Knights: Book 02 - The Hand of Tharnin (7 page)

Willan nodded, his eyes haunted by his pain.

Taris started to say something more, but then his eyes glazed over. He reached up and touched the scars that covered half of his face. His legs sagged beneath him and he collapsed to one knee.

Jace grabbed his shoulder. "What ails you?"

"My wound is not fully healed," said Taris.

Instinctively, Lannon focused the Eye of Divinity on Taris' face. He could see creeping shadows, like tiny serpents, slithering over Taris' scarred flesh. These fragments of dark sorcery caused pain and doubt, but somehow the sorcerer hid it well most of the time. Taris was fighting a fierce battle of wills with the evil sorcery that was still trying to burrow deeper into his being. Lannon was appalled at how much pain Taris was experiencing--and he was amazed at the sorcerer's endurance. The injury was terrifying, and it made Lannon all the more reluctant to engage in his forthcoming duel.

Taris took Timlin aside and chastised him for fleeing. Lannon couldn't hear what was being said, but he could see that Timlin's face was red with shame. At one point, Timlin turned and started to walk away, but Taris seized his tunic and whirled him around, obviously not finished with the lad.

The mood was somber as the Knights lit a pyre for the fallen horse. The grim faces told the tale--that everyone was thinking of the slain Knight. Taris knelt before the fire and bowed his head, as if in prayer. The others did the same, except for Jace, who stood leaning against a tree and smoking a pipe.

 
When the ritual was finished, they resumed their trek down the mountain. A steady spring rain began to fall, adding to their woes. They passed a few inns where they could have taken refuge--including the Knights Lore Inn, where Lannon had stayed during his initial journey to Dremlock. But the company was determined to ride on and make the most of daylight. By the time the terrain leveled off, they were soaked to the skin and splashed with mud.

Lannon sat hunched in the saddle, rain dripping from his face, the death of Zannin weighing heavily on his heart and the dread of the impending duel haunting his mind. It seemed utterly foolish to ride out and abandon Dremlock, as if they were content to blunder into an obvious trap that had already cost the life of a Knight. He wanted to complain to Taris about it, but he knew Taris would only react with anger. He was on his way to the duel and that was that.

Lannon noticed, however, that Taris kept glancing his way. Lannon ignored it at first, too sullen and miserable to question the sorcerer. But at last he muttered, "Is something wrong, Master Taris?"

"You saw deeper into my wound," said Taris, running his fingers over the scars on his face, beneath his hood. "You glimpsed my pain, my struggle."

"I saw...shadows," said Lannon, shrugging.

"It struck fear in your heart," said Taris, nodding at his own words. "You can't accept the fact that we are forcing you--a mere Squire of Dremlock--to fight in what could be a duel to the death."

"I don't understand it," said Lannon, grateful for a chance to voice his feelings. "I don't feel ready for this."

"You are training to be a Divine Knight," said Taris. "Both Knights and Squires are sometimes called upon to fight duels. There is nothing unusual about this. We have fought duels against the Blood Legion for centuries, and we have solved many disputes that way. You must bear in mind that ours is a holy kingdom that serves the Divine Essence. We are sworn to protect Dremlock at all costs. Serving our god is more important even than living, and if we can serve it better by sacrificing our lives in combat, then that is what we must do."

Lannon nodded, but he wasn't fond of Taris' words. Lannon didn't want to die for any reason--even for the Divine Essence. "You're right," he mumbled. "It is my duty, of course."

"But you don't believe I'm right," said Taris, smiling. "You wonder why you should risk your life for a shattered god that looks like a lump of crystal--a god who you're not even allowed to cast your gaze upon. Do not lie to me."

Lannon sighed. "I guess you know me well, Master Taris."

"I know what I see, lad," said Taris. "But let me tell you that a real Divine Knight is not born from study and training. When the time comes, you will do what you must do. The fact that you ride with us now is proof of that." Taris winked at him. "If I were to call off this journey, you would question me. And if you thought calling it off was a bad decision, you would press me to continue on."

Lannon considered Taris' words, but he wasn't as sure about them as the sorcerer seemed to be. "Do you really think so?"

"I do," said Taris. "You have far more courage than you know."

"Not as much as you have," said Lannon.

