now wants the Divine Knights to die here on the water. He wants this quest ended and the White Flamestone to lie at the bottom of the lake."

  Vorhevia groaned in disgust. "I suspected as much, and now my fears have been confirmed. This is foolish beyond belief. The White Flamestone at the bottom of Legend Lake? Not very likely. It is far more likely that our ships will burn in white fire. We will be easy targets. Don't think for an instant that our catapult can match Prince Vannas' divine weapon. Has Verlamer lost his wits?"

  Ethella sneered. "Of course not. Our King is a shining example of sanity." She laughed aloud, truly amused at the notion, and then grew serious. "But he has made the right decision this time. All we have to do is disrupt the prince's attack by getting the Flamestone out of his hands."

  "That has been tried before," said Vorhevia. He folded his cloaked arms across his broad chest. "At least twice. During the Battle of Dorok's Hand and the Battle of Colossus, and both times it failed. What makes you think that this time we will succeed?"

  Ethella pointed toward the ship's cabin. Perched upon the roof were three Goblin Vultures in a row. Their hideous heads turned this way and that, and they sat close together in one mass of feathers, as if the Goblins were joined and formed some three-headed monster. They were tense and eager for bloodshed, barely able to contain themselves.

  "My beautiful pets," she said. "They have been trained extensively for the mission of stealing the White Flamestone. I'm convinced they will succeed. I realize this is not an original plan, but this time it will work. These Vultures kn
ow their business and will not fail me."

  As Ethella gazed upon the Vultures, she felt immense pride and love. The three Goblins were utterly loyal to her. She had raised them since birth and fed them the dark energy of Tharnin (along with live prey). They were the best friends she had--and the only friends she trusted implicitly.

  Vorhevia looked doubtful. "Putting our trust in three wretched birds, and if they fail, we burn to ash. Surely this is folly."

  Ethella wanted to slap him, or claw out his eyes, or kick him in the shin (she couldn't decide which). The High Wizard knew nothing of friendship or loyalty. Like Verlamer, he was as cold as stone and always lost in his own twisted little world. It gnawed at her that she was forced to appease him.

  "Just to be safe," said Ethella, "our ship will hold back, out of range, until the Vultures have done their work. Then we will close in. We will use our great catapult to sink them from a distance. They will die in the water by sorcery and arrow. It will be easy to stand on deck and shoot them as they swim."

  Vorhevia nodded. "That sounds a bit more logical. Why put ourselves in danger when we can send others?"

  "Exactly," said Ethella, forcing a smile. What a coward, she thought. For being so powerful, Vorhevia appeared quite timid at times. He could spout dramatic speeches concerning life, death, and the universe, but was quick to avoid the smallest risks. It was ridiculous.

  "What about Lannon Sunshield?" the wizard asked.

  Anxiety surged through Ethella at the mention of that name. She glanced about, half expecting to see the Dark Watchman climbing onto the deck of her ship. "Lannon has not yet rejoined them. If we strike quickly, we can finish them before he arrives. This might be the best opportunity we'll have."

  "And what if we fail to do so?" asked Vorhevia. "The presence of the Dark Watchman could complicate the battle, to say the least."

  "We have Thallites," Ethella pointed out. "Even Lannon would be no match for two giants. We can win regardless." It was hard to imagine any lone warrior challenging the might of Bellis. They had three armored warships, a huge catapult, and a lot of powerful fighters. Her gaze swept over the ship, taking in the flapping green-and-gold sails looming overhead that were adorned with the proud symbols of Bellis Kingdom, the broad deck that held a battalion of King Verlamer's finest warriors, and the great, lowered arm of the catapult that looked like the arm of some gigantic oak-and-iron beast. Everywhere she looked there was power--from the sprawling and mighty ship itself that felt unsinkable, to the heavily muscled oarsmen who were well armed and well trained for combat, to the elite fighters that would obey her every command. The two twelve-foot-tall giants completed the picture. This was the ultimate warship, fit for a queen.