Knights: Legends of Ollanhar (13 page)

Or perhaps Bellis ruled all--even Dremlock.

That last thought was chilling, and Lothrin was glad he
didn't know the future. He remained hopeful that they would find the Green
Flamestone and put an end to King Verlamer's reign. He wanted to have hope, to
believe in their quest. Surely the Divine Essence would never have sent them on
this journey if a future where Bellis ruled everything was set in stone. There
was still freedom here and there in remote places on Gallamerth, and battles to
be fought.

Yet as Lothrin finally drifted toward sleep, he found
himself whispering in the dark:
"Ethrin, my son. If the White
Flamestone is meant to go to you so your life will be saved, then I will see
that you get it."

And Lothrin dreamed again--and this time in his dream Prince
Vannas had been lurking in the shadows and had heard his words. Enraged, with
the word
traitor
on his lips, the prince plunged his dagger into
Lothrin's heart.

And there Lothrin's dreams mercifully ended for the night.

Chapter
7:

The Haunting of Faindan Stillsword

Ollanhar Tower was a dark place, and it was beginning to
gnaw at Faindan Stillsword's soul. That darkness had been carefully concealed
by shiny, colorful, expensive decorations--but it hadn't lost its potency. As
Faindan wandered the keep, he began to suffer from an affliction known to
Ollanhar's dwellers as
tower madness
that left him feeling like the
walls were watching him and closing in on him. It seemed the ancient keep
despised Faindan and wanted him dead.

Faindan was not like Lannon Sunshield. He was not a Dark
Watchman in league with the spirits that haunted the tower. He was a Divine
Knight who wielded the white fire that drove back the shadows. His presence was
intolerable to the tower shades and to the sorcery of Tharnin that still
infested the stone walls.

The darkness believed Faindan was smug and arrogant, with
his shining sword and white sorcery. It knew Faindan had no tolerance for the
things which hid in the shadows. The Eye of Tharnin was upon him, the Voice of
the Deep Shadow was whispering in his ear, and the Mouth of the Great Beast was
drooling to devour him. His dreams were filled with gloom, coldness, and
despair. He desperately wanted to get away from Ollanhar, but that was not an
option--not if he wanted to maintain his Knighthood and his position on the
Council.

"I need some fresh air," Faindan mumbled aloud,
as he stood in the Library gazing at the bookshelves. The room was bathed in
the crimson glow of Birlote torches. It was late and the tower was silent. All
were asleep except Faindan and the guards that patrolled the tower grounds.

 
He needed to clear
his head. He was terribly restless and unfocused. But he wasn't allowed to walk
alone beyond the tower grounds--especially at night, considering he was now a
target of Tenneth Bard. Faindan had struck a devastating blow to the Black
Knight, and now Faindan's life was in grave danger. The young warrior was
caught in limbo, with no immediate duties to perform and dreadful silence as
his lone companion as the hours passed by.

He glanced up. A stone Gargoyle leered down at him while
holding a tiny book. The sculpture seemed all too alive, the hatred in its eyes
very real, and chills flooded down Faindan's spine. On another shelf was a
statue of a beautiful mermaid reading in a bathtub--except she was looking at
Faindan and not at her book, as if he had startled her. He almost felt
embarrassed for interrupting her bath, but then he noticed her eyes seemed full
of spite. Faindan blinked, wondering if he was imagining her expression. Why
would such a beautiful, innocent mermaid have such a hateful look in her eyes?
Was it because he was an unwanted intruder? Is that what the sculpture was
trying to depict? He wasn't sure, but as he gazed at her, the spiteful
expression deepened and became pure evil.

Faindan looked away. There was hatred everywhere for him in
Ollanhar. How had things come to this? After being promoted and labeled a hero,
he had seemed to be swiftly climbing the ladder of success as a Knight. But now
here he was, isolated and full of doubts--and feeling utterly despised by
forces he couldn't comprehend. It was as if the world had turned against him.
He wasn't even sure the other Knights liked him anymore. Their faces held
strange, sinister expressions and he was certain they were thinking ill of him
and gossiping about him. They seemed to know something he didn't and refused to
share it with him, and he found himself simply avoiding them altogether.

