Knights The Hand of Tharnin

chapter 13: The Passage of Summer

But as the weeks passed, no decision was made to go north. Lannon spoke to some of the High Council members about the issue, but they seemed reluctant to discuss it. Lannon began to suspect that Jace had turned the High Council against the idea, and he found himself annoyed with the former Knight.

Meanwhile, Lannon worked on summoning and controlling the Eye of Divinity, and his skills did seem to improve. But every day he worried that he would receive news of Taris' death and wondered when, and if, they were going to seek out Vorden and the Blood Legion. None of the members of his Divine Shield seemed to want to discuss the issue either, except for Jerret, who had seemed to take on a new attitude in wanting to journey north.

Jerret was supposed to be a Blue Squire, but he continued training on his own as a Red Squire--relying on melee combat and heavy armor. With his ribs fully healed after the ordeal in the mines, he seemed suddenly obsessed with training, and the new muscles that bulged on his arms reflected that determination.

Lannon's room had been turned into a training arena complete with bulky swords, straw dummies, weights, and heavy lances. It had taken a fair amount of persuasion on Jerret's part to obtain these special items, but since he was part of the Divine Shield and needed to maintain his skills, Shennen had allowed the few accessories to be placed in the Squires' room. The problem was that the room was small, and Jerret's training was constantly getting in Lannon's way and even putting him (and Aldreya, when she was present during the days) in danger from swinging and thrusting weapons. It seemed unnecessary, and Lannon wished Jerret would simply be allowed to train with the other Squires. He'd suggested it to Shennen, but Shennen would have none of it. Shennen insisted Jerret stay with Lannon at all times, even though Jace and the Knights came and went.

Another annoying issue was that Jerret constantly pestered Lannon to spar with him, but Lannon refused, instead limiting his training to the Eye of Divinity. Thrake Wolfaxe occasionally came in to instruct Jerret (which Lannon found odd, considering that Jerret was supposed to be training as a Blue Squire). The whole thing seemed like a mess. Lannon's ears rang from the constant clatter of weapons, and even worse, Jerret insisted on talking out loud while he trained. Lannon became so frustrated with it he found himself wanting to punch Jerret in the face. Lannon was ashamed of the urge, but he couldn't help it. Every time Jerret would learn something new, he would brag about it for hours--once even gleefully shoving a burning sword dangerously close to Lannon's face while proudly announcing his weapon enchantment skills were improving.

Just when Lannon was beginning to think they would never go north, Jace strode into the room muttering to himself. He sat down on a bed next to Aldreya and glared at her. She rolled her eyes and glanced over at Jerret, who grinned back.

"What's wrong?" Aldreya finally asked.

"What's wrong?" he said, frowning down at her. "Everything is wrong, Squire! The High Council is preparing to send a large battalion north against my expert advice. I'm considering leaving Dremlock. Why should I ride to my death? That's no way to make a living. Yes, the pay has been good, but it only matters if I'm alive to spend it."

Lannon stood up, relief flooding through him. At last the long wait seemed to be over. "We're going north? When?"

"In two more weeks," said Jace. "The High Council has already voted and decided. Now I have to decide what I'm going to do."

"Two weeks?" said Lannon, his heart sinking. He wasn't sure he could take another two weeks of waiting. "Why so long?"

"The High Council wants time to prepare," said Jace. "This is going to be a major undertaking. Dremlock's spies have delivered news that makes the High Council think we can strike a great blow to the Blood Legion. Many of the Knights have been called back to Dremlock, leaving the surrounding lands unprotected. The Knights seem to be harboring some secret plan or weapon that will perhaps soon be revealed. Still, I can't help but feel it's all one huge trap."

Lannon nodded. He felt the same way, but he couldn't forget Taris' plight. "I guess we just have to trust the High Council."

Jace sneered. "Wonderful. We'll trust them right to the bitter end."

"The High Council is wise," said Aldreya. "They've earned the right to decide what's best for the kingdom. Why should we doubt them?"

Jace glared down at her again. "Because, my stubborn little friend, they likely don't know what they're talking about. So the spies have returned with news--news that the Blood Legion wanted us to learn. I believe it's all part of the ruse. But who am I to talk? I was thrown out of Dremlock and now I'm no better than a Ranger for hire. My opinion means nothing."

"True," said Aldreya, smiling.

Jace rapped her on the head lightly with his knuckles. "You weren't supposed to agree with me."

She giggled. "Sorry, but I do have faith in the Council."

"I like the decision," said Jerret, nodding as if to reassure himself. "I'm more than ready to ride north."

"You've gotten rather bold, Jerret," said Jace. "All that recent practice must have trained the wits right out of you."

