Knights: The Blood of Kings

Knights: The Blood of Kings

by Robert E. Keller

Book 4 of the Knights Series

Smart Goblin Publishing 2014

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Original and exclusive cover art by Carolina Mylius

Copyright © 2014 Robert E. Keller

About the Author:

Robert E. Keller is a fantasy writer who has had more than 30 stories published in online and print magazines, and he is the author of several epic fantasy novels. You can find more information on his projects at www.robertekeller.net

The Knights Series

***

Knights: The Eye of Divinity

Knights: The Beast Below (forthcoming)

Knights: The Hand of Tharnin

Knights: The Heart of Shadows

Knights: The Blood of Kings

Knights: Defenders of Ollanhar

Knights: Legends of Ollanhar

***

Table of Contents:

Chapter 1: Spring Rains and Shadow

Chapter 2: The Visitor

Chapter 3: A Spy in Dremlock

Chapter 4: The Prince and the Thief

Chapter 5: A Dream of Servitude

Chapter 6: The Restless Ones

Chapter 7: The Ritual of Fire

Chapter 8: The Drums of War

Chapter 9: War in Hethos

Chapter 10: The Dark Watchmen

Chapter 11: Wagon South

Chapter 12: Rogue Haven

Chapter 13: Kalamede

Chapter 14: The Mouth of Madness

Chapter 15: The Ironheart Priests

Chapter 16: Invasion

Chapter 17: The God of Bellis

Chapter 18: Courtyard Duel

Chapter 19: The Gloomy Depths

Chapter 20: Dremlock Dungeons

Chapter 21: The Mad King of Bellis

Chapter 22: The Fishing Trip

Chapter 23: The Dragon Duels

Chapter 24: The Challenge

Chapter 25: The Grand Duel

Chapter 26: The Council of Ollanhar

Chapter 1: Spring Rains and Shadow

A shadow lurked in the spring rains. All of Dremlock's Knights could sense it, but no one--not even Taris Warhawk--could comprehend what it was or why it had come. Its sinister aura drifted through the campsite, chilling to the bone whoever came in contact with it. There was whispered talk of another assassin, like the one who had plagued the now abandoned fortress of Dorok's Hand, but no bodies turned up as the days passed by.

This was supposed to be a time of celebration for Dremlock Kingdom. Bellis was defeated, the Blood Legion was severely weakened, and the Black Flamestone and the Hand of Tharnin were in possession of the Divine Knights--yet still Taris, Furlus, and their battalion remained camped in the hill country, not far from where the sprawling iron skeleton of The Colossus lay stretched across a hilltop. The mood in the camp was grim, the growing tension a warning of things to come.

Some of the Knights still needed rest and healing, and they hunkered down in their tents as a heavy spring rain swept the hills. The young Knights sat warm and dry in their tent, contemplating recent events. Lannon was still troubled over Timlin Woodmaster's death, wondering if he could have done anything differently that would have saved the former Squire from a bitter end. It was pointless to ponder such things, but Lannon couldn't seem to help himself. He would sit or lay for hours, running that final battle through his mind and picking apart every detail.

Prince Vannas sighed and leaned back on his elbows, looking annoyed. The Birlote prince's mood had been dark lately. We're Divine Knights now, yet nothing seems to have changed. Here we sit in our tent, guarded day and night. What was the point of even earning our promotions? I feel like something wretched and evil stalks us, but we can't go forth to confront it.

I agree, said Jerret Dragonsbane, his tangled blond hair in his eyes and his face sullen. The muscular Knight was always restless for action. We're still being treated like Squires--except for Aldreya, who gets to train with Taris most every day. Everyone knows there is an enemy in the camp--perhaps a traitor--who will attack us in our sleep. Lannon should be out and about, using the Eye.

Lannon shrugged. I welcome this time of rest. Then he added wearily, If only I could actually get some rest and stop thinking about things I can't control. He liked the sound of the raindrops drumming down on the tent roof, for it seemed to soothe his mood. He closed his eyes and listened.

Jerret scowled. You're getting too used to all these threats to your life, Lannon. It has made you relax your guard.

It's not that, said Lannon. I trust that Jace and Trenton will find this enemy before he can carry out his plan--whatever it may be. Lannon wore his Watchman's cloak--made of Birlote silk--mainly for the sake of comfort. The soft, warm garment seemed to help him relax. In one pocket was the Glaetherin throwing star--the priceless weapon that had slain Timlin Woodmaster. Lannon held the small pouch that contained the star in his fingers for a moment, wondering how many lives it had taken since it was forged. A deadly blade from ancient times, tasting blood once again in the hands of a new Dark Watchman.

