Knights The Hand of Tharnin

chapter 12: The Festival of Fire

After the grim events in the mines, the search party regrouped at Dremlock. The Temple of Oracles had indeed led Lannon and his defenders out of the mountain, and from there, they encountered no more trouble on the winding road back to the kingdom. They were delighted to find that the others had survived the grasp of the Dark Mothers, but the celebration was diminished by the news that Willan had not reported back from the mines. Several search parties were sent--without Lannon and his Divine Shield, in spite of Lannon's request to join the search--but they could find no trace of him. After a week had passed, they concluded Willan was dead and held a funeral for him in the Sacred Temple.

Spring was giving way to the warmth of summer, and Dremlock was in a festive mood in spite of the recent happenings. Grim events were always taking place at Dremlock and didn't stop the periodic celebrations. The kingdom was hard at work preparing for the Festival of Fire, which was designed to honor the Birlotes who had lent support to Dremlock. The Festival consisted of a great feast held outdoors on the West Tower Training Grounds, where the Color Trials and other important events usually took place. The table-filled courtyard would be lit by Birlote torches, which had given the Festival its name. Birlote archers and sorcerers would perform tricks for the crowd.

But Lannon Sunshield was not in a festive mood at all, and neither was Taris Warhawk. Taris' health had not improved enough for him to attempt the journey to his homeland of Borenthia. He was so weak he could barely get out of bed, and many were afraid he would die on a long journey home. Only the sorcerer's immense will seemed to be keeping him alive.

Lannon stood by Taris' bed one morning, with his guards waiting outside the room. He gazed down in shock at the Birlote sorcerer. Taris' face seemed half covered in squirming shadows, and his left eye had turned permanently yellow. He was very gaunt and seemed barely able to move.

The room was dark, the window shutters drawn in spite of the warm, sunny day. A chill seemed to hang in the air. Candles burned in niches in the stone walls, and the smell of Birlote incense was strong. The atmosphere was so somber that Lannon almost felt like he stood in a tomb.

"We may soon ride to the Bonefrost Mountains," said Lannon. "Hopefully, we'll bring back the Hand of Tharnin."

Taris managed a smile. "I would expect nothing less. However, there is a real possibility I may be dead before you return. I know that's not what you want to hear, but you need to realize the truth and be prepared for it."

Lannon sighed in frustration. "I just wish there was some way to help you. I mean, some easier way."

"I'm not fond of the prospect of dying," said Taris. "I'm still young by Birlote standards and feel I have much yet to accomplish in life. It seems unfair. Of course, what can I do other than complain? Being forced to surrender one's life is always unpleasant. So I've chosen simply to fight to my last breath. At least I can die knowing I did that much."

"But there must be a way to cure you!" Lannon insisted. "We were so close to having the gauntlet in our possession..."

"You can't control everything," said Taris. "Life is fleeting, Lannon. Do what you can, but don't be disappointed if you fail."

"If you're dead when I return," said Lannon, "I will be very disappointed."

"How do you know you'll return?" said Taris.

"What do you mean?" said Lannon, chilled by Taris' words.

Taris gave Lannon a piercing stare. "You must understand the reality of the situation. Jace was wrong to assume the gauntlet wouldn't favor a warrior like Vorden, and I should never have listened to him. My belief is that Vorden will be far more powerful than Vellera the simple farmer was. His Knightly skills will enhance the power of the Hand of Tharnin. He will be nearly invincible. The encounter in the mines--the sparing of your life by Vorden--was, among other things, likely a plot to draw you north with an elite company of Knights. Whoever Vorden's master is, he is very confident that he will score a great victory in the Bonefrost Mountains and leave Dremlock severely weakened."

"Then you're saying I shouldn't go?" said Lannon.

"You have to go," said Taris, "or Dremlock will not survive. And when you go, you may have to confront Vorden and find a way to defeat him. You won't be able to take him prisoner. You'll have to kill him."

"I can't kill him," said Lannon. "He's my friend."

Taris clutched Lannon's wrist with a trembling hand. "This isn't Timlin we're talking about. Vorden has likely become a Black Knight of Tharnin. If you don't give full effort, you stand no chance against him. He will burn you to ash and that will be the end of Lannon Sunshield and his Eye of Divinity."

Lannon nodded. "I'll do what I must, Master Taris."