He took out a book titled
Ritual
of the Roses
by Sarahlyn Redtree that looked peaceful enough. The cover
depicted a smiling maiden dancing amongst scattered roses. It looked boring,
but it wasn't dark and sinister like the book called
Shadow Goblin's Feast
that had been positioned next to it. He scanned through the pages, glimpsing
some drawings of butterflies and plants, and read some of the text:

The peaceful earth sustains
us, with breath, with food, and with medicine. The peaceful earth we must guard
with sacrifice and ritual. A shining light from Father Heaven to warm the
grass, where even a king's feet are equal to those of a peasant. Stand toe to
toe and smile as you exchange the roses, for your gesture is born of the
noblest and purest spirit of intentions.

"What is this
nonsense?" Faindan muttered. Happy people exchanging roses in the grass?
What oddball had written this tome? At least it was mild and cheerful, offering
a distraction from the tower gloom. He read on:

We share in the gift of
life and must make room for--and carefully nurture--all life, leaving nothing
excluded except that which destroys without thought or purpose; and it is
small, and it is unseen, and it will creep beneath your flesh, and it will
borrow through muscle, organ, and bone, and it will infect and spread, and it
will make pain, and it will change your destiny, and the body will
wither--unless the light of truth floods through and burns away the poisonous
darkness.

A cold feeling settled over Faindan. Was that last passage
referring to the infection of the Deep Shadow, or something else? Had the Deep
Shadow burrowed into his flesh--into his very heart and mind?

With a trembling hand, he turned the page--to find a
painting of some sort of demon that looked like pestilence, a shadow with
crimson eyes that consisted of swarms of insect-like creatures. The crimson
eyes burned into him, and the swarms seemed to swirl up from the page,
determined to eat into him.

"It is late," a quiet voice said from behind him.

Faindan dropped the book and whirled around--to find
himself gazing at Trenton Shadowbane, the elite sorcerer and former
Investigator of Dremlock. Embarrassed, Faindan mumbled, "You startled
me."

"Sorry," said Trenton. As usual, Trenton was
clean-shaven, his silver hair neatly trimmed. His rugged face bore a somber
expression. His lean body, adorned in a green cloak that represented Dremlock's
High Council, was propped up by an oak staff topped with a carving of a wolf's
head.

"I'm just...wandering," said Faindan.
"Feeling restless." He glanced down at the book. It was now closed.
He was tempted to open it and make sure that insects weren't actually flying
off the page--that he had imagined it all--but instead he placed it back on the
shelf. It was best to let it be.

"This tower is a bad place for wandering," said
Trenton. "Too much evil here that can lead a man astray. Sadly, the
cleansing of this keep is far from complete, with Dallsa off on a mission. I'm
hoping Dremlock will send more White Knights here, but things are progressing
slowly."

Faindan nodded. "I know I shouldn't wander. But I have
nothing else to do. So if I might ask--why are
you
awake?
Shouldn't..." He cleared his throat.

Trenton smirked. "Finish your statement, young
Knight."

"Well," said Faindan, "I just thought a man
of your age would be sound asleep. Not that I'm saying you're old."
Faindan sighed inwardly. What kind of stupid conversation had he just started?

But Trenton only looked amused. "I am indeed getting
old, which is kind of foolish. Why should a sorcerer age? Taris doesn't age.
Jace doesn't age. But I'm letting myself grow old and die, as if death is a
minor thing."

"Everyone must eventually die," said Faindan. He
thought this was a strange, awkward conversation that had popped up.

Trenton waved dismissively. "But we should live as
long as we can, until something destroys us. Old age is a boring end, and
completely unnecessary. And defeating it is not that difficult for a skilled
sorcerer."

"Then why don't you defeat it?" asked Faindan.

"I don't know," said Trenton. "I suppose
because it takes a lot of work, and I'm stupid and lazy. Apparently I'm content
to weaken and die in a respectable fashion like other men--as if life is not
worth fighting for to the last breath. I suppose because a life of a thousand
years is no different ultimately than a life of a hundred. It is still merely
minor preparation for what is to follow."

Faindan had no response. This was sorcerer talk, and far
beyond his knowledge. He had no idea why Trenton was sharing this with him.

"Yet maybe when I grow weak enough," said
Trenton, "I will reconsider. Age and pain can truly motivate one to
change. Those who claim they are fine with growing old are usually young when
they say that."

Faindan nodded. He sensed that Trenton had something else
on his mind besides the topic of aging. "Is something troubling you?"

Trenton nodded. "Very much so." His eyes shown in
the torchlight--a desperate gleam. He seemed as wild as a wolf--yet cornered
somehow.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" asked
Faindan.

