Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar (Ollanhar Series Book 1) (3 page)

A snarling, spotted
Jackal leapt in to confront Lannon, getting in the Ogre’s way. The giant didn’t
take kindly to that, and it smashed the Jackal in the head with its spiked
fist, killing it instantly. An arrow from a Blue Knight glanced off the Ogre’s
thick skull. Another arrow found its neck, but it was a shallow wound in the
tough, gnarled flesh and the arrow fell away. There was no blood to be seen.
The Ogre roared in fury, promising the archers that they would be next once it
dealt with Lannon.

Lannon reached into
his cloak for his Glaetherin throwing star, then sighed as he realized it
wasn’t there. That weapon belonged to King Verlamer now. Instead, he summoned
all the strength he could manage and flung his sword like a spear—burying it
deep into the Ogre’s forehead, straight through the painted death rune.

The giant gazed
numbly at Lannon for a moment, blinking its eyes. It reached up to grab the
sword as it took a step forward. Its long shadow fell over Lannon, and it
glanced up at the blue sky, the sword hilt jutting forth, perhaps knowing its
time in the world had run out. Then it toppled over.

Lannon drew the
sword back to his hand even as the giant fell—just in time to defend against a
pair of snarling Wolves that bounded over the Ogre’s body. Weariness washed
over him.

As Lannon fought
the Wolves, Aldreya and the dark rider again hurled fireballs at each other. It
was a colorful yet deadly exchange, and even the mighty Goblins stayed back in
fear and awe. Aldreya was battling a master sorcerer, but her training under
the legendary Taris Warhawk had prepared her well for such an encounter. She
moved with just enough speed and agility to avoid the evil fire. Meanwhile, the
rider continued to easily deflect her own attacks.

Suddenly, the dark
rider wheeled his Goblin Horse around and rode off at a gallop. Aldreya gave
chase, but immediately a wall of Goblins closed in front of her and the rider
was lost from view.

Then the two armies
clashed. Teeth and claws tore at flesh and armor, and burning Knightly blades
hacked into smoking Goblin hide. No one on the battlefield doubted it would be
a fight to the death, as the Goblins were fearless and driven by relentless
hatred.

 
The dark rider had fled, and no order of
retreat would be given.

Frantically, the
Goblins tried to activate the towering catapults, as Blue Knights fired arrows
at them. Odd, smoking, lumpy iron balls were loaded into the catapults, as
Goblins pulled furiously on ropes atop the wooden platforms. But the Blue
Knights shot the Goblins off the platform and left the ropes to dangle.

Lannon was like a
fleeting shadow in his dark cloak, darting about on the battlefield and leaving
dead monsters wherever he roamed. He channeled the Eye into his blade, turning
the bone sword into both weapon and shield—striking his enemies like a
battering ram one moment to push them away and then delivering a flurry of
lethal cuts the next. Nevertheless, the Goblins continued to swarm at him,
determined to slay the Bearer of the Eye. Fortunately, Aldreya came to Lannon’s
aid, burning to ash some of the Goblins that were charging him.

Prince Vannas,
flanked by three Blue Knights, readied the White Flamestone. His gaze was
locked onto the catapults, as the Blue Knights who guarded him cut down any
Goblins that got close. As Vannas held forth the gem, which was blazing with
light, a flurry of stones shot in his direction, disrupting his focus. The fire
in the gem died down.

Three Goblin Lords
had emerged unseen from the forest, slings in hand. These intelligent, humanoid
creatures—Priests of Tharnin—were the most dangerous Goblins of all,
possessing powerful combat skills and sorcery. They launched another volley of
stones at the prince.

Vannas dodged some
of the stones, and the Blue Knights deflected some with their blades—but one
lucky shot made it through and struck the prince in the head. Vannas toppled to
the ground, dazed, the White Flamestone rolling from his hand. The Goblin army
howled with delight at the sight of the fallen prince, and the beasts fought
with renewed vigor.

