Knights The Heart of Shadows

chapter 4: Duel on the Snows

The Squires slept poorly that night, wondering what Shennen was planning. Even the three Birlotes found the Blue Knight's attitude shocking. Lannon was certain Shennen hated him above all others, and he lay awake for hours wondering if a blade was going to end up buried in his throat. He wanted to speak to Taris about it, but he knew Taris would take no action due to lack of evidence.

When the light of dawn broke over the snows, the Squires were deeply relieved. But before the journey could resume, Taris called a meeting in the camp. It was another foggy day with melting snow, but the rain had stopped. The Squires assumed Taris was going to address the issue of Shennen's behavior.

But Taris chose a different topic. "We have news from the Blood Legion," he said. "Timlin Woodmaster and some of his soldiers are camped nearby. They too are on their way to Blombalk Fortress. We are in a race with them, obviously. We could do battle with them, but that would distract from our goal of investigating the attack on Blombalk. However, a messenger has informed me that they wish to duel. The losing party must remain camped here for three days, allowing the winner to gain a significant head start on the route to Blombalk."

"Then let us duel!" said Thrake, raising his axe. Cheers arose from the crowd, along with chants of Thrake's name. "How can there be any doubt that Dremlock will prevail? The advantage is ours for the taking!"

"Duels are for savages," said Trenton, scowling. "I don't know why we still allow them in this day and age. The Knights of Dremlock should not partake in this."

Taris focused on Shennen. "What is your opinion?"

"A duel is suitable," said Shennen. He didn't look at the others, and his eyes were distant. His bone-white face was expressionless.

Lannon shuddered, wondering what dark thoughts were roaming through Shennen's mind. What has those Dragon bones done to him?

"A duel is preferable to a war, Trenton," said Thrake. "Better that one person dies instead of hundreds. Or do you disagree with that?"

"This mission is one of investigation," said Trenton. "Why fight at all unless we're attacked? Let us simply proceed on to our goal."

"And what happens when we get to Blombalk?" said Thrake. "Even if the Blood Legion agrees to allow us to enter the fortress peacefully, their presence will hinder our investigation. This duel could prevent that."

"This could be a good opportunity for us," said Taris. "If we win, we would likely have Blombalk all to ourselves for a few days."

"But if we lose," said Trenton, "then the Blood Legion will get there first. It is our belief that some great power source--equal to the White Flamestone--was being kept there and studied and might still be harbored within those walls. The Divine Essence revealed this to us and we therefore must assume it is the truth. Can we risk allowing the Blood Legion to reclaim it and eventually use it against us?"

Lannon pondered Trenton's words. The Divine Essence always seemed to know what was at stake--and it was the one really giving the orders, channeling its will through its Lord Knight and its Tower Masters. The Divine Essence was truly Dremlock's king, even though few had ever seen it. Lannon thought back to his encounter with it--the glowing crystals and the overwhelming, radiant light of truth. Lannon had seen the Divine Essence as a scared, young, lonely creature--but it was also wise beyond mortals and able to rule a kingdom.

Taris was thoughtful for a moment. Then he said, "A duel would be risky, but an unhindered investigation of Blombalk is a great reward. I think it's worth the peril. If, that is, we have someone willing to risk his life in combat. Timlin wants a fighter similar to a Legion Soldier, so a Red Knight is probably the best choice."

Thrake turned and winked at the Squires. "I'll do it!"

Cheers again arose from the army of Knights, along with more chants of Thrake's name. Jerret, Lannon, and Aldreya looked uncertain. Galvia and Lothrin were impassive. Prince Vannas clapped his hands and urged Thrake on.

Shennen suddenly seemed to take interest, looking displeased. "A member of the Divine Shield should not be involved in the duel."

"Why?" Thrake said, gazing at Shennen in defiance. "We want to win, don't we? Is there a Red Knight here who can fight better than me?"

"No," said Taris, "and we can't afford to lose."

"Do what you must," said Shennen, looking disgusted.

"I demand a vote!" snarled Trenton.

"No votes on this journey," said Taris, "as you already know. I have full command of this battalion. The decision is mine alone."

"There are ways to protest this," said Trenton. "I know the Sacred Laws better than anyone."

Taris sighed. "Let it go, Trenton. This is too important."

Reluctantly, Trenton nodded.