Jerret shrugged. "I'm just dedicating myself to the path of Knighthood. It's a great honor to be a Squire at Dremlock. I've come to realize that."

"Perhaps," said Jace, "but common sense is never to be ignored. But I've done my best, and the decision is made. So there is no use complaining."

"You should go north with us," said Lannon. "We need you, Jace. You have skills and knowledge that are unique."

"I know you'll come with us," said Aldreya, gazing up at him. "You still love this kingdom and what it stands for."

"I must admit," said Jace, "that I would hate to abandon Dremlock in this time of great need. I'm not merely about money--I'm also waging a bit of a war myself against Tharnin. I have been for decades. If Dremlock were to fall, the entire continent would be in grave danger--maybe even the entire world. How can I turn my back on something so important?"

"Then you'll remain part of the Divine Shield?" said Lannon.

Jace sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, then nodded. "Though it may cost me my life, I suppose I will ride north."

Lannon smiled. "Glad to hear it."

Aldreya punched Jace lightly in the shoulder. "Me too! I'm more than happy to have the friendliest giant in Silverland fight by my side."

Jace glared down at her, and then his face broke into a smile. "Friendly giant? Is that how you see me? And here I thought I was intimidating."

Aldreya laughed. "Hardly."

"Maybe you can write a book," said Lannon, "about the journey north. I'm sure there will be plenty of adventure to tell of."

"I'm done writing books," Jace muttered. "And I have no urge at all to write one concerning my journey to the Bonefrost Mountains, for that book would likely go unfinished when I fail to survive the trap that awaits us."

"Have faith," said Aldreya, punching him again on the shoulder. "Friendly giants don't act so grumpy and pessimistic."

Jace winked at her, but his face remained sullen.

"Two weeks," Lannon mumbled. "What will we do with ourselves during that time?"

"Train, of course," said Jerret, seizing a sword from a rack.

Lannon groaned.

***

Timlin's journey north was not pleasant. He wasn't used to such extensive riding, and he quickly grew sore in the saddle. The Soldiers were rude to him on the few occasions when they bothered to speak to him at all, and he was given a small amount of stale food that failed to satisfy his hunger. He slept in the open with no blanket and lay shivering under his cloak.

As they drew near to the Western Bloodlands, the weather turned foul--with fog and cold rain. Timlin developed a wretched cold that proved difficult to get rid of, and he spent all day coughing and sneezing. Then one of the men spotted an Elder Hawk through the mist, and they accused Timlin of being pursued by Dremlock spies. They even went as far as to suggest he might be a spy. Timlin protested vigorously, insisting truthfully that he'd never seen the hawk before, but the men would have none of it. Timlin was booted off his horse and left standing in the muddy road, with no food and no blanket. He called out desperately to the men that he was innocent, but they didn't even bother to glance back.

Timlin watched in despair as the riders moved off down the road, wondering how far he still had to go or even if the Legion Council would still hear his words. He was terribly frustrated with himself for wasting his opportunity at Dremlock and bringing suffering upon himself once again. For a moment, his feet seemed to lose the will to carry him onward to Blombalk Fortress, as he considered just trying to find a town and earn a living however he could. But that future seemed so bleak that he finally forced himself onward in the direction of the Council. He thought it might be better to die trying to join the Blood Legion than to live slaving away at some wretched job just to keep food in his belly.

Timlin took to hunting with his bow. He was a poor hunter, having left Dremlock before being taught any wilderness survival skills, but his stealth and aim soon made him better at the craft. He shot a deer but had no idea how to clean it, so he simply took what meat he could. He built a crude lean-to in the woods out of sticks, started a fire with help from his burning dagger, and roasted some of the meat. It had an excessive charred taste but filled him up.

By means of hunting, stealing spring vegetables from gardens, and finding water in streams, Timlin was able to continue north on foot. He met people on horseback along the road--some who were traveling in his direction but who refused to give him a ride for whatever reason.

At one point, Timlin picked up an illness after eating mushrooms that were growing by a stagnant pond. He knew it was a sickness of the Deep Shadow that would not be easy to get rid of even with his Knightly healing skills. He wandered around in a daze for a while, before ending up on a farm. The farmer took Timlin in and put him to work, while allowing the former Squire plenty of rest to battle his illness.

Nevertheless, it took Timlin all summer long to fight off the sickness. The farmer, who was a kind and lonely man, had grown to think of Timlin like a son over the weeks and wanted him to remain. But Timlin never learned to love farm work, and his thoughts were always on the Blood Legion and a more exciting way of life. Although the farmer was like the good father Timlin had been deprived of in his youth, the lad could not escape the feeling that a greater purpose awaited him.

