Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar (Ollanhar Series Book 1) (2 page)

“I thought we were going to wait inside,” said
Lannon, as he approached, “like we did last time. Or are we looking to
provoke a battle?”

Aldreya pointed at the pair of siege engines flanked by
Ogres. “Those catapults changed my mind. We can’t just hide in the tower
and wait to be pummeled.” Aldreya wore a green, hooded cloak—though the
hood was thrown back, revealing her Birlote features—curly silver hair,
pointed ears, shining green eyes, and skin was copper in hue. The young tree
dweller’s demeanor left no doubt that she was a member of the Royal Family of
Borenthia and in command of Ollanhar.

“The siege engines are poorly defended,” said
Prince Vannas, who was Aldreya’s cousin and the highest ranking member of the
Birlote Royal Family present. Like Aldreya, he possessed silver hair and green
eyes—a lean yet muscular young man with a slender sword at his hip. He wore
green-and-gold clothing of Birlote silk. In one hand he held the black pouch
that contained the legendary White Flamestone—the ultimate weapon against the
servants of the Deep Shadow—and he was always eager to make use of its pale
fire.

“We must not attack until they show aggression,”
said Aldreya. “The Sacred Laws demand it.”

“But they’re just filthy Goblins,” said Jerret
Dragonsbane, who stood with his mighty Glaetherin broadsword gleaming in the
sunlight. “Why should we show them honor? They’ve already fouled our
grounds with their bucket of swill.” His eyes smoldered with anger.
“If that’s not a call to bloodshed, what is?” Jerret was a young man
with curly blond hair and an arrogant look on his face. He wore the stout
breastplate of an elite Red Knight and carried no shield, using his broadsword
for defense. He was the most muscular of Ollanhar’s warriors. He made no effort
to hide the fact that he lived for combat and bloodshed.

Aldreya pointed to a rider in a black, hooded cloak who sat
on horseback in the shadow of an enormous oak tree. This rider seemed to be
leading the Goblin army, as the creatures swarmed around him protectively. He
sat like death on his black steed, a bulky figure with a curved and gleaming
battle axe held in two hands. He looked like an executioner ready to claim
heads.

“As you can see, there is a human amongst them,”
she said. “Therefore, we are bound by the Sacred Laws not to attack.”

Jerret smirked. “How do you know it’s a human under
that cloak? Could be a Goblin Lord, or some demon of Tharnin.”

Aldreya gazed at him sternly. “I’m making an
assumption. I’m allowed to do that now and then, aren’t I?”

Lannon summoned the Eye of Divinity—the rare and divine
power that gave him the ability to glimpse hidden and even guarded knowledge.
His consciousness split, until he became like two separate beings, and then
from the space that existed between his divided selves emerged the force of the
Eye, reaching out to probe the figure on horseback. But all Lannon could
glimpse was a male human presence shielded by shifting shadows, indicating that
the rider was a very powerful foe who could conceal himself with dark sorcery.

Lannon’s hand locked around the hilt of his Dragon-bone
sword. “He’s a sorcerer of some kind, probably sent by Bellis or the Blood
Legion.”

“Is he skilled?” asked Aldreya, without turning.

“As dangerous as they come.” Lannon could sense
that Aldreya was eager to test her skills. “You’re not ready to deal with
this foe.”

“Never said I was.” She sounded a bit irritated.
Aldreya was the apprentice of the famed Birlote sorcerer and current Lord
Knight of Dremlock known as Taris Warhawk, and she had developed skills few
magic users would ever unlock. But whoever lurked beneath that black cloak had
a will of iron—the rare ability to resist the mighty Eye of Divinity—and even
Aldreya was no match for him.

“I’ll deal with the rider,” said Prince Vannas.
The lean Tree Dweller glanced at Aldreya for confirmation. “If you
approve, of course.”

“I do not,” said Aldreya. “You have the
siege engines to deal with, and the Trolls and Ogres too. Lannon and I will
confront the leader. Surely the two of us will be more than he can
handle.”

“One would think,” said Lannon, but he wasn’t
sure. The ability to resist the Eye always unnerved him.

“We’re outnumbered,” said Bekka Nightspear,
shielding her eyes from the sun as she gazed at the Goblin army. The tall,
muscular, dark-skinned warrior was in charge of the Blue Knights, and she had
become a close friend to Aldreya. “We’ve got thirty warriors against…at
least a hundred Goblins.”