Taris released him, his eyes closing for a moment. "I know you will. But it still might not be enough. It could take all the strength that Dremlock possesses to defeat Vorden and his Blood Legion. We are weak right now, and our foes are very strong. You've come to Dremlock during one of our darkest periods, when our survival is truly in doubt. The Goblin Lords were just a sign of things to come. The Deep Shadow has gained an edge over us recently. You were brought to the kingdom to tip the scales in our favor, but it hasn't happened yet. The Hand of Tharnin is only one of many grave threats that I believe will be revealed in the months and years to come."

"Any advice on what I should do?" asked Lannon.

"Keep practicing with the Eye," said Taris. "Push yourself until you're exhausted, every day. It will be weeks before Dremlock confronts the Blood Legion. You should grow stronger during that time. Also, prepare yourself mentally to kill Vorden. Visualize yourself slaying him in your mind."

Lannon shuddered. "Taris, I don't want to visualize that!"

"Of course you don't," said Taris, "but you must. Hopefully, you will not have to face him. Dremlock is filled with Knights who can do that for you. But we both know our foes take a special interest in you. The chances are high that Vorden will confront you--if only because he is, or was, your friend. You can expect the battle in the Bonefrost Mountains to be different than the confrontation with Vellera. This will be a full-scale assault, with the Knights prepared for war. That means heavy lances will be involved and siege engines. Much of the fighting could take place from a distance. Yet in spite of all that, it could easily come down to you and Vorden locked in combat--and rest assured, it will be a duel to the death."

"I'll do my best to prepare," said Lannon.

"It's a shame," said Taris, "that a young Squire like you should bear so many burdens. But it has happened many times in Dremlock's history. Valuable Squires--usually talented Birlotes--pushed too early and often into combat. If only you had the will and mindset of a Birlote, things would be a bit easier for you. But Noracks are weak against the forces of Tharnin. If I was a Norack, I would be dead from this wound. I would have died the very night it was inflicted upon me. The light and dark skinned folk are easily enslaved by Tharnin."

"Not all of them," said Lannon, thinking of his father. Lannon had received a letter recently from his parents and had learned that his father was still resisting his own infection of dark sorcery and was doing relatively well. Of course, Lannon suspected his father's illness was far weaker than what Taris was dealing with.

"No, not all of them," Taris agreed. "I heard about your father's courageous struggle. He must have a very strong will."

"And Furlus has survived his wound," said Lannon. "In fact, he's walking around better every day. How has he been able to heal?"

"I suspected Furlus would recover," said Taris. "While Birlotes have strong resistance against the Deep Shadow, the Grey Dwarves are nearly immune to it. The Olrogs were once servants of Tharnin, and that changed them forever. The dark sorcery did not affect Furlus so much as the actual wound. His wound was much worse than mine, but the sorcery barely affected him at all--whereas it is slowly killing me."

"You need some Olrog blood in you," said Lannon, smiling.

Taris grimaced. "My blood is fine as it is. Olrog blood? I'm sure Furlus would love to hear you say that."

"Sorry," said Lannon. "I just meant..."

"You should go and train," said Taris. "You might be under the protection of the Divine Shield and free from normal training, but that's no reason to sit around all day doing nothing. Use your time wisely."

"I will," said Lannon. "You just keep working on feeling better. You're going to make a full recovery if I have my way."

But Taris didn't answer. He lay with his eyes closed, engaged in his terrible internal struggle to stay alive.

***



While Dremlock was preparing for the Festival of Fire, in the southern city of Silvergate, Timlin was still wondering if he'd made a grave mistake. Unlike the Knights of Dremlock, the Legion Soldiers seemed wild and fanatical, obeying rules Timlin couldn't comprehend. On the dock, the Soldiers had praised his skills and left him feeling reassured he would have an easy time of things, but once he arrived at the Legion hideout, he began to feel that his life meant nothing to these cold-hearted warriors.

The hideout was below a tavern underground, in a very dangerous area of the city, and it consisted of several rooms with passages that led into the sewers. Timlin was assigned an instructor. He was ordered not to speak to anyone but his instructor. His rank was apparently the lowest of the low, which left him disgruntled. He had expected better treatment.

Timlin's instructor was named Vebbeas. He was a tall man with silver hair and cold eyes, his face weathered and sullen in the lantern light. "You were chosen as a potential recruit," he said. "But I would like to know why. The Legion favors men of large build and great strength."

They stood alone in a training room with weapons and armor on racks along the walls. Vebbeas didn't seem to like Timlin. He glared at the lad, his arms folded across his chest, and his demeanor put Timlin on the defensive.