One of the Blue
Knights seized the Flamestone, but he lacked the ability to use it and so he
simply tucked it away. They shot arrows at the Goblin Lords, who quickly
retreated back into the trees.

The Knights tried
to revive the prince, but he was lost to the battle.

With Vannas unable
to attack the catapults, Jerret fought his way over to one and climbed up onto
the platform, cutting down two Goblins who had once again gotten to the ropes.
One of them—a vicious Jackal—tried to rise, but Jerret stabbed it through the
heart and then kicked the body off the platform. Jerret raised his broadsword
and challenged the Goblins to remove him from his perch. Some of them gleefully
answered the challenge from the arrogant Red Knight—including a Wolf that
leapt high into air in an effort to knock him to the ground—but he cut them
all down, his broadsword smoldering with crimson flames.

“For Thrake
Wolfaxe!” Jerret bellowed, hacking another Wolf out of the air. In a
berserk fury, he hacked at the catapult and tore away chunks of burning wood,
finally regaining his senses and cutting at the ropes.

Moments later,
Galvia fought her way up to Jerret’s side, her hammer red hot with sorcery. The
two stood back to back, as Goblins clawed their way up onto the platform and
surrounded them. Jerret’s strength and attitude had drawn their attention, and they
were determined to tear him down. The two Knights fought fiercely, bodies
piling up around them, but they were vastly outnumbered.

Lannon quickly
fought his way to the platform and vaulted up onto it. He pushed into the
circle of Goblins that surrounded Galvia and Jerret and cut down several of the
beasts. Soon the three Knights had cleared the platform again, and they went to
work on severing the ropes, rendering the mighty siege engine useless.

 
Bekka and the Blue Knights took the other
catapult, clearing the platform momentarily before the Goblins closed in again.
Bekka lifted a Jackal over her head and flung it into two other Goblins with
shattering force—sending all three toppling from the platform. She then
whirled around and skewered a huge Wolf that was trying to sneak up behind her
on two legs, driving her burning Flayer through its heart. She kicked the dying
beast off the platform.

 
Soon the battle was over. Four Blue Knights
lay dead and several more had serious injuries. The ancient trees had been
spared significant damage, but the tower grounds were soiled in Goblin corpses
that would require a great deal of time and effort to deal with.

There was no sign
of the dark rider.

Chapter
2:
 

The Battle Beneath the False
Moon

Disposing of an army of dead Goblins was a terrible way to
spend an afternoon. Fortunately for Prince Vannas, he was still dazed from the
rock striking his head (or so it appeared), and he was allowed to sleep while
everyone else did the work. The dead beasts were hauled by wagons to a suitable
location and burned, leaving smelly smoke to drift over the land. Once the
cleanup effort was complete, a funeral was held for the dead Knights and then
their bodies were sent off to Dremlock Kingdom for burial. It was all very somber
and exhausting.

Lannon couldn’t deny that Bellis had accomplished its goal.
He was left feeling weary, wondering yet again if Ollanhar Tower was worth
defending. Aldreya never seemed to waver, but it was difficult to tell what she
was really thinking. The newly appointed Green Knight of Ollanhar was an
unyielding Birlote who would hide her true feelings and adhere to honor and
duty at all costs. And while Lannon had no intention of surrendering, he was
fearful of how far Bellis would go in trying to force them from the tower.

He feared for his companions, who were isolated from the
protection of Dremlock’s army and expected to deal with overwhelming odds. A
few days before, Aldreya and Vorden had been attacked by poison arrows from a
hidden foe as they walked a forest trail. Vorden had been struck, but his
unnatural healing ability had allowed him to survive. The assassin had not been
caught, and Lannon was certain he would strike again.

With
all the hard work finished for the day, Lannon wandered from the mossy clearing
alone and into the oak forest. He paused to glance back at the tower, which was
framed against a sky that was streaked red by the late afternoon sun. Dallsa
was preparing a late dinner, but Lannon wasn’t hungry. He was restless, longing
to wander alone with his thoughts.

