Robert Keller - The Hand of Tharnin

"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?"