Knights: Book 01 - The Eye of Divinity (8 page)

"Why did Dremlock allow Serenlock Castle to be built?" asked Lannon. "Why didn't the Knights just come over here and stop it?"

"A good question, Lannon," said Taris. "But we weren't at war with Bellis during that time. We knew why Serenlock was being built, but Dremlock refused to strike the first blow. Our nobility would not permit it."

They guided their horses up the great hill and into the ruins. The Greywinds, despite being sure-footed animals, slipped now and then and panted from the effort of climbing such a steep slope. Lannon clung tight to Taris, feeling like they were in danger of tumbling back down. Much of Serenlock Castle had collapsed on itself and sank into the hill, but some of it was still well preserved.

As they passed upward between the boulders, Lannon made out familiar shapes like parts of stairs, floors, and walls. Cordus seemed to know exactly where he was going, leading them around and even underneath great obstacles, until at last they emerged onto a wide slab on the hilltop. The slab must have been a courtroom floor or something of the like. Here, between four towering statues of Knights, they stopped to make camp, with open sky above them.

Cordus built a fire inside a circle of small stones between the four statues. The Knights gave their horses feed bags and then gathered around, unfolding blankets. Furlus had stashed away a leg of lamb from the Dead Goblin, and now he brought it forth to gnaw on, while Cordus smoked a pipe. As usual, Taris seemed to crave little beyond his required meals, which he had already eaten, and he sat motionless.

Cordus nodded towards the statues. "These represent the Four Lords of Serenlock Castle, Lannon."

The towering statues were made of marble, and depicted men bearing swords, axes, and heavy armor. They were crumbling and mossy, yet still vivid. One stood out from the others due to the insane look in his eyes. His wild hair flowed long, and in one hand he held an Olrog head, which he grasped by its beard. Somehow this was the most lifelike of the statues, and the sight of it made Lannon's heart race. The crazed eyes seemed to burn into his soul. Lannon could not look upon this statue for long. He turned away, wishing he had never set eyes on it but needing to know more about it.

Cordus smiled at him. "Each of these great Knights has a magnificent tale behind him. But the most intriguing of all--certainly the most tragic--is the story of Tenneth Bard, the Black Knight. You will learn much of the history of Dremlock, Silverland, and even our continent of Gallamerth as you advance into Knighthood."

"I want to know about Tenneth Bard right now," said Lannon. A deep sadness wrenched at his heart, underneath which lay a darkness spawned by something he dared not peer into.

Cordus frowned and shook his head. "Some things are better left untold, for the time being. I don't wish to burden you with too much knowledge until you are ready for it. This tale can wait until another time."

"Okay," said Lannon, getting under his quilt. He pulled it over his head, trying to block the statue from both eye and mind. For some reason, he needed to hear the story of Tenneth Bard, though he doubted it would offer him any comfort. Yet sometimes
not knowing
was the worst feeling of all.

An hour passed by. Cordus lay down to sleep, and soon started to snore. Furlus finished gnawing the meat from the bone and also lay down. Taris alone sat by the fire, and he beckoned Lannon over. "Come, I will tell a bit of the tale you've been waiting to hear. No harm will come of it."

Lannon eagerly left his blanket and sat down across from Taris.

"Tenneth Bard was once an exceptionally talented Knight of Dremlock," said Taris. "But he was expelled from the Order for violating the Sacred Laws. He became a pathetic drunkard, wasting his life away, until King Ordamer of Bellis called upon his services. He joined with the Knights of Serenlock in their attempt to destroy the Divine Order. But his former failure had changed him. He was no longer sane or stable. The darkness was in his heart, and drove him deeper and deeper into madness. When Serenlock was defeated, Tenneth Bard escaped and became a Black Knight--sworn to topple Dremlock."

"Why was Tenneth Bard expelled from Dremlock?" asked Lannon, hoping to avoid the same fate. The
Sacred Laws
sounded quite rigid.

"The sad thing is that it was all quite needless," said Taris. "Tenneth Bard made a mistake that he probably should not have been banished over. Yet time and again, great Knights have been cast from the Divine Order for petty violations of the Sacred Laws. And time and again, it has come back to haunt Dremlock."

"Was Tenneth Bard ever killed by anyone?" said Lannon.