***

A messenger was sent to Timlin's camp, and soon Timlin and a huge Legion Knight in black armor and a horned helm rode into the heart of Taris' camp. Timlin's magnificent white and blue armor was fitted perfectly to his lean frame, contrasting the bulky, dark form of the giant who rode next to him. The two came alone, but the Sacred Laws of Dremlock governing duels prevented the Divine Knights from taking any action against them other than welcoming them.

Timlin exuded arrogance and power. He didn't wear the Hand of Tharnin as Vorden did, but his aura left no doubt that he was in charge of the Blood Legion. The air around him seemed charged with dark energy. His hair was neatly trimmed, and he now sported a thin beard that made him look a bit older.

"Welcome back, Timlin," said Taris, with a wry smile.

"Glad to be here," said Timlin. "That is--if I get to see the blood of a Divine Knight stain the snow." His words were greeted with boos and insults from the crowd, which only seemed to amuse him.

Timlin nodded to Lannon. "I'm disappointed to see you're still alive. I keep hoping one of these days I'll hear news you've been squashed."

"I can't say the same about you," said Lannon. Timlin's words stung. Lannon couldn't understand how Timlin had become so malicious that he wished for Lannon's ruin. The evil of the Deep Shadow was sickening.

Timlin laughed. "That's because you're a fool who thinks he can save everyone, when you can't even save yourself."

"I'm still alive," said Lannon, shrugging.

"Not for long," said Timlin, smirking.

"Have you come here to duel, Timlin?" said Taris. "Or just talk?"

"So who amongst you has chosen to die?" Timlin called out, ignoring Taris. His words were greeted with more jeering and booing.

"I have chosen to fight!" Thrake boomed, raising his axe. "And you should feel lucky it's not you I will be fighting, little fellow."

Timlin leaned over and spat into the snow. "I would take no pleasure in cutting off the bearded head of a bumbling oaf like you, Thrake. But I'm sure my companion, Ulmason Deathhand, will be quite happy to do so. Ulmason is prepared to fight to the death. Is Dremlock's warrior prepared to do the same?"

"Without question," Thrake growled, stepping forward. "We will fight axe to axe, with no other weapons allowed. Agreed?"

"Agreed," said Ulmason Deathhand. He unsheathed his dagger and handed it to Timlin.

Thrake gave his dagger to Taris.

"Then let us proceed with this honorable duel," said Taris.

Lannon tensed up, glancing at the other Squires. He wondered if they hated duels as much as he did. Their faces looked tense as well.

"Yes, let it begin," said Timlin, looking bored. "I hope it's a worthy fight."

"This is it!" Jerret said, his eyes wide. "Take him down, Thrake!"

Ulmason swung down from his black horse. Then raised his massive battle axe in both hands. He looked like a towering, horned demon standing in the snow, only a single gleaming eye visible beneath his helm. His black armor was lined with curved spikes that looked like teeth, and runes of sorcery were engraved into the thick breastplate that were intended to inspire terror in his foes. "Death has come to you," he said to Thrake.

The onlookers moved back a bit, allowing a circle to form around the two combatants. Thrake walked forward until he stood a few feet away from the Dark Knight. The two giants stared each other down. Few men surpassed Thrake Wolfaxe in size, but Ulmason was one of them. Thrake wore the crimson armor of an elite Red Knight--made of steel reinforced with veins of Glaetherin. The breastplate was molded to look like a muscular torso partially covered in Dragon scales. Thrake was the Red Champion of Dremlock and a sure bet for the High Council, but he was still overshadowed by the massive Dark Knight.

"No one shall interfere with the duel!" Taris commanded. "If either man falls, he is left to his fate until the duel is officially ended." Taris gave Lannon a stern look. "You, Lannon Sunshield, interfered in the last honorable duel. Furlus told me all about it. You will not do so again. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Master Taris," said Lannon, wondering how he was supposed to stand by and let Thrake be slain if it came to that.

"If you violate the Sacred Laws like that again," said Taris, "even the Divine Essence may turn against you."

"I understand," said Lannon, chills flooding over him.

"I wouldn't be surprised if the coward does interfere," said Timlin. "Lannon doesn't know the meaning of honorable combat."

"He will not interfere," said Taris, his gaze still on Lannon. "Dremlock honors its vows. Those who fail to uphold the Sacred Laws will be banished from this kingdom--regardless of their rank, skills, or importance to Dremlock. And that means anyone who interrupts this duel."

Lannon bowed his head, feeling the stares of everyone present. "I will never again interfere with a duel, Master Taris." He wondered if he could keep that promise, if in fact he was fit to be a Divine Knight at all.

