Knights: Legends of Ollanhar (20 page)

Chapter
10:
 

The Choices of a Lost Knight

Far away from the Oldermar Hills, as Lannon and Doomar fled
through the forest, Faindan Stillsword stood in the Entrance Chamber of
Ollanhar Tower, gazing down at the heavy stone trapdoor before him. Below that
trapdoor was some great, dark power that beckoned to him.

It was a nightly occurrence for Faindan to visit the
trapdoor. On each occasion he had been certain he would conquer his fears and
go below, but it hadn't happened yet. He had failed to find the courage to even
lift the stone slab.

Would this night be different?

Faindan's torment had become almost unbearable. The tower
was relentless in playing tricks on his mind, somehow keeping him isolated from
the others. It watched him endlessly

"This ends tonight!" he whispered to the keep.
"You will release my soul at last. I will find a way to defeat you.
Somehow..."

But surely the trapdoor led to death. Everyone at Ollanhar
knew never to go down there. Was Faindan being tricked by the Deep Shadow into
surrendering his life? That rational thought was there for a moment, then
became lost in a hazy fog as the walls seemed to close in on him.

Faindan had to venture below, because the alternative was
to slowly go insane. He knew something was very wrong with his life, that
things were not supposed to be this way, but he didn't know how to fix it. He
couldn't leave Ollanhar. In fact, he didn't dare set foot outside. He wasn't
sure why, but the thought of leaving the keep was terrifying. If he couldn't
conquer his demons in here, what hope did he have of surviving in a large and
sinister world that could swallow him whole? And he couldn't tell anyone what
he was feeling. They would never understand or be able to help him. They would
think he was weak or insane and strip him of his Knighthood. They would laugh
at him and mock him. He was trapped in the tower, barely able to eat or sleep,
seldom encountering anyone.

Faindan thought back fondly to his conversation with
Trenton Shadowbane, for that was his last meaningful interaction with anyone.
The
shaming of the beast
ceremony was the last time Faindan had been outside.
What had he been doing since then? Wandering around in torment, it seemed, as
Ollanhar gnawed at his soul. There was nothing else left for him in life.

The tower seemed so terribly empty lately. When he visited
the Dining Chamber, he found himself eating alone, with only a sullen Orange
Squire for company--a woman who gazed at Faindan with dark, almost hateful eyes
and spoke to him in an annoyed tone. It was almost as if she was demonic and
plotting against him, but he wasn't sure. She might have simply not liked
Faindan. But where was everyone else? Faindan could wander the tower for hours
without encountering anyone--and the weather outside was always dark and foggy
lately. He hated to even look out the windows, because everything outside
looked so gloomy and ugly.

"This is my world," Faindan whispered to himself.
"It has become so...small." He wondered if he would be better off
dead.
Not yet
, he assured himself, but if he eventually discovered there
was no escape from the torment, then perhaps leaping from a tower window might
make quite a statement. It would be a dramatic death and quite liberating. If
nothing else, it would serve as a reminder to those who had forgotten him. They
had all abandoned him, so maybe a shocking reminder was just what was needed.
And it would show Ollanhar Tower that he wasn't its prisoner after all.

Faindan's biggest fear was that he would survive the fall
and end up mangled beyond repair, forced to live out his days bedridden and in
agony. He had spent time considering ways he could lower his chance of
survival--such as using a blade on himself just before making the leap.

But maybe a leap from a tower window wasn't even necessary.
Maybe he would find death below the trapdoor--in the darkness. Yet that somehow
seemed less dramatic and less satisfying, and there was a chance no one would
even know of his fate.
But he hadn't come here to die
, he reminded
himself. He still clung to the faint hope that by going below he could free
himself.

Yet was it time to surrender that hope, to climb the long
stairway to the highest tower window and make his statement? He rubbed his
forehead and groaned, his thoughts swirling about so quickly he couldn't keep
pace.

"Why are you hesitating?" came a quiet voice.

Startled, Faindan looked up. At first he saw nothing, a
cold and empty chamber lit by Birlote torches. Then a human form materialized
from the shadows, and the figure stepped forward.

It was Taris Warhawk.

