Knights The Hand of Tharnin

chapter 18: The Prisoner

When the battle with the Goblin Bears was finished, nine Knights lay dead and sixteen more were seriously injured. Three Rangers, eight horses, and two wolves had also been slain. And dozens of Knights had been injured to a lesser degree. The landscape was littered with the bodies of dead Bears. Two Soldiers of the Blood Legion--who'd been commanding the Bears--also lay dead. The snows were stained crimson and black with blood and ash.

But only one member of Dremlock's army had been captured--Lannon Sunshield. The Squire had been thrown onto a horse and carried off with a group of retreating Blood Legion Soldiers. In the chaos of battle, none of the Knights had given chase, and by the time they realized what had happened, it was too late. Now the morale of the army was very low.

The remaining members of the Divine Shield met in Furlus' tent to discuss the situation. The atmosphere in the tent was tense and gloomy. Jerret was afraid they were going to abandon the assault on Dorok's Hand and retreat to Dremlock. He knew Aldreya and Vannas felt the same as he did--that they owed it to Lannon to try and rescue him. But he was certain the Knights wouldn't give much weight to anything the Squires said.

"So it has come to this," said Furlus, his voice heavy with bitterness. "We couldn't even defend our prized Squire, and it has cost us greatly. This is turning out to be a poor excuse for an army."

"This army is ill-fated," said Shennen, his head in his hands. "Too many forces are working against us. We should retreat to Dremlock."

"We can't retreat," Jerret spoke up, desperation in his voice. "Not until we save Lannon." Even as he said that, he wondered if Lannon was already dead, and rage towards the Blood Legion filled his heart.

"We did our best to protect him," said Jace, smoking his pipe and looking sullen. "That Bear assault was unexpected, to say the least. I've never seen anything like it. And Lannon was captured because he was trying to do too much. He shouldered the burden of saving everyone."

"He fought with great courage," said Aldreya. "If there is any chance he is still alive, we need to find him!"

"We're a bunch of fools," said Trenton, who'd suffered a broken arm and broken ribs from being crushed beneath the Bear. "Our foes are far better prepared for us than we are for them. They will just keep wearing us down before we ever reach the fortress of Dorok's Hand. And Lannon? Yes, my dear Aldreya, he fought very courageously. But you must accept the fact that he is finished."

Jerret wished Trenton would go away. The Investigator seemed ever at odds with everyone and annoying. Jerret knew the dark power that Trenton possessed--the ability to transform into some kind of wolf-like monster. Yet he'd failed to use that power in the battle with the Bears, for whatever reason, and now Lannon was gone. Jerret thought Trenton was a coward who preferred to let others fight his battles whenever possible.

"But we don't know that Lannon is dead," said Furlus. "They may keep him alive and try to learn his secrets. They may try to infect him with the Deep Shadow and persuade him to join their cause."

"Then we've failed on the deepest level," said Shennen. "For if they convert Lannon to their side, we will surely lose this war."

"Not necessarily," said Furlus. "Lannon may also regain his strength and escape before they ever get him to Dorok's Hand. He is very powerful and well trained, his sorcery unknown to them."

"And we still have the White Flamestone," Vannas reminded them. "The loss of Lannon is terrible, yet hope remains."

Trenton scowled. "I am so weary of you Squires speaking as if you've been granted Knighthood--as if you are members of the High Council. You're too young to know anything, and I must ask that you remain silent!"

Vannas glared back at him, but said nothing.

"I believe we have the right to talk, Trenton," said Jerret.

"Well, you don't!" Trenton snarled. "Especially you, Jerret. No worthwhile statement ever emerges from your mouth. You're nothing but a bumbling barbarian of a Squire, no better than those Legion Soldiers."

Jerret didn't bother to reply. Trenton was simply never going to like him or respect him, so there was no point in arguing with the Investigator.

"They have a right to speak," said Furlus. "They are members of the Divine Shield, Trenton. And Vannas is a Birlote prince and deserves greater respect."

"Thank you, Master Furlus," Vannas said, bowing.

"Members of a Divine Shield hold special rank," Furlus went on, "Squires or not. Try to come to terms with that, Trenton."

"What Divine Shield?" said Trenton. "Who are we protecting? Lannon is gone. We might as well dissolve it."