"Then let us proceed!" said Taris.

The crowd fell silent, standing like armored statues in the melting snow. The two Elder Hawks circled above, as if watching the duel from on high. Two bearded giants with heavy armor and smoldering battle axes stood face to face, eager to shed blood. They continued to stare each other down, while tension rose amongst the onlookers. Lannon dreaded what was about to happen, fearing he would see Thrake cut down and be unable to help him. Jerret, however, seemed filled with battle lust and confidence, his eyes blazing as he gazed at the two foes.

And then the giants clashed, the magically charged axes throwing sparks into the snow. Thrake seemed to immediately gain an edge, driving Ulmason backwards as the crowd parted. It seemed the Blood Legion warrior was about to go down beneath the fury of Thrake's attack. But then Ulmason struck back with his own flurry of blows from his long axe, until he'd regained his balance.

Thrake swung low at Ulmason's legs, but the Legion warrior showed great agility in leaping over the blade. Ulmason landed a glancing blow from his axe handle on Thrake's shoulder, knocking Thrake back a bit.

Ulmason laughed mockingly from beneath his horned helm. "I'll split that red armor yet and see what lies beneath!"

Enraged, Thrake swung at Ulmason's head, but this time Ulmason ducked the blow. The Legion warrior mirrored Thrake's previous move and hacked at his legs, but Thrake managed to bring his axe down in time to deflect the stroke. Their axes clashed together several more times.

Then Ulmason lunged forward in a bold move and seized hold of Thrake, seeking to crush him in a bear hug with his powerful arms, his axe falling to the snow. Thrake's own axe dropped from his hand as he fought to break the hold. Thrake's thick armor and the stout muscle underneath prevented Ulmason from cracking his ribs. At last, Thrake wrapped his legs around those of Ulmason and tripped him. Then the two giants were down in the snow and rolling around, punching and grappling and trying to choke each other. They respected each other's beards, however, and there was no yanking of hair.

Thrake ended up on top of Ulmason, and he ripped off the Legion warrior's helm to expose the scarred face underneath that had one eye missing. The crowd of Divine Knights cheered wildly. Timlin yawned.

Thrake punched Ulmason in the jaw, but the Legion warrior seemed unshaken by the blow, and he shoved Thrake off of him. Covered in wet snow, the two combatants seized their fallen axes and rose.

"It's the end for you, Ulmason Demonspawn!" Thrake roared, as he charged his foe while swinging his glowing axe.

Thrake struck with such fury and precision that Ulmason was again thrown off balance, and this time it seemed certain the Dark Knight would fall. Ulmason's remaining eye widened in shock as Thrake drove him backwards, and the cheers of the surrounding Knights and Squires grew deafening.

But then Thrake slipped in the snow and fell hard to one knee, his battle axe flying from his hand. Grinning, Ulmason kicked Thrake in the chest and knocked him on his back. The Legion warrior stood over him, the heavy axe poised for the kill. Thrake lay with a devastated look on his face.

Ulmason Deathhand boomed laughter. "This duel is finished! A slip of the foot has now cost you your life!"

The Knights and Squires groaned in dismay.

Ulmason grinned at the crowd. "Did you get your entertainment for the day? Ready for some bloodshed to top it off?"

"Get up, Thrake!" Jerret pleaded.

But Thrake only continued to lay there, looking defeated.

"Kill him and be done with it," Timlin commanded.

Lannon knew he could use the Eye of Divinity to save Thrake's life. But it would cost him his chance at Knighthood--and more importantly, Thrake would never forgive him for it. The Red Knight was far too proud for that. And so Lannon simply stood and waited for the horrific end to the duel.

"It was a good fight, Thrake Wolfaxe," Ulmason said. "You have proven yourself to be a worthy opponent. Do you yield?"

Thrake hesitated, then said, "Yes, I yield." There was no shame in the loser of a duel yielding if his opponent allowed it. It simply meant that although he'd lost, his life would be spared.

Ulmason placed his horned helm back on his head. Then he raised his axe in triumph. "I am the winner! I have defeated one of the strongest Knights of Dremlock! This is a great day for the Blood Legion!" Then he glanced down at Thrake. "If we fight again, it will be to the death."

Taris' face bore a bitter expression. "Yes, Ulmason Deathhand has won the duel. I declare it a fair victory. Do you agree, Timlin?"

"It was a fair victory," said Timlin.

"Having lost the duel," Taris went on, "we shall remain camped here for three days." He motioned to an Orange Squire--a scribe. "Let this be entered into the official records of Dremlock."