Timlin was at a loss for words for a moment. Then he said, "I'm a former Blue Squire of Dremlock. I have extensive skills in lock picking, assassination, stealth, and combat with the dagger and the bow."

Vebbeas sneered. "So you're a backstabber. Legion Soldiers prefer to face an enemy in honorable combat. We pride ourselves on strength and intimidation. Some call us barbarians or savages, but all fear us. What we are not is a bunch of common thieves and cutthroats."

Timlin shrugged helplessly, wondering if his dream was disintegrating before his eyes. "But aren't my skills somewhat valuable?"

Vebbeas sighed. "Somewhat, yes. But if you want to be part of the Legion, you'll have to learn to fight like a real warrior--face to face. I have no doubt that you have the skills you claim, but your biggest challenge will be honorable combat. You're trained to kill by surprise, by quick and deadly strikes. How would you fare against a trained warrior with stout armor and a shield?"

"I'm not sure," said Timlin, speaking truthfully. "My greatest skill is with the bow. So I obviously prefer to fight from a distance."

"Archery is important," said Vebbeas. "But again, that is secondary to honorable combat. And there is nothing intimidating at all about your appearance. Typically, a lad of your stature would be ignored by Legion recruiters."

"But I wasn't ignored," said Timlin, trying to stand taller. "So that must mean something, right?"

"What it means," said Vebbeas, "is that you were given a chance based on your reputation. I know that you were a companion of Lannon Sunshield and one of the more skilled Squires at Dremlock. But don't assume you're worth more to us than you actually are. Truthfully, I'm considering rejecting you."

Timlin cringed. "But I can prove myself. I'll fight anyone here! I'll fight to the death if need be against anyone you choose!"

Vebbeas looked him up and down and shook his head. "You're no fighter, Timlin. You might do better to live as a thief or an assassin and not a Legion Soldier. With your skills, you could make a good living at theft."

Timlin's eyes flashed with anger. "I'm not a sneak or a backstabber in spite of my training. I can fight like a barbarian!"

"You would need to build up your strength," said Vebbeas. "That means you would have to eat a great deal more than you do and spend much time training your muscles. Your height cannot be changed, but you could still broaden your shoulders a bit. Even then, I doubt anyone would tremble in fear at the sight of you."

"I'll do whatever it takes," said Timlin. "The men on the dock said I had found my destiny, that I would do great things!"

"First, I will test your loyalty," said Vebbeas. "For without loyalty, there is nothing." He questioned Timlin extensively about his life at Dremlock, all he knew about Lannon, and the plans of the Divine Knights. Timlin answered every question honestly, while Vebbeas wrote down notes.

When the questioning was finished, Timlin said, "I've told you everything I know. Have I proven my loyalty?"

Vebbeas shook his head. "On the contrary, you have proven you have no loyalty at all. You showed no reluctance to reveal secrets about Dremlock and your friends--with no promise of being allowed into the Legion. That concerns me greatly, for it means you cannot be trusted."

Timlin groaned. "It was a trick, then. I thought I was supposed to show loyalty to the Legion. And now you've gotten all the information out of me that I have. So I guess I'm worth even less now than I was before you questioned me."

"It was no trick," said Vebbeas. "Loyalty is extremely important to the Legion. An honorable man would not have given up his secrets so easily. Had you shown hesitation or remorse even to a small degree, you might have passed the test. But you were eager to talk. I have no doubt that what you told me is the truth. Actually, I wish I had some feeling you were lying to me. The fact that you can, with such eager honesty, betray your friends and fellow Squires sends chills down my spine. That's the mark of a rogue or a cold-hearted killer--not a Legion Soldier."

Timlin considered Vebbeas' words and found truth in them. He harbored no loyalty to his friends or anyone else. "But I am loyal," Timlin lied. "Just not to Dremlock. I would never betray the Blood Legion."

Vebbeas stood in thoughtful silence for a moment. Then at last he shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Timlin. The Blood Legion is very rigid when it comes to choosing its members. The men on the dock were mere spies and recruiters and did what they were required to do. Whoever told you the Blood Legion was your destiny was clearly drunk or just toying with you, Timlin."

Timlin couldn't believe it. "So...so that's it? I'm done? It's because I told you all I know! Now I'm useless to the Legion!"

Vebbeas shrugged. "All I did was ask questions, Timlin. I didn't torture you for the information. You chose to answer them. As a former companion of Lannon Sunshield, you might harbor some slight value. But my opinion is that you are simply too dangerous to be allowed into the Legion."