"Not as long as Vannas rides with us," said Furlus. "The Divine Essence blessed us with the White Flamestone and chose its bearer. As rough as things have been, this army was sent forth with the blessing of our god. That cannot be ignored."

"I understand that," said Trenton, "but perhaps even a god can be wrong. And are we really expected to serve blindly? Aren't Divine Knights supposed to question everything and seek the truth?"

"Trenton makes a good point," said Shennen. "The Divine Essence has been wrong before. So why can't our god be questioned?"

Furlus slammed his fist down. "Our god is never to be questioned. Its wisdom is far beyond that of us mortals. When the Divine Essence speaks, we obey. I am the commander of this army, and my word is final."

"And what is your word, oh Tower Master?" said Trenton, mockery in his voice. "To what grim end shall you send us?"

"We've suffered some losses," said Furlus, "but the bulk of our army is still intact. I'm guessing that battalion of Bears was the great ambush they had waiting for us. And while it cost us Lannon--and that is a huge loss indeed--it was otherwise a failure. We suffered a small amount of casualties and killed all of the Bears. I'm sure our foes expected us to take far more damage than that."

"I disagree," said Jace. "I think the Bear attack was only an attempt to kill the Squires and as many Knights as possible. If they had intended to finish us off, we would also have been attacked by an army of Legion Soldiers--lead by the Hand of Tharnin. Because Lannon was captured, I believe the Bear attack was actually a huge success--probably a far better success than they had hoped for."

"For once," said Trenton, "I agree with you, Jace."

"They need their Soldiers to defend Dorok's Hand," said Furlus. "They took Lannon away from us, but we killed their most prized beasts."

"Their most prized beasts?" said Jace. "I'm not so sure."

Furlus waved dismissively. "Mere speculation, Jace. I firmly believe that if we continue on, we can take Dorok's Hand and destroy the heart of the Blood Legion. Then we can march on Blombalk Fortress to the south."

"I have a grim feeling," said Shennen, "that if we continue on we may all die. Yet I have an equally grim feeling that if we retreat, Dremlock will fall."

"We owe it to Dremlock to keep going," said Furlus. "And we owe it to Taris and Lannon--and even to Vorden Flameblade, if that Squire still lives and is still a slave of Tharnin. But most importantly, we do not disobey the Divine Essence!"

"I don't know what the right path is," said Jace. "The Divine Essence could very well be sending us to our doom. Your god indeed makes mistakes, as history has proven. But I'm beginning to think we have to keep going and face whatever must be faced. Those Bears were a warning of how powerful the Blood Legion is becoming. This isn't just about money to me. I care about the fate of Silverland."

"We will camp for a few days," said Furlus, "and let the injured heal. Once the White Knights have done their work, we will ride for Dorok's Hand."

Trenton scowled. "And that is where we shall find misery and death." The Investigator rose and adjusted his cloak with the one hand he still had use of. His grey eyes were full of disgust. "I always knew you would lead me to my doom, Furlus." With that, he strode out of the tent.

Furlus chugged some ale and wiped his beard, his face sullen. "Good, the whiny man has left us. What a tiresome wretch he is. What about you, Jace? Are you going to whine in my ear now too about how we might lose this war?"

"Actually," said Jace, "I was hoping for a taste of that quality ale."

Furlus handed Jace a flask. "You've earned it. Drink up, for more bloodshed and sorrow await us on the battlefield."

Vannas' held up the pouch that contained the White Flamestone. "No sorrow for us, Master Furlus. Not if I have my say."

Furlus smiled. "You're a good lad, Vannas."

What about my say? Jerret thought. He imagined his sword ripping into Vorden and the former Squire falling to the ground in death. The whispers still haunted his mind. The fact that Vorden had made him a puppet was unforgivable. Jerret wasn't concerned with war. All he cared about was killing Vorden.

***

When Lannon awoke it was nighttime, and he was being hauled roughly off a horse by a Legion Soldier and made to stand in the deep snow. He was further up in the mountains somewhere, with steep, rocky cliffs all around him. The Blood Legion had set up camp on a drift-covered slope--a series of durable tents similar in design to the ones used by Dremlock. A few Soldiers wandered between the tents, keeping watch, while two Elder Hawks soared overhead.

