Knights The Eye of Divinity

Knights The Eye of Divinity - By Robert E. Keller

Chapter 1: The Sacred Text

Lannon Sunshield's father seemed worse than ever on this day, an aura of gloom and despair engulfing him like a poisonous fog. Lannon shrank back from that aura, but it seemed to reach from his father like dreary fingers that gripped the boy's heart and kept him from fleeing from the house. Lannon's mother didn't seem to notice, as she was lost in her usual evening rage.

"You're utterly useless," Lannon's mother snarled at her husband. "I work all day until I'm so tired I can hardly move, while empty ale jugs pile up around your feet. The least you could do is clean up after yourself."

"You know I’m sick," her husband muttered. For a moment the darkness thoroughly infested his gaze, a writhing shadow that hinted at the madness in his soul. "I can’t handle things like I used to. Otherwise, you'd never have to lift a finger to do any work. I'd do it all with a smile on my face."

She threw back her head and laughed mockingly (which was one of her favorite gestures). "You say some truly funny things, husband. But I know better. You were lazy before you got sick. No, the burden of work around here is mine to bear alone."

Lannon cringed. He hated it when his parents acted like he was useless. Even though his mother's words weren't directed specifically at Lannon, they made him want to sink through the floor. Unlike his father, Lannon was ashamed of his laziness, but he did nothing to remedy it. He would stand by and watch his stick-thin mother labor to carry in firewood, and then he would warm himself before the stove. He thought dishes somehow washed themselves, and he would kick something out of his way before bothering to pick it up. Tory, however, worked hard every day, gutting fish until her hands went numb at her job in town while the men stayed home and made messes.

Lannon's parents waged their war amid an ugly battlefield that came in the form of a shoddy cabin in the middle of nowhere, complete with a leaky roof, bug-infested logs, and a yard full of decaying junk. It was the home of a man who bore a dark illness of the spirit for which no cure seemed to exist. Lannon’s father spent hours glaring at bugs on the wall and making threats. He'd been arrested twice in town for splitting barrels open with an axe and insisting scheming dwarves were hiding within them.

Meanwhile, Lannon spent his days wondering when the madness would end. He had no friends, and every day was the same old thing. He wandered the forested valley that surrounded his home and then wandered it some more. He caught fish and then put them back so he might catch them again. He battled trees with sword-sticks and waited. And waited some more. He never knew for sure what he was waiting for, but he guessed it was adulthood and escape.

Lannon’s father was named Doanan, and his mother was Tory. The fact that they both had names was all they seemed to have in common. They fought so much that almost nothing in the home wasn’t cracked or broken. Yet their rage was seldom directed toward Lannon. Instead, the boy was treated with an odd sort of pity that was worse than being the target of rage (when he wasn't being completely ignored).

"I can do some stuff around here," said Lannon, already knowing what the result would be. "I'm fifteen years old and not a child anymore."

"Do you want me to get up and work?" Doanan said to Tory, not even glancing at Lannon. "What tasks shall I perform, your majesty?"

"Just drink your ale and be silent," Tory said, "like you always do. I don't expect you to do any work, Doanan. I gave up on that years ago. But the least you can do is keep your toothless mouth shut while I slave away."

On this warm summer afternoon, Tory had just returned from the fishery. As usual, her clothes were covered in scales. She continued bellowing at Doanan while she scrubbed her gnarled hands in a bucket of cold stream water. "I do all the work," she spat. "All of it." She looked like a spindly preying mantis rubbing its legs together. "And what do get for my troubles? I get to come home to you, Doanan--the sorriest sod in Silverland."

Lannon’s father sat slumped in a battered chair. His hairy legs poked out from beneath a filthy robe, and ale jugs surrounded his bony feet. What remained of his grey hair pointed skyward in dirty tufts. His skeletal face was covered in a map of lines, his brown eyes resting above dark spots. His mouth held shadowy gaps where teeth should have been. That mouth hung open in a huge, delighted (scary, certainly) grin. A dastardly twinkle shone in his eye, as he glanced from his wife to where Lannon stood by the door ready to escape.

"Oh, is that right?" Doanan said, still grinning. "So I’m the evil man here. This is truly funny. Isn’t it, Lannon?"

Lannon knew better than to reply.

Undaunted, Doanan went on. "Look at your mother, Lannon. Just look at her. She’s the big queen bee of this royal hive."

Tory raised an eyebrow and stuck her scrawny neck out toward him. Her short black hair was cut in a bowl shape with uneven edges, boyish like her gaunt face. Her left eye was open wide with bulging mockery. "That’s right. I am the queen bee. And don’t you forget it, husband. You know why? Because I’m the only one that does any work. If it wasn’t for me, this home would fall apart."

Doanan’s huge grin twisted into some kind of humorless leer. "Maybe so. But don’t forget that I saved you from working yourself to death on that farm. Your father would have had you slave away until your knees were ground into meal and your back was brittle like cornstalks from a frost. If I hadn’t come along to save you, your father would have--"

"Leave my father out of this!" Tory shouted. "He was ten times the man you’ll ever be. And if you speak ill of him again, I’ll tear your eyeballs out!"