Ollanhar
was shadowy and bulky, filled with sinister sorcery and secrets left from the
time of the Dark Watchmen. Lannon was now the master of that tower—
the High
Watchman of Ollanhar
—and the ancient spirits that dwelt beneath the keep
recognized his authority. But Dremlock did not. By the will of the Divine
Kingdom, Aldreya was in charge of this outpost and Lannon was to obey her
commands. It was an odd arrangement—the Green Knight ruling over the High
Watchman. In fact, Ollanhar had never had a Green Knight before. The position
had been created so that Lannon would have to answer to Aldreya. He usually
didn’t mind her being in command, but lately she had grown more rigid and
demanding, and he found himself disagreeing with many of her decisions.

Lannon walked the wooded trail between the massive oaks,
the shadows deep around him and the animal life quiet. A chill had crept into
the air. As he rounded a curve, he encountered a dark figure standing in the
trail. Lannon’s hand clamped around his sword hilt, but the Eye of Divinity
revealed this to be one of the Blue Knights who patrolled the outskirts of the
tower grounds.

His name was Merrick Nightborn, a lean Tree Dweller who
possessed Ranger skills. “Greetings, Master Lannon,” he said, bowing.

Lannon nodded in return. It still felt strange to be called
Master
, especially by a Knight who was a few years older than Lannon.

Merrick was concealed beneath dark blue clothes and armor,
with only his face exposed, and he easily blended with the shadows. “I
sense something dangerous lurking about, though I’ve not glimpsed it. It could
be a Goblin, or another assassin. I would advise staying out of the woods
except in daylight.”

“I’m on my way to check on the town,” said
Lannon, referring to a shop and an inn recently built in the hill country
beyond the oak grove.

“It’s doing fine,” said Merrick. “The
Goblins never bothered it. I guess they were too busy focusing on the
tower.”

Lannon already knew this, but he felt like visiting the town
anyway. He was too restless to return to Ollanhar. “Very well, but I’m
going there anyway to have a drink. Thank you for the warning.”

“Perhaps I should accompany you, Master Lannon,”
said Merrick. “As I said, I sense danger lurking about.”

“I can look after myself,” said Lannon.

“Of course,” said Merrick. “But it is my
duty to guard your life, and in light of the recent assassination attempt on
our Green Knight…”

“I understand,” said Lannon, “but I will
continue on alone.” If some foe was creeping around, Lannon could find him
with the Eye, and he didn’t want any distractions. And the Blue Knights always
seemed on edge, believing that assassins were lurking everywhere—though seldom
did any turn up.

Merrick bowed. “Have a pleasant evening, Master Lannon.”
With that, the young Knight moved past him and continued down the trail.

Lannon sent forth the Eye of Divinity and scanned the
forest for danger, but saw nothing except a common Tree Goblin watching from a
lofty branch. The tiny Goblin was no threat to Lannon, and he moved on.

He came to Ollanhar Stable—a long wooden building nestled
amongst the trees— and paused by the door to listen, but all was quiet within.
There was an armed guard on duty at all times who watched over the Greywind
horses, and Lannon peered inside to find him sleeping in a chair, an ale jug in
his lap. With a whistle, Lannon woke the guard—a bearded Red Knight who leapt
out of his chair at the sight of the High Watchman—and warned him there could
be danger in the woods. The embarrassed guard vowed to stay awake, and Lannon
left.

Soon he emerged from the trees and into the grassy hill
country. In a small valley between the hills nearby stood the shop and the inn.
There were also three other stone and wood foundations for buildings that had
yet to be completed. This town, which was named Tower Haven, was protected by
forty of Dremlock’s Knights—led by the Grey Dwarf known as Daledus
Oakfist—who were ordered to remain there at all costs. Their tents stood
amongst the buildings.