The bright moon in the night sky looked frozen. It was terribly cold, and Lannon's hands were badly frostbitten from being tied behind his back during the ride. He wanted to thrust them into the pockets of his fur cloak before he ended up losing some fingers. They were so numb he couldn't feel them at all.

"If you try to escape or use your sorcery," said the Soldier, "you will be killed instantly. We won't try to capture you twice. Is that understood?"

Lannon nodded. "Where are you taking me?"

"For now, to a tent," said the Soldier. "It's time to sleep, obviously. Tomorrow we will ride to our great fortress."

"My hands are in rough shape," said Lannon, turning around to show him what was likely an ugly sight. He thought the Soldier might take pity on him and do something to warm them or at least untie him.

"They look a little frostbit," said the Soldier. "It's a common affliction in these lands. We covered them on the ride, but they must have slipped out from under the blanket. Regardless, you'll get plenty of time for healing, and I've seen worse. Rest assured you won't lose any fingers."

Lannon didn't find the barbarian's words or manner to be very reassuring. "Can you untie me so I can warm them? I promise I won't try to escape."

"Perhaps later," said the Soldier, turning Lannon to face him.

"But I can't even feel them anymore!" said Lannon, growing desperate. "Is this how the Blood Legion treats its prisoners?"

The barbarian scowled. "Be thankful you're even alive, lad. We're at war with Dremlock, and you're one of our foes. Your head could have been cut off and stuck on a pole in the snow for your friends to find."

Lannon had nothing to say to that. He was shoved into a tent where two Legion Soldiers were drinking ale. He sat shivering, feeling hungry and thirsty, wondering if irreparable damage had already been done to his hands. One of the men stuck a flask of water to his lips and allowed him to drink.

"Can you untie me?" asked Lannon. "My hands are numb."

The bearded barbarians laughed. "A thin-skinned little Squire from Dremlock," one of them said. "How do you like our homeland? So you come up here to raid our fortress and lose your hands in the process. I call that justice!"

"You'll get used to the cold," the other said. "Or else you'll freeze to death."

They laughed and banged ale flasks together.

In anger, Lannon summoned the Eye of Divinity and found some of his strength had returned. He considered the implications of using it--whether or not it would get him killed. They obviously wanted him as a prisoner, probably to bargain with Dremlock or try to convert him to the will of the Deep Shadow, but he guessed his status could change instantly if he tried anything. He decided to wait, let his strength build, and watch for opportunities. However, he told himself that if they didn't free his hands soon he would be forced to take action.

Lannon was deeply frustrated with himself for getting captured while surrounded by an army of Knights who would have died defending him. He was also terrified that he would end up tortured, dead, or enslaved by the Deep Shadow. He silently cursed himself for being so foolish.

"Can't you just untie my hands?" he pleaded.

"I'll agree to it," said a barbarian, "if I can cut them off. Then you won't have to worry about them anymore and you can shut your mouth."

Again, they laughed and toasted with their ale flasks. Lannon's face grew hot with anger, but he did nothing. His patience was running out quickly, though. He found himself hating his captors. They seemed like nothing more than savages, and Lannon found it hard to believe that many members of the Blood Legion were Knights who'd been expelled from the Order. They all seemed the same to him--bearded, gruff giants who were full of spite.

Moments later, a bulky Legion Soldier armed with a crossbow entered the tent and sat down across from Lannon. He motioned for the other Soldiers to leave, and they grinned at Lannon before exiting the tent. The newcomer's face was weathered and scarred beneath his huge beard, his eyes sullen. He pointed the crossbow at Lannon's chest. "I hear you're blessed with powerful sorcery. But can you stop an arrow in flight? Now that would truly be some trick, wouldn't it?"

Lannon glanced at the crossbow, wondering what it would feel like to be pierced by the arrow. "I'd rather not find out," he admitted.

"I could shoot you and be done with you," said the solider. "Maybe I should, before you get your strength back. A sorcerer like you is really too dangerous to be left alive--in spite of what my master thinks. Tell me, Lannon Sunshield, are you planning to kill me and try to escape?"

Lannon shook his head. "Not at all. I'm just cold and hungry. I'm hoping someone will untie me so I can warm myself."

"My name is Dalvin, by the way," said the Soldier. "I am a Legion Master--which means I am now your master. You will address me with respect."