Doanan spat on the floor. "So this is what I get for a life of sacrifice? This is what the gods have rewarded me with?"

"Be quiet, you crazy fool," Tory said, turning back to her task of scrubbing her gnarled hands. "Why don’t you drink yourself to sleep? It’s all you’re good for these days. Goodness knows I spend enough on your ale. You might as well use it up so I can go waste more money."

"Ale is all I have, woman!" Doanan growled, kicking a jug across the room and sending a frightened rat scampering for cover. "You know it helps fight my illness. Without my ale, I would decline swiftly."

Tory threw her back her head and cackled until tears actually streamed down her face. "Oh, tell me another lie, husband. You're not fooling me, and Lannon knows how you are. The boy is not blind."

"Yes, he is blind," Doanan whispered, "and so are you." He hung his head. "So is everyone in this world."

The gloom seemed to squeeze Lannon tighter, radiating from his father in nauseating waves. The sickness was soon to start making Doanan rant about things that had given Lannon countless nightmares. Lannon glanced at the door but could not bring himself to flee just yet. He felt paralyzed by his father's gaze.

"Don’t start your foolish talk," Tory said, turning away quickly (but not so quickly Lannon couldn’t see that her face had paled a bit). "You know that nonsense scares the boy."

"Maybe he should be scared," Doanan said. "Why not? The gods know I am. I told you, Lannon, that the shadow is the blood. Remember? It is too deep for you to see--the Deep Shadow. The dark beneath the dark. It is the blood, flowing beneath the skin of our world. I can feel it in my dreams. It chokes me." He gazed at Lannon crookedly. "Do you think you comprehend what fear is, my son? The Deep Shadow is fear itself. Larger than the heavens. It could eat our world just like that!" Doanan snapped his fingers. "Strip away our flesh, enslave our souls."

"I said stop that talk," Tory said, with her back to him. "I mean it, Doanan." Her hands were shaking.

"It wants to devour everything, Lannon," Doanan went on. "Whatever it touches, it undoes. Our world gets dissolved, along with our skin and bones. Then our souls are captured by sorcerers who use us in their ongoing wars. We suffer in unimaginable ways. And we can never find peace."

"I said that’s enough!" Tory slammed the washbasin aside, splashing soapy water everywhere. She turned and lunged toward Doanan, her hands raised in a choking gesture. She was so appallingly thin that Lannon looked away in helpless disgust. "One more word," she said, and you won’t have to worry about your crazy dreams any longer!"

Doanan nodded, his face grim. "I’ll keep quiet for now. But Lannon knows I say these things to warn him. It’s for his own good. Right, my son? You understand, don’t you?"

Lannon shrugged helplessly, and the paralysis that gripped him seemed to diminish. As the boy gazed at his father, he could only feel deep pity for an old man who was fighting a losing battle against some terrible, unseen foe.

Lannon’s father gazed into infinity. "It's all for nothing," he whispered. "Struggle and struggle some more, and in the end, a bit of dust for our troubles. That’s what's left. Just a bit of dust to mark the end of all things."

Tory flew at him.

They continued their little war, and Lannon wandered out into the yard, slamming the door behind him in frustration.

"Are you trying to break my door?" his father bellowed after him. "Sure, go on and wreck everything, you sorry little..."

Lannon sighed loudly, blocking out his father’s muffled rants. "What a fine day!" he shouted, raising his arms dramatically. But as he looked around, he found that he liked what he saw. Mist swirled through the ancient oak forest, rolling across the grassy clearing where the cabin sat. The sky was purple with thunderclouds, the air charged with electricity, making Lannon’s hair stand on end. A storm could hammer down at any time, and Lannon welcomed it. A storm symbolized change. Rain and mist could conceal and inspire. Mystery was interwoven into the wet earth and mossy tree trunks, in the creeping mist and the angry frown of the clouds. The dim, unhappy cabin suddenly seemed a world away.

Fresh air, heavily scented with damp forest, filled Lannon’s lungs. He gazed skyward, hoping the rain would come and soak him to the skin, hoping it would awaken change within him somehow. On this day, the forest he usually despised had become powerful in some sense he couldn't comprehend, and he would walk in it gladly and give himself completely to its embrace.

Their old horse, Grazzal, stood near the edge of the field inside the split-rail fence Lannon’s father had built years ago when he was healthy. The horse raised his head, watching Lannon with his dark eyes. The coming storm sent shivers down his mane, and he stomped nervously. The roof of Grazzal's tiny stable was caving in, offering little shelter against the weather. Lannon had tried halfheartedly to repair it, but he wasn't good at fixing anything, and in the end he'd thrown an old quilt over the hole. His mother had promised to bring someone from the town of Knights Welcome to repair it, but she never seemed to get around to it (though she used Grazzal to take her to the fishery every day). Lannon suspected his mother had no intention of repairing it, considering how old the horse was. When Grazzal died, she would get another horse, and then maybe she would have the roof fixed.

Lannon stroked Grazzal's mane. "I’ll fix your roof soon enough," he said. "At least before winter." He sighed. Maybe the quilt would hold.