 
As Lannon
approached the town, evening was settling quickly about the land. Some of the
Knights on guard duty greeted him as he walked between the tents. Sounds of
merrymaking came from the Inn—including a roar that surely had to come from
the throat of Daledus Oakfist. Lannon smiled.

The Greenhill Inn was nearly complete, with only a few
rough spots here and there that needed attention. It was a two-story building
with a large tavern on the first floor and rooms for rent on the second. The
tavern was lit by firelight and lanterns. As Lannon passed between the oak
tables, the Divine Knights greeted him warmly, raising mugs of ale.

Daledus stood at the bar talking to the Dwarven
innkeeper—involved so deeply in a loud and animated conversation that he
failed to hear the others greet Lannon. Amused, Lannon approached quietly and
pinched his shoulder.

Daledus slammed his ale mug down and whirled around,
scowling, eager for a fight. Then his expression softened. “Master
Lannon,” he bellowed. “Welcome to my inn.”

Lannon chuckled. “So you’ve claimed the inn as your
own. Or maybe just the tavern and its ale barrels? Why am I not
surprised?”

Daledus grinned. “That’s right—I lay claim to it
unless any man can trade punches with me and stay standing.” He raised his
meaty fist to Lannon’s chin.

Lannon seized the fist and lowered it. “I’m not here
to spar, Daledus. I had enough of that with King Verlamer. The inn is yours, my
friend. I came here simply for a drink and to get away from that tower.”

Daledus nodded, looking grim. “I don’t blame you one
bit, Lannon. I couldn’t spend an hour in that cursed place.” He turned to
the innkeeper. “Our best ale for the High Watchman. He fought well today,
so I hear.” Some of the other Knights cheered in agreement.

“Just milk,” Lannon said quickly, his mind
flashing back to his father. The old man had consumed ale all day long, as
empty jugs piled up around his bony legs. Because of that dreary memory—and
others like it from his unhappy childhood—Lannon typically refused to drink any
liquor.

“Milk it is,” muttered the innkeeper, pouring
Lannon a large mug of it. “Nice and fresh, brought in this morning—good
and cold from the ice box.”

“But it’s not ale,” said Daledus, with a look of
contempt.

The innkeeper shrugged. “The High Watchman gets what
he asks for.”

Daledus Oakfist was a powerful Grey Dwarf. He typically
wore heavy armor and carried an oversized—almost absurd—battle axe, but on
this night he wore only a green tunic and brown trousers. He had bushy
sideburns, and a bushy beard, that he took great pride in. Like all Grey
Dwarves, his hair and thick beard were naturally dark and his eyebrows
drooping. He had a large nose that did not bleed easily in a fight and a jaw
that seemed impervious to being broken.

The milk was indeed cold and fresh. Lannon savored it in
silence for a moment, but Daledus was never one to keep still for long.

“Heard the leader escaped,” he said. “Is
that true?”

“The man on horseback?” asked Lannon, thinking
back to the dark rider who had nearly killed Aldreya with his axe. “Yes,
he retreated and vanished.”

“What a shame,” said Daledus. “I hope he
comes to my little town, so I can put an end to him. One who consorts with
Goblins deserves to die.”

“He is a powerful foe,” said Lannon. “And
I’m fairly certain he will return at some point. I believe Bellis has appointed
him the leader in the war against Ollanhar. Whoever he is, he intends to drive
us from the tower.”

Daledus smirked. “I also heard Aldreya is now the
Green Knight over there. It seems Dremlock changed its mind about you being in
charge—once Cordus Landsaver retired, that is. With Taris as the Lord Knight
of Dremlock, I guess it was inevitable that a Birlote would be in charge of
Ollanhar.”

There was no Knight that Lannon respected more than Taris Warhawk,
and he felt compelled to defend his character. “I’m sure Taris had a good
reason for making Aldreya the leader.”

“Sure,” Daledus said quietly. “It’s Birlote
politics. Always before it was the High Watchman who was in charge of Ollanhar.
Everyone knows that. But Taris has to appease the Birlotes of Borenthia if
Dremlock wants them to remain friendly. Come on now, Lannon. You know it’s
true.”