"But I can beat anyone here!" Timlin insisted, his voice turning shrill. "At least with the bow and the dagger. I can pick any lock!"

Vebbeas shook his head. "Sorry, lad, but it's not enough. We have outstanding archers and warriors--loyal men of conscience who care about their brothers and who would die for them in an instant. You seem heartless and bloodthirsty, and I cannot administer the Trial by Dagger and the Blood Oath."

Timlin stood there, his mouth hanging open. He'd never imagined he would be rejected. He thought he would rise quickly through the ranks and be given special privileges as he had at Dremlock.

"I gave them the Red Candle," said Timlin. "I...I swore an oath against Dremlock. I walked away from fame and fortune for this?"

Vebbeas gazed at him thoughtfully. He sighed. "The Red Candle holds meaning that shouldn't be ignored. Perhaps...there is still one route you can try. Three Soldiers will be riding north in a few days to Blombalk Fortress on the edge of the Western Bloodlands. You can ride with them and appeal to the Legion High Council of Knights. The Council is very rigid, outspoken, and dangerous. You will be risking your life by going there. If they find you unworthy and a waste of their time--or they simply don't like you--they could have you tortured, imprisoned, or even executed. But the choice is yours."

"I'll go," Timlin said, without hesitation.

"Then I wish you well," said Vebbeas, doubt in his eyes.

Timlin bowed. "Thank you, Master Vebbeas."

"I'm not your master," said Vebbeas, grimacing. "I bear no responsibility for your fate. Just remember to show great respect when confronting the Legion Council, for a single word taken as an insult could cause a quick sword stroke in response and cost you your foolish head."

***

It was a perfect summer night for the Festival of Fire--warm, yet with a mild, gentle breeze that swept across the courtyard. The grounds were bathed in a crimson glow from Birlote torches, exposing tables that were covered with all manner of delicious foods. The Knights loved to eat, and they spared no expense on meals--especially during celebrations. Most of the kingdom was gathered at the tables, waiting for dinner to begin.

Crestin Lightwielder, magician and entertainer, performed some tricks for the crowd. Crestin was a tall and flamboyant man dressed in a red robe with a large red hat, his broad face, framed by bushy sideburns, always bearing a smile. His eyes twinkled with delight as he mesmerized the crowd. His tricks included hurling some odd fireballs into the air that bounced around between the tables and caused a bit of chaos. After that, Crestin played some haunting Birlote melodies on his flute that would linger on in the dreams of those who listened.

All of the Birlotes in Dremlock who were capable of attending were gathered at a single long table, including Aldreya and Shennen. Noticeably absent was Taris Warhawk, and thus a chair at the head of the table sat empty. The High Council sat at another table next to the Birlotes.

Lannon sat with the remaining members of his Divine Shield, and he drew many stares from the other tables, which he tried and failed to ignore. Yet it was such a warm and pleasant summer evening that he couldn't help but enjoy it, his troubles dulled by the festive mood around him.

"I can't wait to eat!" said Jerret, his eyes fixed on the food. It had been a long wait since lunch, during which all the kitchens of Dremlock had been off limits while the feast was being prepared.

"I couldn't agree more," said Jace. His giant hands rested near a basket of fruit from which he'd been sneaking strawberries. A thick, ancient-looking book sat on the table in front of him. He popped a fat strawberry in his mouth and washed it down with some wine, before leafing through the book.

"What are you reading?" said Lannon, who noticed drawings of huge and grotesque Goblins on the pages. Even as he asked, he thought he was better off not knowing. He'd wanted simply to relax and celebrate this night and forget all of his troubles. Yet his curiosity betrayed him.

"A book on the beasts of Tharnin," said Jace. "I am beginning to suspect that the gauntlet may possess the power to control certain creatures that might otherwise be uncontrollable. If so, we could be in for a nasty surprise when we journey north. I believe our foes are hiding some great secret that they feel will give them an edge--and I don't mean the Hand of Tharnin itself. While the gauntlet is a formidable weapon, it still rests on the arm of one man. I feel there is a greater threat."

"Are you saying Vorden could summon some huge beasts?" said Jerret, "and command them to fight? I find that hard to believe. Using a weapon is one thing, but power like that seems impossible."

"Yet he controlled you, Jerret," said Jace, winking at the lad.

Jerret winced visibly, his red reddening. "He didn't control me, Jace. I allowed him to control me because I thought he needed my help. That's way different. Besides, I'd rather not be reminded of that incident."

