Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar (Ollanhar Series Book 1) (31 page)

“You killed it,” said Jerret, nudging it with his
toe.

“So much for the mighty Hand of Tharnin,” said
Dallsa, patting Vorden on the back. “Even though it was a cheap imitation,
I’ll bet that felt good.”

Vorden nodded. “
Very
good.”

Daledus lifted the broken gauntlet and frowned. “I
don’t know who was working this forge, but this definitely was not crafted by
the Dwarves. Piece of junk.” He dropped it and kicked it away.

Jace threw up his hands in frustration. “Wonderful,
Vorden! You likely just alerted the entire fortress to our presence.”

“Sorry,” said Vorden. “I lost control. I
warned you all what could happen to me in here. I also fear for
you
,
Lannon. I hate to say it, but I’m growing increasingly worried that you too
could lose yourself to darkness here.”

“I’m fine,” said Lannon. He felt very focused.

Vorden opened his mouth to say something, then closed it
again and turned away—opting to let the conversation end.

Lannon scanned the room, searching for more clues. Aside
from the tables, there were also two large iron furnaces and wooden barrels
that typically held water for cooling weapons. One of the barrels had a rusty
broadsword sticking out of it, indicating the forge had been abandoned in a
hurry and hadn’t been used in awhile—yet Lannon couldn’t glimpse the reason
for the abandonment.

Then a shocking realization invaded Lannon’s mind. He
sensed something huge might have been in the works here—a plan even Bellis
might not have known of. He realized Tenneth Bard may have been preparing for
another invasion of the Barloak Demons like the one that had nearly doomed the
world in ancient times. It was just a brief glimpse but it shook Lannon to the
core. He reported what he had seen to the others.

“If true,” said Aldreya, “there must be a
portal to Tharnin somewhere in this fortress. It will eventually have to be
sealed.”

“That is grim news,” said Jace, “but not
entirely unexpected. We knew all along what Tenneth Bard’s goal is—to open the
way for the Deep Shadow. Another invasion of the Barloaks makes perfect sense,
but it would be no easy task to pull off. The Barloaks were so badly damaged by
the Crimson Flamestone it is unlikely they would ever return to our world. They
can be very stubborn. You know how demons are—petty and unyielding.”

The forge had two exits—an iron door and a stairway that
led down into darkness. Lannon examined the stairs and found them guarded by a
trap of sorcery—a black cloud that would smother anyone who tried to go below.

“I believe I can shield myself from the trap,”
said Lannon. “However, I doubt I could protect anyone else. And I don’t
think any of us can break the spell. I would have to go alone.”

“I don’t think we should split up,” said Vorden.
“Obviously some extremely dangerous foe is lurking in this fortress, and
it might take all of us to defeat it. We should see what’s beyond the door
first.”

Lannon sent the Eye past the door—but found only another
tunnel. The door itself was unlocked. “That route doesn’t seem as well
guarded,” he said. “Therefore, I have to conclude it’s less likely to
lead to Prince Vannas.”

Jace stood in silence for a moment, his eyes distant.
“If I remember right, I believe I went past that door last time I was
here. It led to a confusing maze of traps and unimportant locations. I suggest
the stairs. Lannon can slip down there and perhaps rescue Prince Vannas without
a fight.”

“I like that plan,” said Lannon, not wanting to
put the others at risk. “And I can travel much more quickly alone.”

“I don’t like this,” said Dallsa, pressing close
to him. “What if you encounter the thing that captured our prince? Can you
defeat it alone?”

“I don’t know,” said Lannon.

Aldreya paced about in thought, torch in hand, then said,
“I suppose you should go below and do a quick search. We will wait for you
here.”

“Aldreya!” Dallsa groaned. “What are you
doing? Lannon should not go down there alone. It’s too dangerous.”

“Not for a Dark Watchman,” said Aldreya.
“Dremlock recruited Lannon for missions where a single warrior is needed.
It is the way of his kind to walk alone into great danger, to go places where
others wouldn’t dare.”

“She’s right, Dallsa,” said Lannon. “This is
what I do.”

“Well, it’s foolish!” Dallsa insisted.

“Let him go,” said Daledus. “Lannon knows
what he’s doing.”

Without another word, Lannon walked to the stairs and
started down. Instantly, the black cloud of sorcery closed around him, seeking
to cut off his breath. He pushed it back with the Eye and kept moving.