"Yes, my wound runs deep," said Taris, his face darkening. "It threatens my mind--evil sorcery that bites into my flesh, again and again. In all my years, I have never experienced anything this terrible."

"You shouldn't be on the journey," said Lannon. "You need rest."

"I will rest soon enough," said Taris. "When I retire."

Lannon's eyes widened. "Retire? You can't retire!"

"I certainly can," said Taris. "I have earned the right. And I am weary to the core. The agony I suffer is taking quite a toll on me, young Squire.
 
I'm not the same man who rode with you to Dremlock."

"There must be a way to heal you," said Lannon, struggling to imagine Dremlock without Taris Warhawk. "What about the Eye of Divinity?"

"The Eye does not heal," said Taris. "It gains knowledge and moves objects. I have never heard of the Eye being used as a healing method."

"But the dark sorcery is like an enemy," said Lannon. "Maybe I could seize it and...and get rid of it somehow."

"No," said Taris, "it is more like a disease that requires special healing. If the White Knights of Dremlock cannot cure me, I am finished as a Divine Knight. I'll retire to my forest kingdom of Borenthia, where my pain can be managed. And there I will live in peace and let my body age naturally until death ends my suffering. My body cannot endure much more, and soon I will be forced to ride to my homeland and seek the council of the Birlote Wizards."

Lannon nodded. He hated the thought of Taris leaving Dremlock, but he understood the sorcerer's reasons. "We'll find some way to cure you, Master Taris. I know we will. I need your guidance."

"If we can obtain the gauntlet that inflicted my wound," said Taris, "and study it, there might be a chance of finding a way to rid my body of this infection. Now, do you still want to end this quest and return to Dremlock?"

Lannon found, to his surprise, that he wanted to continue on. He wanted to help Taris at all costs. "No, I'll find some way to win that duel, and we'll claim the gauntlet."

Taris smiled. "There is some of that courage I mentioned. Now you're ready to risk everything--because I've made it personal." He leaned a bit closer and whispered, "That is
real
courage, my young friend. It comes from the heart. I've seen many Knights who seemed to have unyielding honor and courage falter or become corrupted. And I've seen some like you, who doubted whether they had any courage at all, do whatever needed to be done when the time came. Dremlock and the god below it mean little to you at this point. But
people
mean everything to you, and that is all you need to be a great Knight."

Lannon was grateful for Taris' encouragement. He knew that it was Taris' duty to keep the Squires from losing confidence in themselves, but the sorcerer's words left Lannon sitting a bit taller in the saddle. He found himself anxious to get on with the duel, as he knew Taris was in constant torment. He realized that Taris seemed to know Lannon better than Lannon knew himself at times.

Suddenly, Timlin cried out a warning and pointed at the sky. Lannon gazed upward, using the Eye of Divinity, but even with his power he could see nothing through the rain but grey clouds. Raindrops battered his eyeballs, and the Eye of Divinity faltered. Instinctively, Lannon threw up his arm protectively, wondering what new threat Timlin's keen vision had spotted.

"I see it!" Taris said, shielding his eyes as he stared upward. "A Vulture, I believe--circling high overhead. The rain does not trouble it. Well done, Timlin. You have taken a step toward redeeming yourself."
         

"Timlin has sharper vision than a Birlote," said Aldreya, moving wet, tangled hair from her eyes. "It's too bad he lacks courage."

Timlin's face reddened, and he seemed about to say something. But then he glanced at Taris and lowered his gaze.

Jerret shook his head. "You know I love you, Aldreya. But that's not a nice thing to say to a fellow Squire."

Aldreya's looked confused. "You love me?"

"As a friend and fellow Squire, of course," said Jerret, winking at her. "But Timlin doesn't need to hear that right now. He just lost his wits back there. It could happen to any of us. I thought about fleeing too."

"Silence, Squires!" Taris commanded.

"Could be just a stray Goblin from the Bloodlands," Jace called back, sounding impatient. "Vultures are not an uncommon sight in this region."

"Perhaps," said Taris, "but my instincts tell me it's a spy." He signaled to the archers, and they fired arrows toward the heavens.

 
Moments later, a dark shape fell to earth--a Goblin Vulture with a very humanoid head and a mouth that resembled a bloody gash. Lannon shuddered. The creature's black eyes seemed fixed on him, even in death.

"Either way," said Taris," one less Goblin to haunt the land."