Lannon shrugged. Daledus was probably correct, but Taris
was a sorcerer of unsurpassed wisdom and Lannon was not about to question his
decisions. “I’m fine with things as they are.”

“Of course you are,” said Daledus. “Because
you’re a nice fellow willing to take it on the chin to keep everyone happy. You
should speak up now and then, though. Stand up for yourself.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lannon mumbled.

“By the way,” said Daledus, “I hunger for
adventure. I miss being part of the Divine Shield and roaming the land. If
anything comes up, let someone else defend this town. I want to go with
you.”

“Of course,” said Lannon. “I’d be happy to
have you at my side, my friend. You’re one of the strongest warriors I’ve ever
known.”

Daledus nodded. “Good,” he muttered in a low
voice, “because the men in here have had about enough of me. Bunch of
thin-skinned Noracks, always offended over everything. An opinionated Dwarf is
too much for these weaklings to handle. You Noracks are a strange lot. Won’t
take advice unless you ask for it. Always worried about someone’s tone of voice
or expression, or even worse—their
politeness!
” He slammed his
fist down on the bar. “I tell you, Lannon, it makes me want to punch a man
straight in the jaw for whining about this or that. But better to have a drink
so as not to leave a grown man crying from a broken nose and shame himself…”
He guzzled some ale, losing some of it down his beard.

Lannon took a quick sip of milk.

“So when do we depart?” Daledus asked.

Lannon shrugged. “Unfortunately, right now I think
we’re stuck at Ollanhar. Things aren’t like they used to be.”

“You never know,” said Daledus. “A new day
could bring anything.”

Lannon didn’t respond, preferring to enjoy his milk in
silence. He too found himself longing for adventure, but he guessed that a new
day would bring more of the same—defending Ollanhar from Bellis. Yet in the back
of his mind he kept thinking of the dark rider and hearing the words:
 
“You don’t recognize me, Lannon
Sunshield. Doesn’t my voice sound familiar to you?”

***

When Lannon stepped from the inn, darkness shrouded the
land and a lake of stars shone in the sky. Watch fires were blazing, and the
Knights on guard duty held lanterns as they patrolled the grounds, but beyond
the circle of light where the tents stood was only blackness. The little town
was peaceful, and Lannon longed to stay awhile, but it was time to return to
Ollanhar and all its troubles.

Lannon left the warmth and light behind and made his way
into the darkness, allowing the Eye of Divinity to guide him. The Eye revealed
more than any light source could, as Lannon strode through the grassy hills.

Soon the wall of ancient trees stood before him, the narrow
trail becoming crisscrossed by gnarled roots as it vanished into the wooded
depths. A wolf stood in the trail, sniffing the air, thinking that Lannon was
unaware of its presence. But it was not spared from the gaze of the Eye.
Suddenly sensing it was being watched, the wolf hurried off into the
underbrush.

As Lannon navigated the winding trail, he began to sense
the danger Merrick had spoken of. The Eye glimpsed traces of dark sorcery—an
indication that something powerful and evil had passed that way. Lannon drew
his sword, wondering if he should have taken Merrick’s advice and avoided
wandering the woods alone at night. Now that he could feel the presence of
evil, he was made aware of his vulnerabilities. Some of the servants of Tharnin
were immensely powerful—perhaps too powerful for this young Dark Watchman to
deal with—and walking alone significantly improved his chances of being
attacked. Like Prince Vannas and his White Flamestone, Lannon was a target of
the Deep Shadow. And the Deep Shadow seemed to hate Lannon even more than it
hated the prince—not only seeking Lannon’s destruction but always hoping to
make him suffer as well. Of course, Tharnin’s ultimate goal was to turn Lannon
into a slave, as it had done to his predecessors so long ago, and Lannon
usually feared that fate far more than pain or death.