***

Jerret watched Lannon vanish below—beyond the light of
Jace’s torch. Lannon had gone into total darkness with only the Eye of Divinity
to guide him. Being able to see in the dark was a huge advantage, yet Jerret
found himself questioning their decision to split up. The party had just
drastically weakened itself, gambling on Lannon’s speed and skill. It was a
significant gamble.

“Now I guess we wait,” said Jerret, with a sigh.
He sheathed his sword and folded his arms across his chest. “I hate
waiting.”

“I suspect it won’t take long,” said Jace.
“With the Eye to guide him, Lannon should quickly locate the prince…or
his body at least.”

Lothrin glanced at Jace, then looked away.

“The prince is alive,” said Dallsa. “I know
it in my heart.”

“Then you have better instincts than I do,” said
Jace, “because I’m not sure of anything. If Vannas still lives, it is only
by some miracle of the White Flamestone. Our foe would have no reason to keep
such a dangerous warrior alive. We aren’t dealing with a fool here who captures
his enemies for no good reason—only to watch them get rescued later. We’re
dealing with a genius of strategy who has fought and won many battles
throughout the centuries. I’m certain of that.”

“I trust the Divine Essence,” said Aldreya.

“All well and good,” said Jace, “but your
god has little influence in this domain. Here, evil rules supreme.”

Lothrin’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re saying we’ve
wasted our time coming here, that my cousin is already dead.”

“We haven’t wasted our time,” said Jace.
“Far from it. We still have hope of regaining the White Flamestone. But
sadly, the prince probably won’t be around to use it.” Jace bowed his
head. “He will truly be missed.”

Jerret wanted to disagree with Jace, but he couldn’t.
Vannas probably was dead and gone, and the White Flamestone was now heavily
guarded somewhere in Wallrock Fortress. He could see by the look on Dallsa’s
face that she felt the same way. Aldreya, however, bore her usual stony
expression.

“We can’t give up hope,” said Vorden, but he
looked weary.

“Sometimes hope simply runs out,” said Jace, with
a big sigh. He tried to light his pipe but everything was too wet. “It
seems my hope for a good smoke has run out as well. What, then, is left for
us?”

“But it doesn’t make sense,” said Lothrin.
“Why didn’t this demon—or whatever it is—just kill Prince Vannas back
near camp and be done with him quickly? Why did it lead him away for quite some
distance before the trail vanished?”

Jace scratched his head, frowning. Then he grinned at
Lothrin. “Ah, excellent observation, my fine Ranger.
Excellent
observation! I actually didn’t think of that. Well, I’ve changed my mind, then.
The prince is probably still alive. Now if only I could get my pipe lit. Can
you lend me some Knightly fire?”

Lothrin sighed and walked away.

Aldreya dried Jace’s tobacco with her sorcery. “Now
you can’t accuse me of being cold hearted simply because I no longer call you
Uncle Jace.”

Jace took a puff and grinned. “Of course I wouldn’t do
that. You’re my favorite…Green Knight. I would pat you on the head like I
used to—if I didn’t think you would burn my hand off for the effort.”

“And you need a waterproof tobacco pouch,” she
added. “There is no excuse for letting your leaf get wet—even that foul
Norack leaf.”

Jace held up the pouch. “It used to be waterproof, but
I guess it has aged poorly over the fifty years I’ve had it. I suppose I’ll be
needing another one.”

They fell silent for a time.

Finally Dallsa walked to the stairs and glanced down into
the darkness. “Hurry back, Lannon,” she whispered, her face tense
with worry. She cocked her head to one side. “I hear noises down there,
like battle!”

“Stay away from those stairs,” said Aldreya.
“They are dangerous. What you hear could be a trick of the dark sorcery to
entice you below.”

Reluctantly, Dallsa did as ordered.

“We will continue to wait,” said Aldreya.

Jace yawned. “Anyone have anything interesting to talk
about?”

“You’re the wandering adventurer,” said Aldreya.
“And you’re two-hundred years old. If anyone has anything interesting to
say, surely it must be you.” Her tone was somewhat sarcastic.

“Well, I don’t,” said Jace, yawning again.
“I’m talked out.”

“That’s a first,” said Aldreya.

Jace waved at her dismissively, then sat down and leaned
his back against a barrel. “I suppose I will sleep for a while. Wake me
when Lannon gets back…if he ever does.” He bowed his head, eyes closed.

Dallsa glared at him. “How can you sleep right
now?”