At last Timlin bid the farmer farewell and found himself back on the road to Blombalk Fortress, as the leaves were changing color and a chill had found its way into the air. He was fully healed, well fed, and ready to face his destiny--which he hoped wouldn't involve the Legion Knights cutting off his head.

But as the journey stretched on, Timlin found himself tired, hungry, and miserable again. He begged occasional travelers for food or transportation, but they always looked at him with suspicion and declined. Timlin was growing increasingly angry over it, wondering if he should resort to threats to get someone to help him. Even though he'd betrayed Dremlock, the kingdom's teachings were still echoing in his mind, making it hard for him to resort to anything as dishonorable as forcing someone to serve his needs at the point of bow or dagger--but his anger was beginning to push him to defy those teachings.

Finally a man came along pulling a long wagon. He was a stocky Grey Dwarf with a scarred face. From the moment he saw Timlin, he showed grave concern for the lad's welfare. "You look in dire need of assistance!" he called out to Timlin from the wagon. "Can I give you a ride somewhere?"

The Olrog looked somewhat like Furlus, reminding Timlin of how much he missed Dremlock in some ways. Timlin grinned in response. "I would be very grateful if I could ride in your wagon. I'm on my way to Blombalk Fortress on the edge of the Western Bloodlands."

The Dwarf frowned. "Blombalk Fortress, you say? Well, that is a Blood Legion stronghold, so I'm guessing you're a Legion Soldier. Anyway, I have no problem with your kind at all. I would gladly let you ride."

"I don't belong to the Legion," said Timlin. "At least, not yet. I'm going there to meet with the Legion Council and ask to join."

The Dwarf smiled. "Ah, a young hopeful." He looked Timlin up and down. "I'm guessing you're skilled in battle, then."

"I was trained at Dremlock," said Timlin, not caring if the man knew the truth. "I know a thing or two about combat."

"And the Knights are not pursuing you?" the Dwarf asked, glancing along the trail and into the woods. A nervous shadow seemed to creep over his face for an instant.

"Not at all," said Timlin. "They'll give me no trouble. Well, not until I join the Legion anyway. Then I suppose they'll want to kill me. It doesn't matter. I have no family to worry about. I'm not afraid to die."

"So you're pretty much alone, then," said the Dwarf, a strange glint in his eye. He quickly added, "So it definitely looks like you'll be needing a ride."

"Just show me where I can sit," said Timlin. "My feet are quite sore."

"My name is Tolus," said the Dwarf, climbing down from his horse. He extended his meaty hand and Timlin's shook it.

His smile put Timlin at ease, and all Timlin could think about was sitting down in the wagon and relaxing.

Tolus led Timlin to the back of the enclosed wagon that was made of thick oak planks. A double door in the rear of the wagon was secured with a plank. "You want to lift the plank?" Tolus asked. "My shoulder is wretchedly sore."

"Of course," Timlin said eagerly. He seized the plank and lifted it. Suddenly, his arms were yanked behind him and the plank fell to the ground. He tried to struggle, but the Dwarf's strength was too much for him. Tolus bound Timlin's wrists tightly in rope and removed his weapons.

Timlin groaned. "What are you doing, Tolus? I have no money."

"This isn't a robbery," said Tolus, turning Timlin about to face him.

Timlin tired to speak, but Tolus shoved a dirty, calloused finger against Timlin's lips. "Just keep quiet, lad, or I'll snap your scrawny neck. You do as you're told, you can have a good life. Understand?"

Timlin nodded, wondering what new madness had befallen him. It seemed he'd been cursed ever since leaving Dremlock--maybe as some divine punishment for wasting a grand opportunity. The will seemed drained from him, and he simply waited for Tolus to tell him of his fate.

"We're going north to Rogue Haven," said Tolus. "There, you will fight in the arena for the amusement of the crowds. If you do well, you get paid well--and you are supplied with hearty food. It's all up to you, Timlin."

Timlin's face turned crimson with rage. "The Knights of Dremlock would never allow such a practice as you describe. This is slavery!"

"You're wrong," said Tolus. "Rogue Haven is a place the Knights pay no need to. It is considered to exist outside of Silverland. The name Rogue Haven kind of says it all, don't you think? And what do you care how the Knights of Dremlock feel about slavery? You betrayed them."

"I'll kill you!" Timlin snarled.

Growling like bear, Tolus spun him around roughly and shoved him into the wagon. "You should thank me for this, lad. The Legion would have no dealings with a little man like you. They would have killed you. Now at least you have a chance to earn a good living--if you can stay alive. Enjoy the ride!"

Tolus slammed the wagon doors.