"After Serenlock was defeated," said Taris, "Tenneth Bard formed a band of Black Knights called the Blood Legion. When the Divine Knights finally hunted down and broke up his clan--temporarily, mind you, for the Blood Legion exists to this day--he escaped into the Northern Bloodlands and was never seen again. Those are the most dangerous Bloodlands of all, filled with horrors that defy the imagination, and it has always been assumed that he perished out there."

"Why were these statues left standing?" said Lannon.

"As a tribute to our victory," said Taris,
 
"and a warning to future plotters against Dremlock."

"I feel like the statue of Tenneth Bard is watching me," said Lannon. "He certainly does look insane." He folded his arms across his chest and shivered.

"I think there was something evil about Tenneth Bard," Taris said, "that went beyond his insanity. I believe he was in league with dark and powerful forces--perhaps the Deep Shadow itself, which is where all foul sorcery comes from. Even to this day, we may not fully realize what damage he did to Dremlock Kingdom."

Suddenly Lannon felt guilty. He glanced at Cordus, who was still snoring peacefully under his quilt. "Maybe I shouldn't know these things," he whispered. "Cordus thought I should wait to hear of it."

"These are histories you would learn regardless," said Taris. "You're not just a lad who happens to be traveling with us, Lannon. You are soon to be--officially--a Squire of Dremlock Kingdom, and as such, you will learn many things about the past. Now try to get some rest. We still have much traveling to do."

Lannon curled up in his blanket and tried to sleep. For half the night he lay awake, his heart troubled by things he could not understand, feeling Tenneth Bard's crazed eyes upon his soul. Finally he slipped into dark dreams of warfare and bloodlust. He felt the weight of centuries bearing down on him, a shifting tide of glorious victories and renowned men and women--but also of crushed dreams, failed honor, and fallen Knights. Shadows clashed amid the hills and mountains, while Goblins crept out from the gloom of the bloated Mothers to make war on life itself. The dreams lasted the entire night, and Lannon could not escape them until the grey dawn touched his eyelids.

***

The Knights seemed in good spirits the next day. As they rode through the Northern Hills, they talked of jolly things that Lannon listened to with interest for a while and then grew bored with. They spoke of battles past and humorous affairs, of failed Knights and talented ones, the state of the land (with no references to Goblins), and the relationships of the Birlotes, Noracks, and Olrogs. They also talked of things Lannon found boring, like trade and taxation and the value of money. Soon Lannon's mind began to stray from their conversations to thoughts of his folks, the journey, and what awaited him at Dremlock.

By afternoon they had reached the forest lands of Hethos, where trees stood reaching heights of two hundred feet or more and had trunks as wide as cabins. The clouds had broken this day, and the sun streamed down amid the furry pine branches, scattering mottled patches of light across the forest floor. The mist was clearing up. Hethos consisted of vast stretches of woodlands interrupted briefly now and then by farms, hill country, and grasslands.

They stayed the night in a little town called Fargun's Vale that was full of hunters and trappers. It was a rough place, but had a fancy inn called the Divine Alehouse, which was built exclusively for Knights and Rangers. Yet even in this thick-walled inn, which lay on the very edge of town, the travelers could hear brawls and shouts throughout the night.

The next morning, they set off with the shadows still thick about the forest. The wooded hills and valleys continued on, and the ride there was pleasant, the day's warmth held in check by cool breezes. The air was fresh and sweet in their lungs, and the forest was rich with animal life--a welcome change from Bloodlands. They took long breaks for lunch and dinner, resting on soft pine needles, and their spirits were high.

By late afternoon they had reached the muddy banks of the Sorgrot River, which flowed down from the Firepit Mountains. The Firepit range towered above them, stretching from east to west as far as they could see. The forest climbed high into the peaks, a carpet of green clinging to the mountainsides.

Lannon got his first glimpse of the great stone wall that protected Dremlock Kingdom, which sat on a plateau about a quarter of the way up Darkender Mountain (as the Knights called the great peak). Lannon could see a few buildings here and there on plateaus leading up to where Dremlock sat.

The travelers followed the road, winding upward alongside the river. The shadows of evening descended swiftly amid the pines and boulders, with blazing stars visible in the open spaces between the boughs. Wolves howled amongst the forests and rocky ledges, drawing threateningly close at times. The Greywinds snorted contemptuously at the wolf howls and trotted with their heads held high. These warhorses, seldom afraid of anything, were used to the wolves and did not fear them.