Ulmason swung onto his horse, as the Divine Knights and Squires looked on in miserable silence. "Dremlock's days are coming to an end!" the Dark Knight bellowed. "We have now gained a huge advantage, and you will soon understand what I mean. Sit here for three long days and contemplate that!" Ulmason threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, what a fine morning this has been!"

Timlin grinned. "Enjoy your rest, oh mighty Taris. And you too, Lannon. Soon you'll be resting for eternity."

With that, the two happy warriors rode from the camp.

***

Later that night, as the Squires sat warming themselves in their tent, Thrake shuffled in carrying a flask and sat down. His face was gloomy, and again he smelled of wine. He sighed and shook his head. The Squires gazed at him in pity, knowing the pain he was undoubtedly feeling over losing the duel.

"How are you, Master?" asked Jerret, looking sad.

"Terrible, of course," Thrake muttered. "I still can't believe I lost. I'm certain I could have defeated him, if only I wouldn't have slipped."

"Things like that happen," said Lothrin, with a shrug. The lean Squire was always busy with something. This time, he sat polishing his bow. "At least you lived to fight again. What more could a warrior ask for?"

"I almost wish he had finished me off," said Thrake, taking a huge drink of wine afterwards. Some of it ran down his beard and he wiped it on his sleeve. "I'm ashamed to call myself a Divine Knight. I came here, risking Shennen's wrath, to apologize to you Squires for failing you."

"An apology is not necessary," said Jerret. "You fought well and could easily have won. As Lothrin said, anyone can lose a fight if they have bad luck."

"I didn't say anything about luck," said Lothrin.

"Yet a slip in the snow is bad luck," said Jerret. "Right? Or are you trying to say it was Master Thrake's destiny to lose?"

Lothrin didn't reply.

"You're a great warrior, Master Thrake," said Prince Vannas. "You fought with honor and did your best. Anyone can lose their footing. As far as I'm concerned, you were the better fighter today."

"I'm just glad you're alive," said Lannon. "For a moment, I thought I was going to have to stand there and watch you die."

"I was ready to die," said Thrake. "Now, I have to find a way to live with my shame." He guzzled some more wine.

"Perhaps you should have some water instead," said Lannon, though he knew it was a bold statement to make to a Knight. He thought of Dremlock's beloved Lord Knight, Cordus Landsaver, who'd also tried and failed to drink away his troubles. Lannon decided he would not follow that path regardless of the sorrows he experienced, for no good ever seemed to come of it.

"You speak true, Squire," said Thrake. "But right now, I just want to drink my wine until I sleep...and forget about everything."

"You'll be fine, Master," said Jerret. "We'll meet that Knight again on the battlefield, and next time, you'll finish him off. I'm certain of it."

"I hope you're right, Jerret," said Thrake, though he looked doubtful. "I would welcome a chance to redeem myself."

Shennen poked his head into the tent, glaring with disapproval. He sighed. "So you're in here again, Thrake, in spite of my orders. I expected as much. You have no respect for those who outrank you. No doubt indulging in spirits when you shouldn't be and whining about your defeat."

"I'm not whining," said Thrake, "though the defeat does sting."

"Thrake fought well," Jerret protested.

"Silence, arrogant Squire!" Shennen commanded. "Or you will feel the flat of my blade against your backside! The days of Squires with bold tongues are over. Thrake does not need you to defend him."

Jerret didn't answer, but his eyes smoldered with anger.

The other Squires looked on with tense faces.

"Shennen speaks true," said Thrake, bowing his head. "I'm not worthy of being defended. I failed, and that's all there is to it."

"And failed miserably," said Shennen. "As it always will be."

Thrake's face darkened. "As it always will be? So you say, Birlote. But I still have my life. This body is still strong and capable."

"Yes, for the moment," Shennen whispered. He winked at Lannon. His devilish, bone-white face bore a wicked grin.

Lannon summoned the Eye of Divinity. Lannon feared Shennen, but he was also a well-trained Squire and would kill to save himself if it came to that. Garrin Daggerblood had learned that truth the hard way.

"Is something wrong, Master Shennen?" asked Lannon, though it was clear that something was very wrong.

"Nothing that won't soon be taken care of," Shennen replied, his gaze focused on Thrake.

Thrake's eyes widened and his hand tightened around his axe handle. "What are you saying? Is that another..." His words trailed off, for Shennen's ghastly face had already withdrawn from the tent.