Then, with the dismal cabin at his back, Lannon set off into the maze of mist and shadowy tree trunks, following a narrow path crisscrossed by gnarled roots. He picked up a stick and swung it absently. The fresh, earthy scents and ethereal fog helped soothe his mood, and he imagined himself as a warrior on a quest, ready to club some nasty Goblin hiding behind some huge oak. Of course, no real monsters existed this far from the Bloodlands, but that didn’t stop Lannon from imagining one might have somehow made the journey. He swung his club against a rotten stump, scattering pieces here and there like Goblin bone and brain. "Die, wretch!" he growled. "And die swiftly! Ha!"

Lannon struck the stump again, and this time his stick broke. He moved on, still carrying half of his weapon. Mossy boulders, little streams, and ancient trees sprung from the mist here and there to greet him. The humidity made his forehead drip. As always, his mind crept back to his family situation. How could he persuade his parents to get along with each other and create a happy home? And as always, he could find no answer. Once he reached adulthood, he could escape the situation by moving out, but for them he saw only a dark and miserable future.

To battle the oppressive monotony of his life, Lannon had explored this wooded valley many times over, until finally reaching the conclusion that there was only one remotely interesting place here, and it was small. Lannon called it the Quiet Spot. Sometimes when he needed to escape, he went there, and he could feel it calling to him on this day.

Lannon left the trail, pushing branches aside and stepping over rotten logs. A day like this was a blessing, for everything seemed to have a different look and feel. With all the fog, Lannon felt like he walked in a strange land rather than woods he'd grown up in. The same old trees, stumps, and boulders that Lannon was so familiar with took on odd shapes in the mist. Visibility was so poor that he nearly wandered past the Quiet Spot without realizing it.

The Quiet Spot was a circle of mossy boulders that stood amongst the giant oaks, with a little stream running through the middle. Lannon knelt by the stream and splashed water in his face, washing away the sweat from the humid day. He ran his fingers through his tangled blond hair, pushing it from his eyes, and gazed at his reflection in the stream. He was not a shining example of a healthy fifteen-year old boy. The flesh of his thin face looked startlingly pale, his bright green eyes staring out in stark contrast. He was a bit on the skinny side and short for his age.

His parents' harsh words to each other still echoed in his head, and their bitterness was something he could never seem to get used to. Someday (probably all too soon) his father would die from his disease, and then all of their arguments would mean nothing. Why couldn't they see that?

Lannon stared gloomily into the stream, wondering why his home had to be so remote. The isolation seemed to make all of the problems so much worse. But Lannon's father had always preferred the solitude and the quiet, claiming it helped ease his burdens somehow, and all of the wholesome plants and trees here seemed to give him greater resistance against the growing sickness.

Lannon scooped up cool water in his hands and drank deeply, splashing most of it down the front of his tunic, and his troubles were momentarily forgotten. He could feel the strength of the Quiet Spot reaching into his heart and soothing it. It was in the smell of the trees, the soil, and the moss. Lannon had found the words Knights Valley engraved in one of the boulders, and whenever he came here, he often imagined he was a Knight resting after a long day of combat and adventure. This area left him feeling peaceful and quiet inside like no other place could.

Lannon heard a hissing noise and looked up. A Tree Goblin was hanging from an oak limb in the fog, watching him with its huge eyes. The scrawny pale-skinned Goblin, which was only a little bigger than a rabbit, made no immediate move, but its eyes gleamed with contempt. Its mouth split open to reveal rows of sharp little teeth, and again it hissed at Lannon, before uttering a low snarl.

Lannon chuckled. "You don't scare me, little Tree Goblin."

The Tree Goblin's eyes narrowed, the evil gleam shining deeper and more menacing, while its mouth opened wider. Its face became a grimace of doom. Slowly it lowered one hand, and the black claws contracted and opened several times, as if desiring to be fastened upon Lannon's neck.

Lannon leapt up and growled. With a screech, the creature shot up into the treetops and was lost from sight. Lannon smiled and called out "Some kind of monster you are!" Being the only Goblins capable of reproducing outside of the breeding grounds known as the Bloodlands, Tree Goblins were common in these woods, and Lannon was grateful for that. He was fascinated by Goblins in general, and these timid branch dwellers could sometimes provide playful amusement for him, which he sorely needed.

Lannon sat around for a while, watching frogs leap about by the stream, and then he stood up and sighed, suddenly realizing how hungry he was. It was nearing dinnertime, and he'd slept through the lunch of fried mushrooms (he hated mushrooms prepared in any fashion) his father had cooked. If he wanted to eat, he would have to return home.

***

When Lannon reached the clearing where his house sat, three horses with finely crafted saddles and packs stood at the edge of the grass, looking like grey statues in the mist, their huge, muscular bodies seemingly carved from stone. Only their dark eyes moved, cautiously watching Lannon as he stepped from the forest. These horses were free to move about, yet they simply stood and waited patiently for their masters to return. Displayed on the black saddle blanket of each horse was the Crest of Dremlock Kingdom--a bizarre image of a cluster of three purple crystals set on a white background. Below each crest was a name and title in green letters: Cordus Landsaver, Lord Knight; Taris Warhawk, East Tower Master; Furlus Goblincrusher, West Tower Master.