The Knights lit lanterns, and soon the shadows around their sphere of light became too thick to peer into. Yet still they followed the road on its steady climb upward into the mountains. Gradually the river curved away, the roar of rushing water growing ever fainter.

At last they reached a wooded plateau where a town called Hollow Deep sat, which consisted of several shops and a place called Knights Lore Inn. "We shall sleep here tonight," Cordus said. "And early tomorrow ride on to Dremlock."

Unlike the Dead Goblin Inn or the Alehouse in Fargun's Vale, the stay at Knights Lore Inn was a jolly affair. The folks inside greeted the travelers with laughter and cheers. They were given delicious food, baths, and the best rooms in the place. Immediately after Lannon's meal and bath, Cordus told him to go to bed while the Knights engaged in a bit of merrymaking downstairs. The lad was disappointed, for many strange characters inhabited this place--some who looked Knightly, as well as some Ranger types, and a few mysterious fellows who preferred to sit in the shadowy corners. The atmosphere was warm, pleasant, and exciting. A richly dressed Bard sang songs of Knightly battles and victories.

As Lannon lay down to sleep, he listened to the sounds below, wishing he were part of the merriment. Yet soon his thoughts turned to other matters. Dremlock Kingdom was close--somewhere up above him on the mountainside--and in the morning he would climb to that legendary place to begin his new life. He kept shifting about restlessly, certain he would stay awake all night and end up dead tired come morning. But the feather bed was agreeable with slumber, and the Bard's signing, faint and unintelligible though it was from there, helped him relax until he slipped into a deep sleep.
 

Chapter 4: The Tower of Arms

When Lannon awoke, he opened the window shutters to see bright sunlight pouring down amid the trees, and he realized he had slept until midday. His pack and his sword were missing, and he concluded the Knights must have moved the items for some reason. He hurried downstairs and found no sign of them. He asked the innkeeper--a thin man with pasty skin and a long beard--if his companions were still in bed.

The innkeeper chuckled. "Seldom do the Tower Masters sleep past the first rays of dawn, my young friend. They decided to let you sleep late, though, because they felt you had a rough go of it on the trip." He pointed to a fellow enjoying a drink at a table. "That's the Knight you need to see."

The Knight at the table wore silver chain mail and a sheathed sword. A brown sash was slung across his armor.
 
His hair was short and curly, his face young and smooth. He took notice of Lannon and smiled, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

Lannon hurried over and sat down. "I'm looking for the three Knights. We were supposed to go to Dremlock Kingdom this morning."

The man laughed. "Well, you've found me instead. The Tower Masters went on ahead earlier, but they sent me to guide you. You won't be seeing much of them now, for they are very busy. My name is Cartlan Nobleblood. I'm a Knight and the Squire Master of Dremlock, which means you answer to me at all times. Is that understood?"

Lannon nodded halfheartedly, overcome with disappointment. He had wanted to ride into Dremlock in the company of the three great Knights. They had made him feel important, whereas this Cartlan fellow instantly shrank his ego.
 

"We have to get going," said Cartlan. "The Color Trials begin this afternoon, and all the new Squires must participate in them."

Cartlan and Lannon set off from Hollow Deep on horseback. Knights, merchants, Rangers, and common folk wandered up and down the mountain road. Dwellings were plentiful along the steeply climbing trail, ranging from log cabins to mansions. Inns and taverns were also abundant, with many bearing colorful names such as the Black Dragon Ale Den, the Golden Feasting House of the Knights, and even the Divine Inn of Unending Merrymaking! There were many colorful shops, some alleging to contain weapons and armor fit for the Knights themselves, and even a small Fortuneteller's den called the Eye of Divinity. Lannon took a long look at this last building. The Knights said he possessed a talent bearing the same name. Did he, then, have a Fortuneteller's gifts?

As the road ran higher and steeper, the shops, inns, and houses vanished, leaving only the massive Knightwood pines and rocky outcroppings. Once in a while Lannon would glance up and catch glimpses of the mountain's dizzying heights, but he couldn't see Dremlock or the wall that protected it.

"Where are my things?" asked Lannon, remembering his missing pack.

"Your stuff got thrown away," said Cartlan. "No Squires are allowed to bring their goods into Dremlock. It's not necessary." He turned and smirked.