Her only answer was loud snoring.

***

After Lannon pushed his way through the sorcerous cloud and
reached the bottom of the stairs, he stood facing a long hallway lined with
stone coffins—a tomb for Olrog warriors who had died defending the fortress.
The coffins were adorned with Dwarven runes that told of heroic deeds. Water
had leaked down the walls and into cracks, giving rise to mold, and a musty
stench hung in the air.

Perfect smell for a tomb
, Lannon thought.

Lannon wasn’t overly fond of Olrog tombs, and his gaze
passed over his surroundings quickly. Nevertheless, the Eye gave him odd
glimpses of things that haunted his mind. The Deep Shadow was like a serpent
here—a monstrosity stretched along the hall, burrowing into the coffins and
binding them all together. A haze of evil hung about the bones of the dead. It
seemed evil lived to create a maze in which all things were snared and
confused, and where evil was found, this labyrinth always existed. The Eye of
Divinity traced the body of the serpent, seeking an end to it—but the head
devoured the tail and created a loop of confusion. The maze was impenetrable to
the light and that was why evil could hide itself so easily in the midst of
honorable hearts. The serpent shifted endlessly, twisting about as it burrowed
through the world, a leviathan of suffering.

Groaning, Lannon drew the Eye partially inside him. He
hated seeing such things, for they were troubling and confusing—knowledge that
seemed ultimately meaningless. Why did the Eye show him such strange sights? He
felt he would never have an answer to that question.

As Lannon proceeded on, the tunnel seemed to grow even more
ancient—the walls crumbling around him. The coffins were left behind—replaced
by holes in the walls where the bones of the dead lay. Each hole contained an
empty iron candle holder as well. Thick Dwarven skulls peered out at him from
amongst rib bones and bits of tattered cloth. The musty stench was far worse
here, making Lannon gag. These wall chambers were reserved for Priests of
Tharnin who were forbidden to be placed in coffins after death. Their flesh had
been removed from the skeletons and the skeletons laid within the chambers in
blue robes. However, something had disrupted the bones over time and they were
strewn about.

The Eye glimpsed deeper knowledge. The priests were not
allowed coffins because they had considered that a sign of vanity. And they
were entombed with no other possessions besides the plain blue robes for the
same reason. They had left the world as they had entered it—with no material
goods. In spite of serving a realm of evil, they had been utterly devout to the
end.

As Lannon hurried down the long passageway, his mind kept
roaming back to the dead priests and why they had so staunchly served an evil
cause. They had obviously believed wholeheartedly in what they were doing,
leading lives of endless toil and sacrifice for their dark god—even giving up
everything they had before death to spend eternity with a monster. Granted,
Graylius wasn’t the worst of the Tharnin deities (he had turned his back on the
Shadow Realm, but he was still a warlike beast that sought conquest). How had
they become so misguided as to put such fervent efforts into something so
wrong? The Eye couldn’t answer that question, and neither could Lannon. It
troubled him deeply.

Lannon sensed danger ahead, but he proceeded on anyway with
sword in hand. Dark Watchman or not, moving through this moldy tomb of the
ancient dead that was infested with evil sorcery was an unnerving experience for
Lannon. He trusted his skills, but he was well aware that he wasn’t invincible.
He had come close to death multiple times since joining the ranks of Dremlock’s
Knights, and he knew that a situation could turn dire in an instant.

Moments later five Ghouls crawled out of the tomb holes and
scurried up the walls, watching Lannon with their gleaming eyes. They were
quiet as shadows as they crept about over the crumbling stone.

There was something shocking and horrific about the way
they moved—extremely swift, sudden motions that reminded Lannon of scurrying
insects. Yet it went beyond the natural world and spoke of true evil. These
weren’t simple, lumbering Goblins but intelligent creatures caught between life
and death, their bodies animated with foul sorcery. They were puppets. Their
enslavement was tragic and disgraceful, and only the sword could free them now.

Lannon waited patiently for the attack to come, but only
one of the Ghouls leapt at him. It was an impressive leap—as the Ghoul shot
from the wall as if it had exploded off the stony surface. But Lannon was
ready, the Eye guiding his blade to match the unnatural speed of his foe. He
skewered the Ghoul with his sword and shoved it against the wall. The monster
hissed at him, clawing at the bony blade, fanged jaws opening and closing.
Lannon withdrew his weapon and stepped back. As the Ghoul lunged at him, he
beheaded it.