Lannon's breath caught in his throat, so shocked was he that Knights had come to his little valley. But there was no mistaking it. The names and titles were very familiar even to someone as isolated as Lannon, and the breed of the horses alone was a giveaway, for these great beasts--called Greywinds--were bred exclusively in the stables of Dremlock Kingdom. No one but a Knight was permitted to ride one. Without a doubt, these horses belonged to the Knights of the Divine Order--and to the three most respected of all, the Lord Knight and his Tower Masters.

Lannon couldn't fathom why such famous Knights would venture into his remote valley. He peered in through a window. The three Knights were indeed in his home, seated around a table in the dining room and eating heartily. His father sat at the table also, looking pale yet not greatly concerned, while his mother, her hands trembling, served milk from a pitcher. Tory's face was bright red with embarrassment, undoubtedly due to the messiness of the house.

"The Knights are just visiting," Lannon whispered nervously. "Probably just passing through." Perhaps they were on their way somewhere important and had simply stopped in for a meal and a rest.

Gathering his courage, Lannon hurried inside. He'd seen these Knights before, but not this close, and for a moment he could only stare in awe at them. Taris Warhawk, the Birlote (or Tree Dweller, as some called them), wore a grey, hooded cloak. His bright green eyes, which were set in a pointy-chinned face, reflected wisdom and power and contrasted his bronze-colored skin. Furlus Goblincrusher, despite being a bit short in height--he was, after all, an Olrog (or Grey Dwarf, as some called them)--was reputed to be one of the strongest Knights ever. His plate armor and battle axe looked to weigh a ton, yet the muscles that bulged beneath that armor were more than up to the task. His beard, which was a darker shade of grey than his flesh, was as broad as his chest, while his small eyes were set beneath drooping brows. Cordus Landsaver, the Lord Knight of Dremlock, was taller than the other two, and he wore a shining silver breastplate, engraved with an image of three towers, that Lannon's gaze kept straying to as if drawn there by some unseen force. His dark hair and beard were somewhat unkempt, his blue eyes fierce.

"Greetings, Lannon," Cordus Landsaver said. "We've been waiting for you."

Lannon struggled to find his voice. Then he blurted out, "Good to meet you." He bowed somewhat shakily. He strove to calm his nerves, wanting only to make a good impression on the Divine Knights.

Cordus and Furlus exchanged an amused glance. But Taris Warhawk's gleaming eyes regarded Lannon coldly from under his hood.

"Your father tells me you were named after his brother," said Cordus. "Yet you bear the last name of Sunshield. A Knightly name, from the sound of it."

Lannon nodded. "My father gave me that name."

"And it's a fine name," grunted Furlus Goblincrusher. "He bears a shield of light. Not just any light, but the greatest of all found in nature--that of the sun itself. Darkness cannot exist in the presence of such a light. Yes, it's a fine name indeed."

"I disagree," said Taris Warhawk, a sneer on his lips. "The sun knows nothing of good or evil. His shield then is neutral. It serves neither justice nor corruption. It simply exists like the sun--a soulless object without Knightly stature."

"The sun gives life and warms the world," said Cordus, smiling. "Without it, all would die. What you do think, boy?"

Lannon shrugged, unsure of how to reply. Heroic last names were a tradition with the Knights, but Sunshield was a name Lannon had always felt was stupid. Why couldn't his father have picked something bold sounding like Dragonslayer or Axemaster? For some reason, his father had always hoped he would become a Knight of the Divine Order. Lannon had never believed there was even a slight chance his wish would be granted and he'd passed it off as more of his father's insanity. But his father had taken it very seriously. Back when Doanan was still able to work, he'd paid a woman in Knights Welcome to teach Lannon how to read and write, and he'd taken the boy to that town every year for Admittance Day (which was a day when the Knights recruited Squires) until Doanan became too ill to travel. The Knights had never even glanced at Lannon until now.

"Answer him, Lannon," his father commanded.

"It's a good name, I guess," said Lannon, avoiding looking at Taris. When Furlus and Cordus nodded in agreement, Lannon gained a little confidence. "I don't think my father could have chosen a better one." Doanan beamed with pride, having no clue how much his son actually detested the name.

"I like it," said Cordus. "But a name is still just a name--amusing and worth some friendly debate, but certainly not very important. So can you fight?"

"I'm not too bad at it," said Lannon, stretching the truth to the breaking point. He gazed at the floor, unable to look the Lord Knight in the eye. He didn't know if he could fight, since he'd never tried it before (unless one considered swinging sticks at rotten logs to be fighting).

"The boy doesn't look very strong," said Furlus.

"I can use a club," said Lannon. "I've practiced in the woods." This, at least, was true. He'd begun to realize the Knights might be considering making him a Squire, which Lannon had always dreamt of, and he struggled furiously to think of ways he could impress them despite the fact that he didn't consider himself very impressive.

"Might be handy with a mace," said Cordus, nodding to Taris. "But are you stout in spirit? For that is even more important."

