David Gemmell - Knights of Dark Renown

‘No, not really. Weren’t they rebels at one time?’

‘Not quite. The Order was formed in 921 by the then King, Albaras. They were judges; there were nine of them and they travelled the land adjudicating on disputes in the name of the King. But in 970, during the War of the Rebellion, they saved the King from execution and spirited him away to Cithaeron. When he returned in triumph in 976, he granted the Knights lands for a Citadel and freed them from the jurisdiction of monarchs. They were still judges and they travelled the nine Duchies of the realm. They were the arbiters, scrupulously fair. As the years passed, the Order gained more rules. No wealth, for that could lead to corruption. Wives were forbidden to the Gabala Knights, for families could be threatened in order to extort favourable decisions. It was an honour to be chosen, but the price was high.’

‘But what of Ollathair?’ Lamfhada asked.

‘Patience, boy. The Knights were chosen by the Armourer. When one died, or was killed, the Armourer would travel the lands to find a successor.’

‘Why the Armourer? Was he not a servant?’

‘The Armourer was the Father of the Order. He supplied not only the magic armour they wore, but also the spiritual armour. He alone could command the Gabala. Ollathair was the last Armourer.’

‘What happened to the Knights?’

‘No one truly knows. But the King sent a messenger to Samildanach, the Lord Knight, requesting a special favour. It is said that his request took the Knights to a world of demons, where they battle still for the good of the Realm. I do not know what became of them. It was the first year of the new King’s reign. Perhaps he had them poisoned, for they ruled against him in several disputes. Or perhaps they were killed by assassins. Perhaps they fled to another land. Whatever their fate, the Armourer Ollathair was taken by the King’s men and imprisoned. He died in Furbolg. Why the interest in a dead sorcerer?’

‘I don’t know,’ Lamfhada lied. ‘It just interests me.’

‘The Realm could do with them now — the Knights I mean,’ said Nuada.

‘Just what we need,’ agreed Llaw Gyffes sardonically, pushing shut the door behind him and walking to the fire. ‘A handful of Knights in pretty armour! I am sure they would sway the King.’

‘They were more than Knights,’ said Nuada, ‘and greater than heroes. Do not mock them.’

Llaw warmed his hands before the fire. ‘You poets never see reality, do you? Everything is part of some great Romance. You came here looking for a rebel leader and found only an outlawed blacksmith. That is reality. The Knights were just men, and they knew greed and lust and despair just like all of us. Don’t make gods of them, Nuada.’

‘I’ll agree to that, Llaw Gyffes. But do not make fools of them either, for they were all better men than you.’

‘That is not difficult,’ Llaw agreed, slapping Nuada on the shoulder. ‘But I am alive, when many better men are dead. And I will remain so — by looking after my own interests and leaving the heroics to you and your sagas.’

The Once-Knight rode up the hill, dismounting before the charred remains of the house of Ollathair. The stallion, Kuan, stood nervous and afraid; as the acrid smoke swirled to his flaring nostrils, he whinnied and backed away. The Once-Knight stroked the stallion’s neck.

‘It’s all right, Greatheart. It is only the ruins of a house; there is no harm here. Wait for me.’ Carefully he picked his way through the embers, searching for any sign of a body. But there was nothing.

Returning to the stallion, he loosened the saddle cloth and lifted his food sack from the pommel. There was precious little left: three honeycakes and a canvas bag of oats. He fed one of the cakes to Kuan and ate the other two. Then he drew water from the well and drank, leaving the bucket for the stallion to slake his thirst.

Ollathair was gone. Taken by the armed men? He doubted it. Would they have destroyed the house? Perhaps. But there was no sign of a struggle. He saw tracks close to the well and knelt by them. Paw-marks, deep and sharp. Lions? Here, so close to a town? He stood and followed the tracks for a little way. Men running, slipping and sliding down the hill, the beasts bounding after them. He grinned, then laughed aloud, but this increased the pressure on his throat and he calmed himself. The beasts had padded back to the house, where two men had stood. The Once-Knight knelt again. The paw-marks suddenly became deeper. He thought for a moment, then noticed that some of the boot-marks coming from the house were deep also. Ollathair had loaded the lions with packs and set off towards the forested mountains… four, maybe five hours ago.

Kuan whinnied, his head turning towards the trail to the town. The Once-Knight stood and saw a party of riders galloping towards the gutted house. Swiftly he dragged his foot over the tracks; then he tightened Kuan’s saddle cinch and mounted, leading the stallion forward to disturb the ground still further.

As the riders neared, he saw they were all wearing breastplates bearing a painted raven on the chest. There were some fifteen men in the party.

‘Good day to you,’ said the Once-Knight.

‘What are you doing here?’ demanded a lean, hawk-faced man.

‘I saw the smoke and wondered if anyone needed help. I take it you are upon the same business?’

‘My business is none of your concern. Who are you?’

‘I, sir, am a man of manners,’ the Once-Knight replied, ‘and ill suited to conversation with men of no breeding.’

The riders sat very quietly, waiting for a response from their captain. His face burned red and his dark eyes narrowed as he heeled his mount forward.

‘It ill becomes a stranger to insult an officer of the Duke. Apologize, sir, or I shall be forced to deal with you.’

The Once-Knight leaned forward on the pommel of his saddle. ‘When last I met the Duke, he had won the Silver Lance for his prowess on the jousting field. I recall him saying that a gentleman should learn three things: honour, that he might bring it to his name; swordsmanship, so that none could take his honour from him; and humility, so that he could always see where honour lay.’

‘You are a friend of the Duke?’

‘I am the man he beat in the tourney — but then I was always better with the sword than with the lance.’

The captain thought for a moment, then came to a swift decision. ‘My apologies, sir, if my words caused offence, but we are hunting an outlaw and the Duke has charged me with his capture.’

‘Your apology is accepted — and allow me to offer my own. I have travelled far and I fear my temper is short. Tell me, do you seek a heavy-set man, travelling with three large beasts?’

‘I do indeed, sir. Have you seen him?’

‘About two hours ago, that way,’ answered the Once-Knight, pointing away from the forest. ‘I thought the creatures might be lions, but I did not see them closely.’

‘My thanks to you, sir Knight. Are you heading for Mactha? The Duke is in residence, and I am sure he would be delighted to see you again.’

‘I think perhaps I will. Good luck in your hunt.’

As the riders thundered away, the Once-Knight tugged on the reins and touched his heels to Kuan’s side. The forest was maybe two hours’ ride, and with luck he would find Ollathair before nightfall.

As he rode, he remembered his joust with the Duke. The man was a skilled horseman and a deadly lancer. Had the tips of the weapons not been covered with wooden plugs, the lance would have pierced his heart; even so, he had endured the pain of two cracked ribs. It was a shame the man’s character was not as well honed as his skills. The Duke had not uttered the words he credited him with — these had been said by the Lord Knight Samildanach, as a reproof to the Duke.