"I agree," said Lannon. "I can't imagine Vorden standing there commanding some giant monster to do his bidding. It just doesn't seem possible."

"There are many things in this world," said Jace, "that you young Squires would never believe possible unless you saw them for yourself. The power to control one of the great beasts of Tharnin is not an impossibility. It is unlikely, yes. But the gauntlet is very powerful--an extraordinary item that took more than a century to craft. Who knows what amazing abilities it possesses?"

"So are you suggesting that Vorden could summon an army of beasts?" said Lannon, "and just stand back while they attack us?"

"Maybe one or two beasts," said Jace, "at the most. But some of the creatures of Tharnin are so powerful that a single one of them could slay a legion of Divine Knights. Typically, such creatures are wild and serve no one, but I'm beginning to think the true purpose for the Hand of Tharnin is to command at least one of the great beasts. If so, we are facing a very dire threat indeed."

Lannon sighed, almost wishing he hadn't asked what Jace was reading. But now he needed to know more on the topic. "Could one of those beasts be sent against Dremlock? Could it bring down the kingdom?"

"Dremlock is extremely well defended," said Jace. "It is likely our foes will wait for us to come north and catch us in the open. Once our battalion is eliminated, Dremlock will be left in a weakened state. Then the attack on the kingdom will come from all sides. Legion Soldiers and Goblins will overrun the kingdom, taking the towers one by one. Once the kingdom is occupied, they will then seek to destroy the heart of Dremlock--the Divine Essence itself."

Lannon shuddered. "Then it would be foolish to go north. Yet Taris said we had to go and fight for the kingdom."

"I disagree with Taris," said Jace. "We should let our foes come to us. If we go north, we're probably falling into a dastardly trap. Tenneth Bard spared your life in the mines. He knew Vorden wouldn't kill you. He obviously wants a battle to take place in the Bonefrost Mountains, and he knew if you were alive, the Knights would feel bold enough to go north. That's a guess on my part, of course, because plans are always changing and the ways of Tharnin are difficult to comprehend, but it seems logical enough."

"Then we're not actually going north?" said Jerret. He looked strangely disappointed.

"The High Council will decide, as always," said Thrake. He muttered something about being hungry, grabbed a chunk of beef, and stuffed it in his mouth. He washed it down quickly with some water and wiped his beard, looking a bit sheepish.

"The High Council might listen to you, Lannon," said Jace. "You should try to convince them that a journey north would not be in Dremlock's best interests. This will be a very critical decision for the kingdom."

Lannon didn't reply. He wanted the conversation to end so he could try to enjoy the evening. Jace was wise, but he seemed to have serious lapses in judgment now and then. Taris, on the other hand, was almost always right about everything. And if they didn't ride north and confront Vorden, Taris had no chance of survival. Lannon cringed at the thought of putting the fate of the kingdom at risk for one man, but he couldn't accept the notion of Taris dying either. He had no idea what to do, and he just wanted to forget the dilemma for one night.

Cordus Landsaver stood up and raised his arms. "The Festival of Fire has begun!" The crowd cheered. "Everyone is aware of the hardships faced by our kingdom, but tonight we shall focus only on celebration. We shall celebrate the Birlotes--the Tree Dwellers--and their great contribution to Dremlock. Without the help of the Birlotes, Dremlock might not have survived and prospered. And make no mistake--we are surviving and prospering. Before we begin the feast, Crestin Lightwielder will play one more song called The Ghosts of Borenthia.

Crestin bowed. Then he played an exceptionally haunting melody on the flute, music that seemed to make time and space disappear. Lannon closed his eyes and could envision the great Tree City where it was warm year round, a city constantly expanding as the Birlote population expanded--an ancient forest merged with bridges, huts, and even a giant wooden palace. The trees lived in harmony with the Birlotes and provided for their needs, and the Birlotes cared for the trees in return. The forest and the Tree Dwellers had merged into a single living entity that could not be easily breached by outsiders. The leaves and pine needles shielded the treetop hideouts from prying eyes, where green arrows waited unseen for any evil that walked where it didn't belong. Lannon imagined all the warm nights high above ground, the tables laden with food and the gemstone torches blazing--and he longed to dwell in that land, in the quiet shade beneath the thick forest roof where his troubles could easily be forgotten. He knew that Taris must long for it even more deeply--Taris, who lay suffering constantly in a stone building far from home, his courage unwavering. And then Lannon knew he would have to go north in spite of Jace's warning, because the courage of the Birlotes deserved that much.