“And these are not just any Goblins,” Lannon
pointed out. He could see the strange shadows that clung to the monsters. These
were the mysterious Dark Goblins (as they had come to be named) that were
stronger, faster, and smarter than the typical ones. They were also more
resistant to injury.

The dark rider moved out from beneath the oak tree—until
he sat alone with the Goblin army behind him.

“I think we wants to talk,” said Lannon.

Aldreya didn’t answer. She waited for a few moments, and
when the rider made no further move, she said, “Well, let’s go see what he
wants, Lannon. It’s better than standing around all day staring each other
down.”

Jerret started forward. “I’ll go as well.”

But Aldreya waved him back. “No, just Lannon and I, no
weapons drawn.”

“What if you’re attacked?” asked Jerret.

She ignored him, and Lannon accompanied her across the
clearing. The bed of moss was soft beneath Lannon’s boots, and a pleasant
breeze touched his face. He adjusted the hood of his cloak, allowing it to
partially conceal his face. There was power in secrecy. Stealth was the way of
a Blue Knight and a Dark Watchman. The shadows of concealment were a welcome
embrace, leaving Lannon detached from the bright, noisy, and exposed
world—allowing him to deal with his troubles without being totally immersed in
them. His way of stealth left his foes confused and fearful of the unknown.

But the rider showed only confidence as they approached.
Though his face was lost in darkness beneath his hood (except for his black
beard), the way he sat so relaxed in the saddle—with his Goblins apart from
him—indicated that he didn’t consider Lannon and Aldreya much of a threat. He
was a giant—well over six feet in height with broad shoulders. His cloak was
adorned with small black chains as if it were used as armor. His hands were
concealed by black gloves. In fact, no part of his flesh was visible, but Lannon
could sense flesh and blood beneath the cloth and metal. A strange, ancient
smell hung about him, like old books or passageways—as if he had been locked
away from fresh air for quite sometime. His black horse was a mighty Goblin
steed with yellow eyes, a muscular beast with a spiked tail, armor plating
covering parts of its fur, and hoofs that could pierce a stout breastplate.

“So here we are,” said Aldreya, standing before
him. She looked small in comparison to the huge horse and rider. His battle axe
looked like it could crush her into the earth. “What do you want?”

“For you to leave Ollanhar,” said the rider, his
voice low and almost inhuman. “I want you to return to Dremlock where you
belong.”

Anger arose within Lannon. “Bellis has sent you to
harass and intimidate us, though of course King Verlamer will admit to
nothing.”

The rider nodded. “No point in denying it, with just
the two of you to hear. One way or another, Bellis will crush this attempt at
expansion. King Verlamer will see to it. Dremlock must keep to itself and stay
out of the affairs of the land.”

“Or what?” asked Aldreya.

The rider laughed. “Or there will be a forest of
bodies on spikes for all to see. A few towns burned to ash—after we’ve had
some fun with the townsfolk. A lot of dead Knights left for the Vultures.
Understand?”

“We understand.” Lannon’s hand tightened around
his sword hilt. “Now that you’ve delivered your message, you can
leave.”

“I need an answer first,” said the rider.
“Are you going to pack up and leave Ollanhar immediately?”

“Never,” said Aldreya. “Did you think we
would?”

“Of course not,” said the rider. “And that’s
why Dremlock put an unyielding Birlote in charge rather than the cowardly
Bearer of the Eye—to make sure you fools would fight to the death to defend this
worthless tower.”

Lannon didn’t respond. The rider was wrong about him, but
better for him to think Lannon a coward and underestimate him.

“You don’t recognize me, Lannon Sunshield,” said
the rider. “Doesn’t my voice sound familiar to you?”

Instantly Lannon thought of Tenneth Bard—the legendary
Black Knight who had terrorized Dremlock and nearly brought about its ruin. But
Tenneth Bard seemed more phantom than living flesh, and last Lannon knew, the
Black Knight had been trapped in a pit of Tharnin.

“I have no idea who you are,” said Lannon. He
instantly regretted the statement, for it revealed his inability to use the Eye
on this foe.

“In time, you’ll realize the truth,” said the
rider. “You may even realize it when your sword meets my axe—in the very near
future.”

“Enough of this useless talk,” said Aldreya.
“You are not welcome here.” She pointed to the north. “Go
now—back to the reeking marsh that spawned your army. And may the mud swallow
you.”