Don't forget what happened with Thrake Wolfaxe, said Vannas. He almost killed us all. I wouldn't put too much faith in our protectors, Lannon. You're the one who should be investigating this matter. The prince also wore Birlote silk, and as usual, he had a stack of books beside him (though he seemed too tense and restless to read them lately). His bronze skin was shadowy, his green eyes like twin flames. His silver hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing his pointed ears that were adorned with emerald earrings.

Lannon shrugged. When Taris is ready, he'll summon me.

We all ponder things too much, said Lothrin Windbow. We're all a bit too restless. The Birlote archer sat across from his cousin Vannas, and for once he seemed to have nothing to do. His dagger was sharp and his bow was polished, and so he simply sat there like the rest of them and waited. Unlike the prince, Lothrin was dressed in simple clothing that any lowly Ranger might wear--a plain fur cloak and soft leather boots. But his eyes were like those of Vannas--fiery and determined, and holding the confidence of royalty.

Galvia was asleep under her quilt and snoring gently, her war hammer laying next to her. Her broad face looked contented. The Grey Dwarf seemed more relaxed than the others lately. Being promoted to Knighthood had seemed to lift a heavy burden off her shoulders.

Jerret gazed at Galvia with envy. I think she has the right idea--sleep until something interesting happens.

Aldreya entered the tent, with Taris Warhawk behind her. Both of them wore grey, hooded cloaks that were soaking wet. Aldreya was grinning broadly, obviously excited over her training, as she threw back her hood to reveal her glistening silver curls. Jerret looked away, frowning, as Aldreya seated herself.

Greetings, young Knights, said Taris. The sorcerer sat down as well. Although he usually seemed calm and relaxed, he appeared strangely tense this day. The scars on one side of his face--where he'd been burned by the Hand of Tharnin--were lost in shadows beneath his hood. He looked weary.

Aldreya drew her stone dagger and moved to dry off Taris with the fires of sorcery. But Taris motioned her to sit. Instantly, steam rose from his cloak and then he was completely dry, as the others looked on in amazement.

Aldreya took to drying herself off the slow way, by moving her flaming dagger over her body. Still, it was quite effective and steam billowed off her grey cloak and flowing hair.

How are you, Master Taris? asked Lannon.

Taris shrugged. Still in great pain much of the time. Being born of dark sorcery, the pain cannot easily be defeated--even with the focus of the mind. However, I am still able to carry out my duties. The pain is only an annoyance and doesn't prevent me from enjoying a good cup of tea. He smiled. Pain is only a voice trying to get one's attention. It can be ignored.

Taris appeared healthy enough. But he hid things well, and he could have been in agony for all the young Knights knew. His recent battle with the Specter had added to his health troubles. Taris had sacrificed his body to make sure that terrible creature was defeated, and he'd never complained about it or shown any hint of regret.

I have some news, said Taris.

Good or bad? asked Prince Vannas, yawning.

I'll take any news, said Jerret, unless it's boring.

Oh, it certainly isn't boring, said Taris. It concerns a dire situation in the city of Kalamede. A powerful cult of Tharnin--the Ironheart Priests of the Guardian Mountains--has taken up residence beneath the city and has been responsible for theft and murder on a large scale. The City Guard is unable to deal with this problem. Therefore, we must make for Kalamede at once and weed out this cult before it can carry out whatever dark plans it has concocted. This is a very serious situation. The Ironheart Priests are powerful and cunning warriors.

But what about the Blood Legion? asked Jerret. If they're so weak right now, shouldn't we be focusing on them?

Taris shook his head. Dealing with these Ironheart Priests is more important. This is a cult that had apparently never strayed from the Guardian Mountains for more than three-hundred years--until now. We must investigate this matter.

Any idea what their plans are? asked Lannon.

Taris sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, then replied, They may be serving Bellis and King Verlamer somehow, perhaps helping prepare for an invasion of Silverland. Or they may have a goal we cannot fathom. Not much is known about this cult--other than that they are powerful servants of Tharnin and have no regard for human life. Their murderous actions in Kalamede have proven that.

Their goal must be something horrific, said Lothrin, his eyes distant. They're killing in the name of the Deep Shadow, seeking something within the city to advance their master's cause.

