Robert Keller - The Heart of Shadows

"Calm yourselves!" Taris commanded. "There will be no more talk of bloodshed this day. We have a specific mission here-ordered by the Divine Essence itself. There will be time for battle later."

Reluctantly, they lowered their weapons.

Taris commanded the army to ride to the fortress, with no weapons drawn. Soon they were gathered before the cliff on which it sat, gazing up at the log walls and towers through the glittering snowflakes. The Blood Legion archers trained their bows on the Divine Knights. The cliff was sheer, and Lannon wondered how they were going to gain access to the fortress. He assumed there was a route that was not visible. The moments drifted past, while the army sat in silence.

At last, Timlin and his Dark Knight, Ulmason Deathhand, emerged from the fortress and stood on the cliff, gazing down at them. The two were flanked by twenty archers and two Goblin Lords. Timlin had an arrow in his bow, which he aimed at Lannon while grinning. "What do you want?" Timlin called down.

Lannon shielded himself with the Eye. Then he took out his Glaetherin throwing star, which he was able to keep concealed in his hand. The archers were more than eighty feet away, but it was the only ranged weapon Lannon possessed. He knew if he had to hurl it that far, he might not be able to draw it back to his hand and could lose it. His command of the Eye-as far as distance went-seemed to vary widely depending on how much energy he had. However, he was well rested after a long, uneventful ride.

"You know what we want," Taris shouted back. "We intend to investigate this fortress. You can let us enter peacefully, or you can seek to block us. But I assure you that none of you will survive a battle. What say you?"

"But what of the duel?" Timlin replied. "It seems you did not honor it. So the Knights of Dremlock are not true to their word."

"The duel was unfair," said Taris, "as you well know. I'm not going to debate this with you, Timlin. Either allow us in peacefully, or face the white fire that will bring you to ruin! Speak quickly!"

Timlin spoke to his Dark Knight for a moment. Then he lowered his bow. "You may enter. No need for bloodshed. But we will be sharing equal space here and not bowing to Dremlock's rules."

"Agreed," said Taris, though some of Dremlock's fighters-including Daledus and Jerret-looked dismayed at the notion of sharing space with their sworn enemies.

"I won't be dining with them!" Daledus grunted.

"Nor will I," said Jerret.

"Dining with them is not required," said Taris. "We will dine in our tents, as usual."

"Yet I hear their rice pudding is excellent," said Jace.

Blombalk fortress had been the main Blood Legion headquarters for nearly a century. It consisted almost entirely of grey logs from the great Mother Trees of the nearby Western Bloodlands. The logs had been treated to remove the stench and to protect against fire attacks from the Divine Knights. There were several guard towers set atop twenty-foot-high walls that featured rows of end-sharpened logs to making climbing over them perilous. Within the walls stood several buildings-the Council Meeting Hall, the Solider Barracks, the Council Barracks, the Solider Storehouse (where supplies were kept), the Healing Hall, the Guardhouse (where prisoners were held), and the Training Hall and Grounds. The only easy way to the fortress gates was a narrow, winding trail that led up the cliff.

Blombalk had suffered quite a bit of damage in the recent attack. Two of the guard towers were burned into ruin, along with the Training Hall and the Guardhouse. And most of the buildings had sustained damage to varying degrees. It was as if a hurricane had struck the fort, tearing doors off hinges and ripping apart walls. Many Legion warriors had been killed in the attack-including high-ranking Council members-but there were no bodies to be found. It appeared the creatures of the nearby Bloodlands had come to pick clean the fortress.

The Divine Knights erected tents on the fortress grounds, preferring to let Timlin's Soldiers have the barracks. They weren't happy at all about camping in the midst of their foes-especially considering that snarling Goblins roamed freely about the camp. It went against the training and instincts of a Divine Knight to camp amongst foul Goblins and simply ignore them.

A meeting was called in the Council Barracks between the Divine Shield, Timlin, Ulmason Deathhand, and two Legion Council members-Hoytus Shadowblood and Rulain Knightslayer (both Olrogs, and brothers). Also present were two Goblin Lords who stood holding twisted staffs. Everyone was seated at a long table, and ale, water, bread, and sliced cheese was passed around. Jerret and Daledus refused to eat or drink, however, and sat looking sullen. They were in a dining hall that was warmed by a large stone fireplace. Paintings of famous Blood Legion warriors hung from the walls-including one that showed a Divine Knight lying on the bloodstained ground and raising his hand as if to beg for his life, while a grinning Legion Knight held an axe poised for a downward stroke.

Timlin guzzled some ale and then slammed his mug down on the table. He grinned at Lannon. "Care for some ale or pipe leaf?"

Lannon shook his head. He focused the Eye of Divinity on Timlin, and he could glimpse massive power behind the flawless white and blue armor. Vorden's Hand of Tharnin had made Timlin an extension of itself, altering his body with dark sorcery and making his already formidable skills all the more dangerous. Vorden had created a monster out of Timlin.

"Oh, that's right," said Timlin, lighting a pipe. "You're not allowed ale or smoke, Squire. You're just allowed to risk your life for Dremlock."

"I don't care for those things anyway," said Lannon, which was true. He was barely aware of what he was saying. His mind was overcome with despair as he gazed at Timlin, for Lannon now understood just how far gone he was. Timlin was caught in an unbreakable grip of the Deep Shadow, and not a flicker of doubt or conscience remained within him.

"No, you probably don't," said Timlin, sneering. "Does ale remind you of your father? You mentioned once that he is a pathetic drunk."

Lannon didn't reply, but Timlin was correct in that ale reminded him of the unpleasant aspects of his father. The words stung, and Lannon wanted to say something to get back at Timlin; but it was pointless. He swallowed the bitterness (along with some bread and cheese). Getting angry with Timlin served no purpose. Timlin was a prisoner of darkness and deserved only pity.

Timlin blew pipe smoke in Lannon's face. "Don't breathe in, Squire, or you're sure to be in trouble."

Lannon glared at him, his anger and frustration finally boiling over. "That stinking leaf of yours doesn't interest me, Timlin, so enough with your games. Puppet of Tharnin or not, why don't you grow up?"

"Puppet of Tharnin?" said Timlin, his grin vanishing. "Hardly. You're just jealous that I'm in command of my life. You're the only puppet here, Lannon. You're shoved into one battle after the next, but you can't even have a good smoke. And that sort of thing is exactly why I left Dremlock."

"Let's get to the point here," said Trenton. "I'm not a very patient man. What have you discovered so far, Timlin?"

Timlin frowned. "From our investigation? Well, first of all, we've agreed to give you access to the fortress for now, but we haven't agreed to work with you. We're supposed to be enemies, remember?"

"Noted," said Trenton. "But we have a common interest. Whatever force attacked this fortress struck a deep blow to the Blood Legion. Surely you want vengeance. And surely you didn't call this meeting to talk about ale and pipe smoking and waste time mocking Lannon."

"Of course we want vengeance," said Timlin. "But we can achieve that on our own. I know you didn't come here merely to investigate-and certainly not to assist us. You came here to claim the great weapon-the Heart of Kings."