For a moment, the rider sat like a statue. Then his mighty
axe rose and fell toward Aldreya. The move was so fast that even the quick
Birlote girl had no time to respond.

But Lannon sensed the attack, and he froze the rider in the
grasp of the Eye. Nevertheless, Lannon was almost too slow—as the axe stopped in
its downward swing only inches from Aldreya’s head. Had Lannon been a bit
slower, Aldreya might have been split in two before she realized she had been
struck.

Her eyes wide with shock over the speed of the attack,
Aldreya leapt away from the rider, stone dagger in hand.

The dark rider broke Lannon’s hold. Up came the mighty axe
once again, now backed by rage and sorcery.

Lannon drew his Dragon sword.

Bloodshed had begun.

***

Aldreya raised her stone dagger and green flames twisted
around it like living serpents. She flung a blinding fireball into the air. The
orb hung suspended for a moment, changing from green to white hot, forcing
Lannon to shrink back and shield his face from the heat. Then the fireball shot
through the air. Lannon braced himself for the explosion that would surely
follow, wrapping the Eye of Divinity around himself protectively.

But the dark rider simply batted the fireball aside with
his axe. The blazing orb flew across the clearing and struck an oak tree,
blasting a hole in the trunk and throwing out a shower of sparks and burning
wood fragments.

Aldreya gasped and lowered her dagger, appearing to falter
for a moment. Her strongest fireball had just been swatted aside like a bug.

Lannon stood blinded for a moment from watching the fireball.
When his vision cleared, bearing down on him was a legendary Bloodfang—a
creature able to shred flesh from bone in an instant. The Goblin possessed
crooked arms twice as long as a man’s legs
that tapered into claws. It was brown and slimy, with flesh that seemed to
crawl with living things. Its rodent-shaped head quivered with rage, and its
curved yellow fangs—as long as daggers—that hung from its wrinkled snout were
bared for the kill. Folds of bony skin, like half-developed wings, beat furiously.
It seemed to move blindly, with only leathery skin where eyes should have been,
but it was alert to Lannon’s position thanks to a bat-like ability to navigate.

The Bloodfang came
at Lannon in a blur, and he was caught off guard. The beast’s claws raked his
shoulder, tearing through his cloak and drawing blood. He twisted away from the
reeking beast, trying to bring up his sword for a strike, but the Bloodfang
smashed the weapon from his hand. Lannon ducked a mass of bony claws, then sent
the Eye of Divinity into his fist. He punched the beast in the chest, knocking
it backwards. The blow might have killed a human, but the Bloodfang was barely
dazed, pausing for a moment to catch its breath.

Lannon dove for his
sword and seized it—just in time to deflect another clawed attack. Lannon
gathered his power just enough to retaliate with a swift thrust—driving his
blade deep into the beast’s chest. The Bloodfang clawed at the sword and tried
to get to Lannon. The beast was so full of rage and hatred that its own
destruction meant nothing to it. All it cared about was tearing Lannon to
pieces. It was a disgusting observation for the young Knight—that a creature
could exist simply to destroy other creatures—and he was eager to finish it
off.

Then a giant hand clamped
onto the Bloodfang’s head, and the beast was torn from Lannon’s blade and flung
aside as if it were made of straw. Standing before Lannon was a massive,
shadowy Ogre wearing spiked armor and a spiked gauntlet on one fist. It wore a
battered iron helm with two crude, misshapen eye holes. From the top of the
helm protruded a plumb of Vulture feathers—ugliness on top of ugliness.

“Greetings,”
said Lannon, his eyes wide.

The Ogre had no
desire to chat, driving its spike-covered fist down at Lannon. Lannon dodged
the blow, annoyed by the distraction. It was the dark rider that concerned him,
but these beasts were leaving him no chance of confronting that menace. Out of
the corner of his eye—and as the Ogre charged him and he twisted aside—he saw
Aldreya and the rider exchange fireballs that missed.

Inexplicably, the
Ogre ripped off its iron helm and flung it at Lannon—perhaps to let Lannon
look upon its face and perhaps because the helm weighed enough to deliver a
crushing blow. Lannon swatted the helm aside with his blade, the impact jarring
his arms. The Ogre’s head was protected by stout, lumpy bone. A black rune of
death was painted on its forehead.