"I...don't really know," Faindan stammered. He
cleared his throat. "I'm just wandering, feeling restless. I should return
to bed."

The grey-cloaked sorcerer's hood was thrown back, revealing
his pointed ears, cooper-colored flesh, and silver hair. Half of Taris' face
was a mass of scars, a grim and terribly painful wound inflicted by the demonic
Hand of Tharnin. Taris had also suffered brain damage during a brutal fight,
and sometimes his thoughts became foggy or jumbled. But he was a wizard of
unmatched power and the Lord Knight of Dremlock Kingdom.

Remembering his manners, Faindan bowed. "My apologies
for disturbing you, Lord Knight. I...I never meant to." He wondered why
Taris was still awake and actually bothering to speak to him.

"I'm not disturbed," said Taris. His green eyes
seemed to pierce deep into Faindan, scanning all of his secrets. Faindan felt
exposed and wanted to slink off into the shadows.

"Goodnight, then," Faindan said, starting toward
the stairs.

"Halt," Taris commanded.

Faindan froze. He glanced back. "Yes, Lord Knight?"
Taris' face looked evil in the crimson torchlight, and Faindan wondered if this
was yet another trick of the Deep Shadow. Maybe it wasn't Taris at all, but a
demon.

"I am not finished speaking to you," said Taris.
"Come closer, Faindan Stillsword."

Faindan approached him slowly. Taris' eyes shone with an
evil so potent that it sickened Faindan. Taris looked like he wanted to not
only destroy him but make him suffer endlessly. Surely this was a demon.

"You were standing over the trapdoor," said
Taris. "You were considering going below. Is that correct? Be truthful,
young Knight."

Faindan hesitated, then nodded.

"You reek of the Deep Shadow," said Taris,
"and from lack of a bath. Your eyes are hollow from lack of sleep. You
have thinned some from poor eating habits. You shun your duties and avoid
everyone. These are clear signs of a sickness of the soul. The Deep Shadow has
you firmly in its grasp."

Faindan groaned. Taris knew everything. Faindan was exposed
and it was all over. He wished he had leapt from a window and ended it. Now
what would he do? "Am I to be punished?"

"You have been punished enough," said Taris,
"with the loss of your hand, and now this torment. And you have
surrendered enough. It is time for you to shore up your will and fight
back."

These couldn't be the words of a demon, Faindan decided.
Taris was only trying to help him, and the Deep Shadow was distorting Faindan's
view of the Lord Knight. As Faindan realized that truth, Taris' face suddenly
seemed less sinister--though Faindan still couldn't see Taris as he truly was.

"It's useless," said Faindan. "I've tried
fighting back, but the misery never ends. There is no way to defeat this foe
that lurks in my mind."

"You are not correct," said Taris. "I have
endured tremendous pain--both physical and mental--from my wound." He
touched his scarred cheek. "This wound came from the Deep Shadow and
cannot be cured. But all pain can be overcome. Pain is no excuse to shun one's
duties."

"But you're a Birlote," said Faindan.

"That means nothing," said Taris. "I know
humans who have endured more misery than I have, and they still carried out
their duties." His mind seemed to wander for a moment. Then he said,
"I don't know what you ate or drank that was contaminated by the Deep
Shadow, but I suspect it was a mushroom. Only a mushroom could poison your soul
to such depths. I have been conducting a search of the tower grounds and
following your movements, but no clue has been revealed. Regardless, the misery
you feel may never be cured."

"Then I'm doomed," said Faindan. "I just
can't do this anymore. I wish it would all come to an end. Yes, even if it
means my death."

"Life is a precious gift," said Taris, "and
not to be wasted. If you can conquer this misery and still serve others, your
confidence will grow. The world will open back up to you, and things will
improve."

"How do I even begin?" asked Faindan. It seemed
impossible.

"Start by going outside," said Taris, "in
daylight. Just go out on the tower grounds for a few moments. Breathe some
fresh air. Practice with your sword a bit and try to summon the white fire.
When you feel anxious, ignore it and go about your duties. If you have no
duties, invent some."