Thrake waited in silence for a moment, then rose and left.

***

Lannon lay awake in the tent after everyone else had gone to sleep. He kept the lantern lit, fearing the dark. Shennen's pale, grinning face kept flashing through his mind. He wondered how the other Squires could sleep. The four boys lay side by side and the two girls lay across from them. At one point, Lannon sent the Eye of Divinity outside the tent to investigate and found to his relief that Thrake and three other Knights were standing guard. However, he had no idea when Thrake's shift would end and Shennen would take over.

But as the hours slipped past and Lannon checked again to find that the same four Knights were still standing guard, he began to grow drowsy. He found himself slipping in and out of sleep.

Suddenly, Lannon awoke to discover the interior of the tent in total darkness. Panic surged through him and he tried to summon the Eye, but something was choking off his power. He tried to move but found himself paralyzed. He couldn't even cry out for help.

And then a dagger erupted into purple flames, to reveal the bearded face of Thrake Wolfaxe, who stood over Lannon. Relief flooded through the Squire, for Lannon was certain Thrake was in the process of rescuing him from some servant of the Deep Shadow. But a cold shock tore through Lannon as he looked into Thrake's eyes. The Red Knight's face was twisted with malice, his eyes bearing a purple hue. His forehead and cheeks seemed scaly.

"Relax, Lannon," Thrake whispered. "No one knows I'm here. Three Knights lie sleeping outside, and the other Squires are hopelessly asleep in here. They won't awaken to save you. How do I know? Because I made them sleep." He raised his free hand, which had dark claws protruding from the fingertips, and a purple fog surrounded it. "I am the Dragon Knight, Lannon."

Lannon felt anger at himself along with his panic. He couldn't believe that once again he was lying helpless in a tent, about to be assassinated. He also felt deep sorrow and could barely believe Thrake was a puppet of Tharnin.

"I have a voice in my head," said Thrake, "that whispers its will. My life has guidance now and a grand purpose. Oh, and I have the White Flamestone as well, which I will take to the Blood Legion." Thrake held up the pouch containing the gem, then tucked it into a pocket of his fur cloak. "But I hate you so much, Lannon, that I cannot leave without killing you."

Lannon had been in this situation before, but this time the sorcery that held him was too powerful to overcome. He simply couldn't connect to the Eye. The feeling of helplessness was maddening, the realization that he could only lay there and watch as Thrake finished him off.

"This will be a bitter end for you," said Thrake. He touched the burning blade to Lannon's throat, and Lannon's skin erupted with agony. "I don't know why I hate you so much. I hate you even more than that vile Birlote Shennen."

Suddenly, Thrake cried out and stiffened, the dagger pulling away from Lannon's throat. The point of a long, gleaming dagger--a Flayer--now jutted out of Thrake's chest. A face appeared over his shoulder in the light of the flames, pale and with cold, focused eyes. The shadows had come to life in the tent and struck Thrake from behind, piercing stout armor and the beating heart beneath. Lannon's savior, and Thrake's doom, was now revealed.

It was Shennen.

In spite of the blade in his heart, Thrake rose and whirled around, ripping the dagger from Shennen's hand in the process. He lashed out with clawed fingers and knocked Shennen out through the tent door. Then he turned back toward Lannon, the blade still protruding out of his chest.

But Lannon, who'd been released from Thrake's sorcery, was already on his feet, the Eye of Divinity surging forth. He cried out a warning to the camp, as loud as he could yell it, as he seized Thrake with the Eye. Thrake's resistance to Lannon's power was enormous, and for a moment he stood his ground, his claws reaching for Lannon's throat. Finally, Lannon managed to shove him out into the moonlight, where Knights were already rushing from their tents. Lannon stepped out after him. Four Knights lay unconscious in the snow, including Shennen--who had blood dripping from his head.

As the Knights closed in on Thrake, he hissed in hatred and drove at Lannon with his axe--even as a blazing arrow from an archer's bow lodged in his back. Lannon drew his Dragon sword and channeled the Eye into it on instinct, blocking a downward stroke from Thrake's huge axe. Without the power of the Eye, Thrake's axe would have smashed Lannon's blade aside with ease and brought Lannon to ruin. Instead, it glanced away in a shower of sparks.

Lannon hesitated, wondering how he might take the giant prisoner. But the Divine Knights had other ideas, and their blazing weapons tore into Thrake, bringing him to his knees. He hissed and bellowed, steam emerging from his nostrils. Then at last he slumped to the snow in death.