Lannon sat in stunned silence for a while, while Cartlan took to humming a cheerful tune. Lannon began to question what kind of men these Knights were, to just dispose of his personal items so ruthlessly. Would the Tower Masters have allowed that to happen? It didn't seem likely, considering Taris had paid good money for the dragon sword, but maybe they didn't know of it.

"I was merely joking about your things," Cartlan finally said. "They were carried off by Taris Warhawk to Dremlock. It's possible the sorcerer put a dark spell on them, though, so be careful. Sometimes he can get irritated and do things like that. If you break out in boils, you'll know why."

Lannon smiled, thinking this Cartlan was really a fool. Lannon knew Taris better than Cartlan suspected. If anything, Taris had taken Lannon's items out of concern for them.

"I'll be careful," Lannon said. "I wouldn't want boils, especially with the Color Trials coming up today. I'll need to be at my best."

Cartlan chuckled. "You might just want to save yourself the trouble and pass on the Trials. You don't look like Knightly material. You'll probably end up wearing an orange sash anyways. But Orange is okay. We always need servants in Dremlock."

"What's so bad about Orange?" asked Lannon.

"Nothing," said Cartlan, "if you don't mind belonging to the lowest, most disrespected class of Squire in Dremlock. Everyone knows Orange Squires get the weakest training and worst assignments. It's kind of a sympathy class--you know, a little something for the failures. They can never become Knights, and just stay on to make a living serving food, tending the courtyards--that sort of stuff. It's downright humiliating, if you ask me. If I were Orange, I'd rather just leave the kingdom. Yet many of the lads swallow their pride and remain for the money and comfortable living."

"Well, maybe I'll do better than that." The confidence in Lannon's words surprised him. "Maybe I'll beat all the trials."

Cartlan shook his head in amusement. "Don't get your hopes up."

Like Hollow Deep, Dremlock Kingdom sat upon a flat, wooded plateau. However, this plateau was much wider, nestled against the mountainside, covered in a pine forest. The mountainside acted as half of the wall that defended the kingdom, and the other half was protected by a natural barrier of stone, like a lip, that ran along the plateau's outer edge that faced away from the mountain. The lip formed a sheer wall over thirty feet high. Guard towers had been placed atop the wall, and any openings in the lip had been filled in with stone blocks. Yet the ridge itself was nearly flawless, making it difficult to believe this was a natural formation--until one studied it up close and realized it was mostly a solid wall of uncut stone.

A huge tunnel mouth stood before Lannon and Cartlan, leading into the wall. Two thick pillars had been hewn from the stone on either side of the tunnel entrance, and a gate between the pillars blocked the way. The gate was silver in hue and made of bars as thick as Lannon's legs, and it had no keyhole or recognizable lock, instead bearing a wheel on both sides. A small stone guardhouse stood just inside the gate.

"Did the Knights carve this tunnel?" asked Lannon, amazed at the size of it. He wondered how they could have accomplished such a feat.

"Don't they have temples where you come from?" said Cartlan. "You should know how Darkender Tunnel was made. You should know all about the Divine Essence, and the White Guardian, and the Father of the White Guardian. You should know about Dremlock from start to...well, to where we are now. You should know all that!"

"I've never gone to a temple," said Lannon. "But I do know about the Divine Essence and some about Dremlock. It's in my book
Tales of Kuran Darkender
."

"That's a stupid book," said Cartlan. "I've read it. So you mean to tell me you've never, ever, gone to a temple?"

"Never," said Lannon.

Cartlan turned, his mouth gaping open in disgust. "Just where are you from? Some sorry little valley off in the middle of nowhere? Did you grow up worshipping some pagan forest gods or something?"

"No," Lannon said, unable to come up with a better reply. His face was flushed red with embarrassment, and he lowered his gaze.

"Regardless," said Cartlan, "I don't have the patience to explain things you should already know. You'll learn all about Dremlock in due time."

Guard towers stood atop the wall on either side of the gate, each manned by two Knights armed with crossbows. As they caught sight of Lannon and Cartlan, a bell chimed out. A huge Knight, adorned in tarnished plate mail and a two-handed battle axe, stepped out of the guardhouse in the tunnel. He was at least seven feet tall, and most of his bearded face was concealed with a horned helm. He wore a red sash across his plate mail.

"Brought us another, Cartlan?" the Gatekeeper said gruffly.