"I don't merely feel anxious," said Faindan.
"When the torment reaches its peak, I feel an ache inside so
unbearable...I can't even describe it. It's not that I want to die, but death
seems like the only way to escape it."

"It's only an illusion," said Taris. "Your
mind generates your reality, and anything born of the mind can be conquered.
This illusion limits your vision, making you think the only cure is death. By
resisting it repeatedly, your vision expands again and you glimpse new
opportunities that were always there."

"But life feels hopeless," said Faindan.
"All of it seems miserable and pointless. I think of those who have
suffered, and I wonder if this universe is evil. Maybe we were born to be
punished."

Taris frowned. "Those are not the teachings of the
Divine Essence, and you do not speak like a Knight of Dremlock."

"My apologies," said Faindan. "But to be
honest, Knighthood is not very important to me right now. I still value it, but
my current situation demands all of my energy and attention."

"Life is not pointless," said Taris. "And
there is justice and good in this universe, even for those who have suffered
tremendous loss. You were guided to Knighthood by the Divine Essence and gifted
with the White Fire. That should hold great meaning for you. Take comfort in
that, if nothing else."

Faindan bowed. "I thank you, Lord Knight, for the advice.
But once you depart, I'm not sure what will happen. I could..." He
swallowed. "I could leap from a tower window, actually. I'm not sure I
will. I've been trying to resist, but my will seems to be slowly
weakening."

"You could," said Taris, in a calm voice.
"But that would be giving up. I suggest you work on building your
endurance instead. Start small, with little victories, and let your confidence
grow. You will learn to tolerate your condition."

"But this a nightmare," said Faindan, with a
groan.

"It is an opportunity," said Taris, "to
prove to yourself and others that the darkness can be defeated--whether
darkness of the Deep Shadow, of the body, or of the mind itself. It matters
not. If you show such courage, it will inspire others. I assure you that you
will not regret the struggle."

"I will try," said Faindan. "But isn't there
any way to help ease this condition? What about a White Knight? Surely a healer
can help."

"We will try," said Taris, "but I suspect
you will never be cured. If it was all in your mind, perhaps something could be
done. But you're infested with dark sorcery as well, and I sense that it is
beyond any healer. You must have eaten a particularly nasty mushroom. Perhaps
tomorrow you can help me search for the spot it grew upon, for there may be
other such mushrooms lurking there."

"I remember nothing," said Faindan. Yet suddenly
an image flashed through his mind of him kneeling over a bloated, fat, and
slimy mushroom beneath a twisted oak tree. "Wait...in the forest,
perhaps."

"We will search there," said Taris, nodding.
"For now you will return to bed and try to sleep. Let nothing trouble you,
my young friend. Learn to empty your mind until sleep takes you. Let no thought
arise."

"I will try," said Faindan, sighing. "So
that's it? You're going to leave me alone again? When I'm alone, that's when
things get weird."

"You have the task I assigned to you," said
Taris. "If you focus your mind, you will master yourself. Your torment
will diminish."

"May I speak freely?" asked Faindan.

Taris nodded. "You are on the Council of Ollanhar. You
are welcome to speak freely anytime you wish."

"Your advice is too simple," said Faindan.
"You think people can just resist all this pain with willpower alone,
because Birlotes have the ability to do so. Most people aren't like you, Taris.
I'm not like you. I'm not sure I can go on."

"I never said it was simple or easy," said Taris.
"I merely offered you a technique for dealing with it. You can refuse the
technique, but you could perish as a result. If you insist on killing yourself,
no one can stop you. I have done all I can. You want more from me, but I have
nothing to give. I sense a darkness in you that our greatest healers cannot
remove. What more can I do, Faindan? You will either resist, or perish. I wish
you luck."

Faindan looked away. "That seems very cold,
Taris."

"It is your reality," said Taris. "And you
must face it and make the choice. Goodnight." With that, Taris Warhawk
left Faindan alone.

For several moments, Faindan stood as still as a statue,
wondering what he should do. He thought back to losing his hand--how he had
surrendered to the pain and almost lost his Knighthood. Was he going to do it
again, and this time lose his life? He realized Taris was right. It was time to
stop giving up.