But then two more Vultures appeared, diving toward Lannon through the rain. They erupted into bloodcurdling screeches as they descended, their claws stretched out to rip at his flesh. The archers killed one of the beasts, and Timlin shot the other. The Vultures flopped around in the mud before going still.

Lannon turned and waved to Timlin, grateful the little fellow was watching his back. Amongst the Squires, Timlin was the best archer at Dremlock. Lannon realized something wasn't right, however. That had been a weak attempt on his life--too weak to be considered anything but a prelude or a diversion.

And sure enough, seven Jackal Goblins leapt from the fog and charged at Lannon, their long teeth and claws like jagged knife blades. They moved with tremendous speed and agility as they bounded over the earth.

Jace leapt from his horse and tackled one of them, bearing it to the ground. Man and beast rolled around in the mud. Meanwhile, Timlin caught one of the Jackals in the shoulder with an arrow, but the Goblin kept charging. Taris and Vorden rode in front of Lannon to protect him, their weapons drawn.

The archers, unable to get a clear shot, held back with their arrows ready. But Timlin kept firing. He shot another Jackal in the neck, and this time the beast went down in a mass of flailing arms and legs.

Taris hurled green fire from his dagger and burned a Jackal to ash. Another Jackal charged at Vorden but then bounded over him, knocking Lannon from his horse. With the others engaged in battle with the remaining Goblins, and the archers left with no clear shot, Lannon was forced to fend for himself.

The thought of Taris' suffering filled Lannon with anger, and he seized the Jackal with the Eye of Divinity and shoved it off him. He drew his Dragon sword and ran the creature through. Unable to move, the beast was an easy target for a well-trained Squire like Lannon. The Dragon Sword seemed to fly right to the Jackal's heart. Lannon hated killing anything, but as a Squire of Dremlock, it was unavoidable. His life was destined to be one of combat and bloodshed, though he remained determined to avoid killing whenever possible.

Meanwhile, Jace rose from the mud, gripping in one huge hand the Jackal he'd been fighting with. The Jackal was limp in death, and Jace cast it aside--his gaze focused intently on Lannon.

Thrake slew two of the Jackals from horseback--his axe smoldering with crimson fire as he struck. The blade seemed webbed in red and black, pulsating veins. The huge, dark-skinned Red Knight drove into his foes with terrible impact, his axe burning through thick Goblin hide and crushing stout Goblin bone with ease. The mystical fire erupted on contact, throwing up sparks and bits of smoldering hide. Hot coals bounced off Thrake's bald head and some got caught in his bushy black beard, but he casually brushed them away.

Aldreya cast green fire from her dagger onto a Jackal's hide, where it quickly spread. Completely engulfed in flames, the beast ran howling into the fog, leaving a trail of black smoke. Aldreya cried after it in triumph. Lannon knew that she found Jackals particularly revolting.

Taris and Vorden dispatched all but one of the remaining Goblins. Vorden suffered shallow claw wounds to the arm, but overall he displayed the combat skills that made him the top Squire in his age group at Dremlock.
 
He fought like a fully trained Knight, carving up his foe with deadly precision. Taris' sorcerous fire seemed to burn hot with rage, incinerating the Goblins it touched--as if the pain from his wound was causing him to lash out viciously at his foes.

The remaining Jackal got around the two defenders and charged at Lannon, only to stagger and collapse--impaled with three arrows from the archers, who had ridden closer and found an opening. The beast tried to rise again, its muzzle curled into a snarl of rage, but another arrow pierced its eye and finished it off.

With the ambush seemingly ended, they burned the bodies of the Jackals before moving on. Lannon wondered how many more attacks they would have to fend off before they reached Serenlock Castle. Obviously, the demon man had chosen an arena that was far enough from Dremlock that multiple ambushes could take place. With one Knight dead already, it seemed their foes were trying to wear them down. Lannon wondered if the demon man actually intended to have a duel or if he was simply planning a series of attacks and assassination attempts.

 
The rain held steady as the day wore on. They rode swiftly in spite of the weather and the need to stay alert, and soon they found themselves in the Northern Hills, also known as the Elder Lands. Tall, grassy hills sprawled as far as the eye could see, some displaying crumbling stone ruins. The thick pine forests of the Firepit Mountains had given way to mostly open country, with occasional lone pines or wooded groves here and there.