Knights: Legends of Ollanhar (27 page)

Crondal leaned close to Jerret and grinned. "Because I
like it, barbarian." He hissed like a snake, then tugged at the nose ring.
"Makes me feel strong, like a bull. Or maybe I'm greedy and I worship
silver. Pick the answer you had already decided upon."

"I was just curious," said Jerret. "No need
to take offense."

"No offense taken," said Crondal. "Rude
questions bounce right off me."

Jerret frowned. "You found my question rude?"

Crondal laughed and turned away. "Glad to be part of
this mission, regardless of the risk. You all have my deepest gratitude."

"And mine," said Huenov, taking off his hat to
bow.

"Mine as well," rumbled Shenosi.

"This is getting weird," said Jerret.
"What's the story with all these strange fighters? I feel like I'm in a
traveling freak show."

"That's enough," Aldreya warned him.

Crondal winked at Jerret. "Thanks for the compliment.
Fancy sword you have there, by the way. Do you know how to use it?"

Jerret shrugged. "I know a few moves."

Crondal drew his sword and twirled it about with blazing
speed. "A few moves like this?" He twirled it a few more times and
then sheathed it.

Jerret shook his head, looking dazed. "Not quite like
that. What in the world was that? I could barely see you move."

"These men are not freaks," said Jace, smiling.
"They are living legends. These are fighters on a level few will ever
reach--fighters feared throughout Gallamerth. They don't know the meaning of
defeat. It has cost us a lot of silver to hire them, Jerret, so show proper
respect if you can manage it."

"I doubt he can manage it," said Aldreya,
sighing.

Jerret pointed at Shenosi. "It's going to cost us a
lot of silver to keep him fed. I can't imagine what he eats in a day."

"Jerret, must you be so childish?" said Dallsa.

"He can't help himself," said Bekka, grinning.
"Isn't that right, my friend?" In spite of his arrogant, rude, and
sullen attitude, Bekka liked Jerret. He was a loyal friend to her and a good
sparring partner.

"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.