"Maybe," said Lannon. "I'm not really sure about that." He was certainly more stouthearted than a Tree Goblin, if that meant anything. "Is there a way to test me?" Lannon knew there was, for he'd seen other lads tested in Knights Welcome on Admittance Day.

"Come over here," said Cordus. "I'm going to find out for myself what you're made of."

Lannon glanced at his father. Doanan nodded to his son. A desperate hope was in his father's eyes. This was the most important test Lannon would face. It would probably determine whether or not he would become a Squire.

Lannon shuffled over to Cordus. He knew he wasn't very powerful, being a bit on the skinny side, but in the back of his mind he hoped Cordus would find something of value in him. Maybe Cordus would see something in Lannon that was hidden even from the boy. Perhaps the Lord Knight had already glimpsed something and that was why he was testing him. Did Lannon dare even hope?

"Kneel," Cordus commanded.

His knees feeling a bit weak, Lannon knelt before the great Knight. He didn't look at his father and mother, but he knew their faces were tense with anxiety. Cordus placed a hand on Lannon's forehead and held it there for a few moments. Warmth spread through the boy, reaching deep into his being and drawing forth his secrets. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, Lannon squirmed beneath that touch.

"Hold still, lad!"

Finally the Lord Knight withdrew his hand. Disappointment was in his eyes. "Enough," he said. "You've done well."

But Lannon knew he'd not done well at all. Glancing toward his father and mother--especially his father--he saw that they knew, too. Doanan's greatest wish was for him to be a Knight. If Lannon failed now, after coming this close, it might push Doanan the rest of the way into the grave. But Lannon could do nothing about it. It was up to the Knights.

"It's my turn," said Taris. "Come here, Lannon."

Feeling a spark of hope, Lannon went to Taris and knelt. Though Taris seemed at odds with Lannon, the boy hoped the Birlote would see something Cordus had missed. This time a wave of energy seemed to flood through Lannon. It left him paralyzed yet it was not as discomforting as Cordus' touch. It lasted only a moment.

"That is all," said Taris, removing his hand. His expression beneath his hood was rigid, leaving no indication of success or failure.

Next it was Furlus' turn. His touch was more like that of Cordus--a probing of Lannon's secrets. Furlus took a bit more time than the others. When he pulled his meaty hand away, he frowned and shook his head. "Not much there."

"We shall talk," said Cordus, to the Tower Masters.

The three Knights went into the living room, standing amid heaps of junk. They spoke quietly, yet Lannon had sharp ears and could hear much of what was said. He leaned against the table, watching them anxiously. He avoided looking directly at his mother and father, yet from the corner of his eye he saw they were holding hands, their eyes closed as if in prayer. This was the first time Lannon had seen them show any sort of affection for each other in many years.

Cordus paced about, while Taris and Furlus stood with their eyes fixed on their leader. "I truly thought the Signs were pointing to this boy," the Lord Knight mumbled. "Yet his Knightly Essence felt very weak, almost nothing. I doubt he could ever amount to anything. Yet he bears the name of Sunshield, and during the Communication, the Divine Essence said to watch for the mark of the sun, which would be found just beyond the Four Lakes. How can I ignore this? Yet I sensed no special power within him."

"I like the boy," said Furlus, "but his will is certainly not forged of steel. And I also sensed no hidden power."

"Lannon has no exceptional talent for sorcery," said Taris. "And he seems to lack any other special abilities. Yet I feel, instinctively perhaps, there is something different about him. We need to test him further somehow. Remember, we know little about the Eye of Divinity. Yet one thing we do know is that it is highly unpredictable. I feel we should talk with Lannon alone, and learn more about him."

The Lord Knight glanced sternly toward Lannon, and the boy took to gazing at the floor, pretending not to be eavesdropping. After that, the Knights whispered amongst themselves, and Lannon couldn't make out any of it. Meanwhile, their previous words tumbled through his mind, and the only thing he could gather from it was that they had yet to make their decision regarding him.

Doanan placed a trembling hand on the boy's shoulder. "I know the Knights are deciding your fate, but whatever happens, I'll be proud of you until the end of my days. Take heart in that, if no other good comes of this."

Lannon forced a smile, knowing his father might indeed be proud of him but that it would in no way curb Doanan's deep disappointment if Lannon failed to become a Squire. Yet at least for once his parents weren't fighting about anything. The little house seemed strangely quiet.

As the Knights entered the dining room, Doanan sighed deeply, as if the will and strength had been sapped from him. He glanced back and forth from the Knights to his son. He looked as if he wanted to say something but was holding himself in check. Doanan's lifelong dream--as crazy as it had always seemed to Lannon--now hung in the balance, and Lannon's father could do nothing but wait. His words would make no difference to the Knights.

"We would like to talk to you outside, Lannon," said Cordus, "and learn more about you. There are questions that still need answering, but we need to speak to you alone."

"We could go to the Quiet Spot," said Lannon. "It's the best place in the woods, with lots of old stones. I go there all the time. "

"It's not necessary," said Cordus. "We only need to step outside for a moment and ask you a few questions, while your parents remain in here."