Trenton shook his head. "At long last, the High Council
has voted to do away with all sorcery that does not directly come from the
Birlotes or the Divine Essence. Supposedly, our god has demanded a greater
level of purity from all Divine Knights. And, being the impure slob that I am,
I have been stripped of my power. Even though I have served Dremlock with
honor, and served well, I have apparently done wrong somehow."

"That is bad news," said Faindan. "That
means..."

Trenton nodded. "That means Dremlock has lost a
powerful weapon. The beast that I am able to summon is no secret these days. An
invincible creature that even an army cannot kill--a creature that has done so
much for our god and kingdom. Yet now it is scorned and banished, just like
that." He snapped his fingers.

"Very sorry to hear that," Faindan mumbled. He
spoke his true feelings. Trenton's mysterious beast was a weapon that Dremlock
could not afford to lose. "How could this happen? With the threat of
Bellis hanging over us, why would the High Council want to vote to weaken
us?"

"They did as commanded," said Trenton, "by
the Divine Essence. Our god believes that my foul sorcery has helped open
doorways to doom, and that without total purity we will fall to Bellis. It
believes we cannot obtain a blessing from the Great Light without this greater
purity." He sighed. "And who am I to question our god? I'm just a
lowly mortal who knows nothing."

"Yet you don't believe that," said Faindan.
"Am I right?"

"I believe our god may be wrong," said Trenton.
"The Divine Essence is only the Messenger of the Great Light, and it is
currently cut off from its father. It knows what it knows, but it doesn't know
everything. It has made mistakes. It had an impure heart and had not yet
mastered itself when it was shattered."

Faindan almost cringed. This conversation was sacrilege and
almost traitorous. "But if the Divine Essence is seeking greater purity
for its Knights, then it may be seeking greater purity for itself as
well."

"I've considered that," said Trenton, a sour
expression on his face. "But this seems to be the worst time for seeking
greater purity. We need every weapon we can obtain, however ugly and evil. No
drooling beast is too wretched for our army. Our god should be wise enough to
know that. If we lose, Dremlock and our precious Divine Essence is doomed. Yet
it's focused on purity? Utterly foolish! These are terribly desperate
times."

Faindan said nothing. He refused to question the Divine
Essence (at least, at the moment). But he took careful note of Trenton's views.
If the Divine Essence was making mistakes and leading Dremlock into ruin, where
did Faindan's true loyalty lie? To his god--or to his kingdom?

"There will be a ceremony tomorrow," said
Trenton, looking thoroughly disgusted, "here on the tower grounds. Not
sure why it isn't taking place at Dremlock, but, whatever. The High Council
will be there. Everyone at Ollanhar is required to attend. I must summon the
beast, and then it will be shamed. After it is shamed, it will supposedly never
appear again. The sorcery will be banished forever."

"Not sure what to say," said Faindan. "Other
than that I'm truly sorry. I know you put a lot of hard work and study
into...what you do."

Trenton shrugged. "None of my hard work matters to
Dremlock. I am just a Knight, Faindan, and easily replaceable. Recently, I was
banned from entering our Sacred Temple--until the beast is laid to rest. After
all these years of service, I am considered tainted and in poor standing with
our god and temple. It is completely unfair!"

"You deserve better," said Faindan. What else was
there to say?

"I'm an old fool," said Trenton, "for
complaining to a young warrior in the dead of night. I must seem like a raving
lunatic."

"Not at all," said Faindan.

"Goodnight," said Trenton, turning. "You
should sleep as well," he added, as he walked away. "The tower is
grim at night. It's just like me--tainted and in need of purification."

But Faindan was far too restless to sleep.

***

It was a cold, grey, ugly day. The fall chill was deep,
whispering of an early winter. The mood was somber on the tower grounds, the
gathering small. No one wanted to be there. The event was being treated almost
like an afterthought--yet it was very significant to Dremlock Kingdom and
Ollanhar Tower. Only the presence of High Council members--Taris, Furlus, Lort,
and Shennen--revealed the true importance of what was taking place.

On an oak platform with steps leading up to it stood
Trenton Shadowbane. He wore a plain brown robe, his hands clasped before him.
His face bore a scowl (which was not unusual for Trenton). Near his feet stood
two buckets.

Faindan was gripped by disgust as he studied the scene.
Were they really going to shame and humiliate Trenton, a man who had served
with dedication and honor? Faindan tried to remind himself that it was the
beast that would be shamed and not Trenton, but it did no good. He found the
whole thing disturbing.