"Can you untie me, Master Dalvin?" Lannon asked politely.

"I'm still deciding whether or not to just kill you," Dalvin said. "Until I've worked out that issue, don't worry about anything else."

Lannon studied Dalvin in the lantern light, amazed at how rugged and scarred the Soldier was. It seemed Dalvin had been through a thousand battles with the Knights of Dremlock. Lannon probed him with the Eye of Divinity and glimpsed a defiant, unyielding spirit that guarded many deep fears--fears for his family, his homeland, and the future of the Blood Legion. Yet there was an even deeper fear lurking within him--the fear of those who fought alongside him who were corrupted by the Deep Shadow. Dalvin feared and hated Tharnin, but he viewed it as a necessary evil. Lannon also saw that Dalvin was likely to blindly cling to his beliefs if only to validate the cause he'd fought so hard for.

Dalvin gave Lannon a sly, knowing look. "I sense you're probing my secrets, lad. Well, you should be careful believing everything you see. I could be putting false information in your mind."

Lannon saw right through Dalvin's words. He watched as the Legion Master tried to shore up his will and shield himself from the Eye. Dalvin had no clue how deeply Lannon could peer into him. He was afraid of Lannon and was in fact considering killing the Squire. Lannon wondered how he could ease his fears.

"I don't care about your secrets," Lannon lied. "But I think you're afraid of me, and you shouldn't be. My hands are pretty much ruined from the cold. All I really want right now is to try to save them."

"You can't fool me," said Dalvin. "I know you're a dangerous one."

Yet Dalvin relaxed a bit, and so Lannon let the Eye of Divinity retreat inside him and resorted to a Knightly healing technique that involved meditation and focus. But with his hands still exposed, and the interior of the tent very cold, he wasn't sure he would make any progress.

Dalvin finally let his guard down some and lit a pipe. He produced a pouch of jerky and chewed some, then offered some to Lannon.

"My hands are tied," Lannon reminded him, sighing.

"And why does that concern you?" said Dalvin. "I know that rope can't hold you. But I want to see for myself. Break the rope."

Lannon hesitated, wondering if Dalvin was simply looking for an excuse to put an arrow through his heart. He again searched Dalvin's intent with the Eye, but this time Lannon had trouble sensing his mood for whatever reason. Finally, knowing he had to take a chance if he wanted to save his hands, Lannon seized the rope with the Eye of Divinity and pulled it apart. He brought his bruised, trembling hands in front of him to show Dalvin, then thrust them into his pockets.

The Legion Master nodded. "You broke stout rope with ease. You could kill me here and now, crossbow or not. Am I right? Don't lie to me."

Lannon shrugged. "I don't know, but I don't plan to try." Sensing Dalvin's agitation, he added, "And if I did, then what? I couldn't kill everyone in the camp, and if I tried to escape, your Soldiers would just finish me off. I don't want to kill anyone. I just want to rest, heal, and eat some food."

"I'm under orders to bring you to Dorok's Hand alive if possible," said Dalvin. "I'm sure you guessed that. However, my master knows you're dangerous and so I have permission to kill you if need be--at my discretion. So if you try anything foolish at all..."

"Your master is Tenneth Bard?" asked Lannon.

"Do not speak that name again!" Dalvin growled, raising the crossbow.

"I'm sorry," said Lannon. "I didn't mean to offend."

Dalvin lowered his weapon. "You know who my master is. You're the one who led him to this fate."

"Vorden?" said Lannon. "He now leads the Blood Legion?" Lannon wasn't surprised, but he wondered what had become of Tenneth Bard.

"That's right, lad," Dalvin sneered. "And if you're wondering--do I think a mere boy should command the Legion? Of course not. But he does command it, and I am sworn to obey. Vorden wants you taken to Dorok's Hand alive. Not sure what grim plans he has for you, but I wouldn't want to be in your situation. Well, you brought it on yourself."

"What did I do to deserve this?" said Lannon, suddenly gripped by anger. "That Hand of Tharnin device took control of him and turned him into a puppet of the Deep Shadow. I had nothing to do with it!"

Dalvin smiled. "You live under a pathetic illusion, Lannon. You were Dremlock's most prized servant. Vorden was a friend of yours. Have you ever considered the fact that you may be cursed? No, you've probably believed you were blessed by the Divine Essence. How arrogant and misguided. Maybe you should begin to consider the notion that you're a catalyst for doom to those around you."