"I would like to see this Quiet Spot for myself," said Taris.

Cordus nodded. "If you must."

"I would be very much honored," Tory said, "if you would all return for dinner later. We are poor, but I offer you the best we have."

Cordus bowed. "Thank you for your kindness, but we probably won't be staying that long. Once our business with Lannon is finished, we must move on. The affairs of our kingdom cannot be kept waiting."

"Cordus may change his mind," said Furlus. "We could use a good meal, and he may yet come to his senses. You'll want to set the table just in case."

"That won't be necessary," said Cordus, nodding to Tory and moving toward the door. "But again I thank you for your kindness."

Furlus motioned to the table and winked at Tory. "Red meat, my lady, if you've got it. And ale, of course." Furlus nudged a jug with his toe. "I see you have plenty of that, at least." Furlus laid a few silver coins on the table. "For your troubles, of course."

"I wouldn't think of it," said Tory, though her eyes strayed longingly to the coins, which were worth more than she made in a month at the fishery. "You are a guest here, and this is not an inn."

"Consider it a gift for your hospitality," said Furlus. When she still made no move to pick up the coins, he frowned. "Will you not except a gift from a Knight of Dremlock Kingdom?"

Tory's face reddened, and she swiped up the coins. "Of course we will! And we thank you most sincerely. I shall prepare a meal at once."

Doanan stepped toward Lannon and seemed eager to speak to his son, but then he hung his head and said nothing.

***

As they strode through the woods on foot, Lannon's heart raced as he led them onward. He was overflowing with the hope that he would be made a Squire, that he would at last be free of his miserable existence in this remote valley. He felt there had to be some way he could convince the Knights he was worth choosing (even if he actually wasn't). Lost in his ponderings and anxieties, Lannon wandered past the Quiet Spot in the misty woods for a fair distance before realizing where he was. But the Knights knew nothing of this forest, and so Lannon simply acted as if he knew exactly where he was going, circling back until they reached the stream surrounded by the ring of mossy boulders.

Taris Warhawk kept his distance from the others, leaning against an oak by the water. He'd almost faded into the mist, with only a vague outline of his cloak visible next to the huge, knotted tree trunk. Furlus stood next to Cordus, his arms folded across his barrel chest, frowning as he gazed at the ground.

Cordus glanced about and breathed deeply, taking in the scent of the moss and twisted oaks. "This spot feels like some areas of Knightwood, a forest which surrounds my kingdom, and the trees here are of equal stature."

Lannon nodded. His apprehension was strong, but he tried to look to the positive side of things. Even if he didn't end up a Squire, why not just enjoy spending time with these great Knights while the time still existed?

"Tell me a few things about yourself, lad," said Cordus.

Lannon gulped, struggling to think of anything even slightly interesting about his life. But there was nothing, and so finally he just told the truth. "I mostly just live here in the valley," he stammered.

"Have you ever had any strange experiences?" Cordus asked. "Dreams getting confused with reality? Or knowing things you should not be able to know? Strive to remember anything out of the ordinary."

Lannon tried, but could only remember a few odd and senseless dreams. He related them to Cordus.

"Nothing exceptional there," muttered Furlus.

Taris pulled moss off some of the boulders and knelt to study the exposed rock. "These stones were placed here deliberately," he called out. "Many have fallen, but once they formed a precise and partial circle. Quite unusual."

"Try harder, Lannon," Cordus said, apparently ignoring Taris. "There is no need to hurry. Just think carefully back over the years."

For a moment, Lannon considered making something up. It wouldn't be hard to invent one or two incidents to gain the Lord Knight's interest, provided they weren't too fantastic in nature. Lannon felt he was smart enough to make himself sound believable. Yet before he put his imagination to work, he struggled briefly with his conscience and his fears over lying to the leader of what was widely considered to be a sacred kingdom. Finally he realized his desire to escape this valley and become a Knight was too strong. He would lie if he had to and deal with the consequences later.

But Lannon never got the chance.

How long have you lived here?" asked Cordus.

"In Knights Valley?" said Lannon. "All my life."

"What did you call this place?" said Cordus, raising his eyebrows.

"Knights Valley," said Lannon. "I found the name on a rock."

"Show me this rock," said Cordus.

Taris Warhawk seemed to take sudden interest in the conversation. He moved over by them, a silent shadow in the mist.

"It's right over here," said Lannon. He brushed some twigs and leaves off a boulder. I found the name under some moss."

The three Knights stared at the engraving with their brows knitted in confusion. They glanced at each other and then at Lannon.

"It's just three runes," said Furlus. "This is not Olrog, Birlote, or Norack writing. Are you trying to trick us, boy?"

"I don't think he is attempting deception," said Taris. "I believe these runes are engraved in the Sacred Text. This must have been a meeting place of the Dark Watchmen. The circle of boulders reveals that. Only someone with the Eye of Divinity could read this. Lannon must have the gift."

"Then Lannon is the one we've sought," Cordus said, grinning. "Our journey here has paid off." Then, glancing at Lannon, he became stern again. "Unless he is lying to us."

"It says Knights Valley," said Lannon, baffled.