Cartlan nodded. "Just a little fellow. Goes to show you the Tower Masters will take anything these days, Gellick."

Gellick chuckled. "Come now, Cartlan. Give the lad the benefit of the doubt. There could be more to him than meets the eye."

Lannon glanced at the two, his stomach growing heavy with tension. He wished more than ever that Cordus, Taris, and Furlus were with him. He felt alone and suddenly exposed for the weakling he was. He put his hands in his pockets and shrank down in the saddle. The Color Trials--whatever they were--could end up being dreadful.

Gellick strode over and gave the wheel a spin that looked totally random. But when the wheel stopped, a click arose. He shoved the gate open. "Have a good afternoon, Cartlan. And you, little fellow, hang tough. Size means nothing, all in all."

Easy for you to say
, Lannon thought.

The floor of Darkender Tunnel was flawlessly smooth. Birlote torches shone on the walls--glowing crimson gems mounted on silver rods, hanging between paintings of the first Knights of Dremlock. At the tunnel's midpoint stood a silver statue of Kuran Darkender, the first Lord Knight, which was twenty feet tall and without blemish. A shield displaying the Crest of Dremlock was strapped to his arm, and his great sword was thrust towards the mouth of the cavern. His face was grim with a warning to all who dared enter here.

As Lannon gazed up at this statue, chills flooded his spine and he was suddenly swept away in glory. The strength and power of the Divine Knights swelled within him, challenging him to find honor and do great deeds.

As they passed around the statue, Cartlan gave it a slap and chuckled. "What's going on there, Big Pointy?"

The spell broken, Lannon glared at Cartlan. How could this cocky Squire Master refer to the greatest Knight ever as
Big Pointy?
That nickname made Kuran's giant, thrust-out sword seem somehow ridiculous rather than magnificent, and Lannon could not recapture the mood of before.
 

Farther along the tunnel stood another gate and another guardhouse, and beyond it was the tunnel's end. This Gatekeeper--a much smaller Knight than the last--sat in the building eating lunch. He came out and greeted Cartlan. He wore chain mail and had a sheathed short sword at his waist. Like the other Gatekeeper, a red sash was slung across his armor. His bearded face was weathered, his eyes kindly. He smiled at Lannon, showing badly yellowed teeth, and the boy took an instant liking to him.

"I guess I can let you two pass."

"Got a small one here, huh Findel?" said Cartlan, motioning towards Lannon. "The Tower Masters aren't too picky lately."

Findel shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe he's a little on the skinny side, but who says all Knights need be muscle bound? To be honest, you aren't much in the way of strength yourself, Cartlan."

Cartlan's lips tightened, his voice becoming a bit shrill. "Whatever, Findel! I'm plenty strong and you know it!" His face burned crimson and he didn't look at Lannon. "So open the gate, because we're in a hurry."

"Patience, boy," said Findel, grinning. He casually strolled over and spun the wheel, which stopped with a click. Findel shoved the gate open and nodded, still grinning. He winked at Lannon and the lad smiled back.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad here after all.

Lannon's heart pounded in anticipation of actually seeing Dremlock with his own eyes. Even now, he could scarcely believe he was riding into the kingdom built by Kuran Darkender. How had this all come about?

The ground of the plateau was rocky in places, mainly at the edges, yet it was mostly able to support plant life throughout. A well-worn road led away from the tunnel mouth into a forest of colossal pines. The sun hung in the open sky, though soon it would creep beyond the stone ridge, leaving the plateau in shadows. The three Towers of Dremlock were not visible here due to the trees.

"This plateau is amazing, don't you think?" said Cartlan. "This is the perfect place for a kingdom, if you ask me, because it's so well protected. Its as if

the mountain is reaching out to enclose Dremlock Kingdom. And yet a forest grows here within these stone walls. Some believe this plateau isn't a natural part of the mountain at all, that the White Guardian made it."

As they rode into Knightwood--as Cartlan called it--the Great Stable was the first building they encountered, a massive rectangular structure surrounded by bare earth and fences. The pines had been cleared away around the Stable. Standing within a fenced area were rails for jumping, targets for bow practice, and straw dummies for lancing and swordplay. Several Squires were engaged in training in this area, their weapons flashing in the sunlight. Lannon found the smell of the Stable less than appealing, but nothing compared to the stench of the Bloodlands. Cartlan took his horse inside and they continued from there on foot.