Dalvin's words stung Lannon, and he pondered whether or not there was truth in them. Both Vorden and Timlin--his two closest friends--were now corrupted. Maybe he was cursed, bringing suffering and evil to those closest to him.

"I think you're a bad fit for Dremlock," Dalvin went on. "You could change your fate and fortune by joining your friend--if that is what he seeks from you. The Blood Legion would benefit greatly from a sorcerer of your talents."

Lannon started to protest, but then he considered the fact that he was better off playing along. It wasn't Lannon's nature to be dishonest, even when his life was threatened, but many lives were at stake besides his own. "I admit I am tired of the way things are at Dremlock," he said. "I was there less than a year, yet the Knights sent me blindly into danger repeatedly."

"They don't care about you, really," Dalvin pressed on, pity in his gaze. "You're just a tool to be used until you break. Then you will be discarded and replaced. The Legion doesn't treat its Soldiers that way. Here, you would be valued and respected. And you can help us crush the army of Knights at our fortress gates."

Lannon's anger returned. "I doubt you're going to win."

"Oh, we will win," said Dalvin, grinning. "Let's just say we have an edge the likes of which Dremlock can never prepare for."

Lannon probed Dalvin with the Eye, trying to learn what that "edge" might be. But it appeared the Legion Master didn't know, in spite of his excitement. He was simply repeating what he'd been told.

Dalvin gave Lannon a water flask and some jerky. "When you're done eating, try to get some sleep, for we ride at daybreak. Meanwhile, just think about what I said--how you would be a good fit for the Legion and how you would be loved and respected by your fellow Soldiers--your brothers. Does Dremlock ever speak of brotherly love? I was once a Knight--Dalvin Skyaxe. I know how the Knights treat each other--with great respect, but never like true brothers. Dremlock is cold hearted compared to the Legion."

"The Knights care about each other," said Lannon. "They honor those who get promoted and hold extravagant funerals for the dead."

"It's not the same," said Dalvin. "The Knights don't even speak of love for the god they so blindly serve! Loyalty and honor, yes, but it ends there. The Knights are not brothers--not the way Legion Soldiers are. To serve Dremlock and its shattered god is a cold, lonely existence."

Lannon thought of how the Knights reacted whenever one amongst them was slain, and he could not agree with Dalvin. Obviously, the Legion Master had forgotten what it meant to serve Dremlock. It was true that the Divine Essence was a strange god in that it did not require love or worship. It demanded loyalty and respect and was spoken of with great reverence, but that's typically as far as it went. It was almost as if the Divine Essence did not consider itself a god at all--which made sense considering it was only a fragment of the White Guardian. Yet in spite of all that, Lannon would have given his life to protect the Divine Essence and would gladly spend his remaining years serving its will. Lannon realized that he did in fact care deeply for the Divine Essence, whether it was a real god or not.

Over the next few hours, Lannon worked on healing his hands. The technique was one all Squires had to learn and practice frequently--especially after harsh training sessions when muscles were sore--but since Lannon's Knightly Essence was very weak for a Squire of Dremlock, he was not highly proficient at it. However, he focused hard on his task, and it was a powerful technique that involved visualizing what he wanted accomplished--in this case, the healing of his hands--and repeating commands in his mind. Eventually some of the feeling returned to his hands. Soon they began to itch terribly. He ignored the itch and continued on with the technique, letting nothing distract his mind.

At some point during his meditations, he fell asleep and dreamt he was gazing up at the frozen moon. Its light was fused with the power of the Deep Shadow, washing away all hope. The moon was stalking Lannon, and he fled underground to escape it before it could claim his soul.

Once again the Eye of Divinity became the Eye of Dreams, and Lannon found himself in the smoldering chamber with the lava pool. He saw the dark figure again standing on the other side of the pool--only this time the figure wore the Hand of Tharnin, the blue stones in the gauntlet beckoning Lannon to his doom. The figure wore dark armor with runes that were glowing like liquid gold. Once again, something horrendous was moving about in the fiery pit--something so terrible it seemed to defy sanity. The dark figure laughed and said, "Soon you will join me, old friend." And it pointed into the pit.