"The Sacred Text cannot be read by anyone but a Dark Watchman," said Taris, "which is one who possesses the Eye of Divinity. To all others it is meaningless--a code that cannot be solved. I doubt the boy is lying to us, Cordus. It seems he would lack the knowledge to invent such a scheme."

"But his Knightly Essence is weak," Cordus said, turning to the sorcerer. "This is very strange. What do you make of it?"

Taris shook his head. "I don't know yet."

"Maybe when strong enough," said Furlus, "the Essence is hidden. One cannot judge a man's strengths by appearance alone. Often the greatest power is also the most deeply concealed. By looking at me, you'd swear I could crush any man in Silverland with my bare hands. Yet once I was hurled to the ground by an old Knight who knew how to move his body so that my own weight was turned against me. So you see that it is possible to keep amazing powers concealed."

"Regardless," said Cordus, "we must surely make him a Squire. There can be no doubt."

"Yes," said Taris. "Lannon Sunshield shall become a Squire."

Lannon stared in disbelief. "Me? A Squire?"

"I shall give you a brief explanation, Lannon," said Cordus, "and it will have to do. We came here in search of one who possesses the Eye of Divinity, which is a rare magical ability. The Divine Essence--our god and the true King of Dremlock who dwells beneath our kingdom--pointed the way to this valley, and we found you. Because you have use of the Eye, as your ability to read the Sacred Text proves, you will indeed be made a Squire, and you shall learn to master your power so that it may serve Dremlock. That is all you need know for now."

"The door is open, Lannon," said Furlus, "and someday, perhaps, a new Book shall be crafted in the Deep Forge bearing your name in silver."

"The bearer of the Sunshield Book, " said Taris, "may offer hope to all of Silverland. At last the tables may have turned in our favor!"

Cordus frowned. "Do not speak of such things, Taris, until the time is right. And as for you, Lannon Sunshield--are you ready for what lies ahead?"

"I feel ready," said Lannon, which was not stretching the truth, but mutilating it. Lannon couldn't fathom what he'd done to deserve this, and he had no idea what to expect in the days ahead (or just as importantly, what the Knights would expect of him). It was a mystery that would only be solved in its own time.

"Well, you are not ready," said Cordus. "So don't go talking nonsense. I can see that it's going to take a lot of work to mold you into a Knight. There is a difficult road ahead of you. Do you have any idea what it means to be a Divine Knight?"

"I know a little bit," said Lannon, "mainly from a book I have. I know it's your duty to defend Silverland against the Goblins, mostly."

"Then you know that is it not always fun or pleasant," said Cordus. "Many die fighting for Dremlock, and those who survive must always work hard and have little time for rest. Squires have to work just as hard as Knights. And simply because the Divine Essence pointed you out to us, and you appear to possess the Eye of Divinity, does not mean you bear any special protection other than that granted by your own abilities. Death could take you without warning. There are many grim paths that can be walked, leading to many terrible ends. Don't ever allow yourself to feel arrogant or secure."

"I understand," said Lannon, lowering his gaze.

Cordus patted him on the shoulder. "I just want you to keep a clear head about things, so you're better prepared for your new life."

"Then it's time to move on to Knights Welcome," Furlus said eagerly. "After all, there are other prospects that should be tested, and truthfully, the Lord Knight and his Tower Masters should not be roaming around without a company of guards. If the High Council discovered this, it would mean trouble for us."

"We no longer need to go to Knights Welcome," said Cordus. "We've found what we came for. Now we must hurry back to Dremlock. I'm not concerned about us traveling alone. We can fend for ourselves."

"Yet it is very risky," said Furlus. "If we were ambushed and killed, Dremlock would be empty of its three most prominent leaders."

"We're not kings," said Cordus, grimacing. "We're Knights. We can look after ourselves. And right now, we need to ride swiftly to Dremlock, and so we shall!"

"But what about a good meal?" said Furlus. "We should at least linger on a bit and have dinner with the boy and his folks. What harm could come of that, Cordus? We would lose an hour of travel at the most."

"So the real issue arises," said Taris, grinning. "Furlus' fat belly."

"We have plenty of food in our packs," said Cordus. "We can eat when we make camp later. As soon as Lannon says his goodbyes, we shall leave immediately for Dremlock. I don't want to stay in this valley any longer than we have to, for there is still much daylight left for traveling." Cordus whispered something in Furlus' ear. The Grey Dwarf nodded, but he still did not look happy.

***

When they got back to Lannon's house, the Lord Knight confronted the boy's parents. "Will you allow your son to be made a Squire of my kingdom? If so, he will be bound by the Sacred Laws of Dremlock henceforth."

"This is what we always wanted," said Doanan, his face crinkling into lines of relief and joy. "This is the greatest gift anyone could grant us!"

Tory pushed past the Knights and hugged her son fiercely. Lannon noticed how terribly thin his mother's arms felt, like bones with just a layer of skin stretched over them, and he hoped this turn of events would help her regain her appetite.

"I knew they would choose you," Tory whispered, her tears leaving his cheek wet. "Your crazy father always believed."

"Our fortunes have changed," said Doanan, hugging Tory for the first time in years. "Lannon is going to be a Knight!"

"Not a Knight, necessarily," Cordus cautioned them. "He is a Squire at the moment, and he may never actually reach Knighthood. That depends on many factors."

"But he's been given his chance!" Doanan howled, swinging Tory around as if all of his strength had suddenly returned. He seized Lannon's arm and yanked him close. "You have a future now, Lannon. You're going to be a great Knight."

Once the celebrating had died down, Tory asked the Knights, "Will you at least stay for dinner? If only to give us more time to say goodbye to Lannon. We won't be seeing him again for a long time."

"She has a point," said Furlus, nudging Cordus. The Grey Dwarf had caught scent of meat boiling on the stove.

Cordus nodded reluctantly.

Doanan uncorked some ale, and the four men sat in the living room and talked until dinner was ready, while Lannon eagerly helped his mother with the preparations. Lannon was having the best time of his life, overflowing with excitement, while his mother seemed conflicted. One moment tears were in her eyes and the next she was laughing at Lannon's poor cooking skills. Lannon's father seemed back to his old health, and he talked sensibly, lacking his usual grim tone. When in his right mind, Doanan was as practical and likable a man as one could meet, laughing and joking with the Knights while he smoked a pipe. They chatted about issues concerning Silverland and Dremlock Kingdom.

At last the table was set. It was not a great feast as far as quality went, but there was plenty of it. Everyone--including Tory--ate until they were stuffed. Halfway through the meal, Lannon's father grew silent, his face darkened by a frown. Tory watched him with a pained, knowing look.

Cordus whispered something to Taris, and then said, "Again, I thank you both for your kindness, but we have stayed too long."

Doanan's eyes narrowed. "I would like a moment alone with my son before he departs with you, Lord Knight. Or is that asking too much?"

"Have your talk," said Cordus, exchanging a quick glance with Taris. "But then Lannon must pack his things. We wish to get in at least a little traveling before dark. Dremlock awaits our return."

Doanan took Lannon out into the clearing, while the Knights tended to their horses. "My son," he said, as he leaned heavily on a cane, "don't worry about me or your mother in the days ahead. We'll make do one way or another. But I've always felt you were destined to be a Knight of the Divine Order."

Lannon searched his father's eyes. He saw the same old fears, but gleaming amongst them was a new light of hope. "Why did you think that, Father?"

Doanan shook his head. "Some things are better left unmentioned for now. This world lies in peril. A great darkness reaches out to take us all. But you can defeat it. As a Knight of Dremlock, you will do many great deeds. I'm certain of it. Once, many years ago, I was shown the truth of things, and it was good in some ways--yet it also changed me for the worse. My mind grew richer, but my will weakened. Then the illness overcame my body and left me a ruined man."

Lannon sighed. "I don't understand. What truth were you shown?" He always hated it when his father spoke cryptically.

"Someday you'll know," said Doanan. "This world is ancient, Lannon--far older than either of us can imagine. A struggle has existed here since the dawn of life, a struggle for food. Things eat other things to survive and grow. The darkness would devour us as well, to fill its belly and become greater. That's the only way I know how to put it."

Doanan's eyes held a crazed, distant look that scared Lannon. The sickness was in his mind again. "The things I feel, Lannon, I hope you never know. It makes my flesh frail and my blood cold to think of it. The horror that awaits us..."

Suddenly Lannon wasn't sure of anything. Did he even want to go forth and be a Knight? Would he have to face the things his father feared so deeply?

Doanan turned away for a moment, and the two stood in silence. When he turned back, a shadow seemed to have fallen over him. "Are you just a selfish boy?" his father said, his face twisting into a bitter expression. "Was I wrong about you? Maybe you're not who I always believed you were, and you should never leave this valley!"

"What are you saying?" Lannon whispered.

"Who will take care of us when you're gone?" said Doanan. "Your mother and I have nothing, Lannon. Look at you--agreeing to abandon us so easily. Where is the deep reluctance I expected? You'll eat off the fat of the land while we go hungry."

"It's not like that, Father," said Lannon, reaching toward Doanan's arm. Doanan flinched away from that touch. "I thought you wanted..." Lannon let his words taper off and swallowed. He lowered his gaze.

"Yes, I wanted you to be a Knight," said Doanan. "Because I believed in you, Lannon. But now you have given me great reason to doubt."

At that moment, Cordus started toward them, leading his horse. "We must hurry, Lannon," the Lord Knight called out sternly. "Pack up what you will, yet try to take only what you need. Food and drink are not necessary, as we have plenty of that. Yet you should bring a blanket. Now be quick about it!"

Lannon hesitated, gazing at his father again. Lannon knew Doanan was not in his right mind, but his father's words still made him feel guilty for leaving.

But Doanan seemed to have regained his senses to some degree, and he gave Lannon a pained smile. "Do as he says, my son. You must listen to Cordus and the other Knights, and not to my pathetic words. The Knights will teach you wisdom. I didn't mean to sound grim or angry. I'm just tired, and my stomach is unsettled. You will have many good things come to you in life. Now go and fulfill your destiny."