No one responded. Lannon was disappointed that they would not be returning to Dremlock. It had been a long time since he'd seen the kingdom, and he missed it fiercely. The tunnels below Kalamede sounded stuffy and unpleasant--far from the noble towers and majestic Knightwood trees of Dremlock.

What about the latest rumors? asked Jerret. We know there is a traitor in our camp--or something just as bad.

So far, said Taris, this aura that we sense remains a mystery. Jace believes we have a stealthy enemy in our midst that enters the camp each night. It is some sort of silent stalker with...a sense of humor.

A sense of humor? said Lannon.

Taris nodded. There are signs that it is mocking us, toying with us. It has stolen meat from above the flames, even as Knights were gathered around the fire pit. We have found large, beastly tracks here and there--and strange scents that inspire fear in the horses. It broke open some bags of grain and made tracks in the grain for us to see. It seeks to intimidate us.

Should I use the Eye of Divinity? asked Lannon.

Not yet, said Taris. We're still trying to understand this night stalker's purpose and what danger it might pose to you. As you've learned the hard way, using the Eye can be quite perilous.

Lannon nodded, grim memories flashing through his mind.

By the way, said Taris, I have some good news concerning Vorden. He is doing remarkably well in his recovery. I have never seen such a strong-willed Norack lad. He almost has the resistance to Tharnin of a Grey Dwarf.

Lannon was delighted by the news. Will he ever fully recover?

I don't know, said Taris. He will probably always be plagued by darkness, but that wouldn't necessarily exclude him from returning to life as a Squire. Many servants of Dremlock, including myself, have been scarred by the Deep Shadow. Vorden will also likely possess strange abilities--unnatural strength and possibly other things--until the end of his days. The Hand of Tharnin changed him on the deepest levels, altering his body to make him a greater warrior. That sounds like a blessing, but it could also be a curse that he might come to despise. Life for him will be a harsh struggle.

Is there anything we can do to help him? asked Aldreya.

Just give him friendship and support, said Taris, for that is what he needs most. Visit him every day, if possible.

I'm going to go see him right now, said Lannon, rising. He raised the hood of his Watchman's cloak. If I may be excused.

Taris nodded. I have no more news for you.

Would anyone like to come along? asked Lannon.

Out in the rain? said Prince Vannas. No thanks.

I would, said Aldreya, but I'm tired from training. I need a bit of rest.

No one else replied, and Lannon left the tent alone.

***

Vorden sat alone in his tent, his yellow eyes gleaming in the shadows and standing out in stark contrast to his black clothing. He didn't glance at Lannon, but appeared lost in thought. His black hair had received a trim, and he now had a thin beard and mustache. His wrists and feet were bound in irons, though he could move his arms about without much difficulty. A jug of water and stack of books sat next to him. The tent's interior held a gloomy atmosphere--the presence of the Deep Shadow that still radiated from Vorden.

Lannon sat down across from him and pulled back his dripping hood. How are you feeling today, my friend?

Vorden gazed at him in silence for a moment, then said, You're wet. Haven't you learned how to dry yourself?

Lannon shook his head. I still haven't mastered common sorcery--not even a flicker of flame. I've given up on it.

Vorden sighed. Someone as powerful as you, Lannon, should not have to sit in wet clothes. Let me help. Vorden raised his hand and focused, and Lannon's body warmed. Steam rose from his cloak.

Vorden smiled. Are you surprised? Did you think these irons could contain my power?

Lannon wasn't surprised. Taris knows of it. But he also knows you won't hurt anyone.

If so, said Vorden, then why am I still in irons?

Lannon had no answer. You're improving, and I'm sure sooner or later you will be set free to resume your training.

As you can see, said Vorden, my tent holds no lantern. Why? It's because I don't need one. I can see in the dark. I can do many strange things, Lannon. The power of Tharnin has cursed my body, yet the Deep Shadow itself has abandoned me. My power is just leftovers--created by an altered mind and body, like the power wielded by the sorcerers of ancient times. Surely it is forbidden by Dremlock. Jace learned that the hard way.

Lannon had an answer for this. Taris said that such sorcery is forbidden only if one seeks it--as Jace did. Some Olrogs have natural sorcery--like Galva's ability of Fire--that are leftover from ancient dealings with the Deep Shadow. The Grey Dwarves were altered like you have been, Vorden, yet they're allowed to be Divine Knights. You can't help what you are. As long as you use your power for honorable purposes, you won't be banished from the kingdom.

But that's the real issue, isn't it? said Vorden. There is still evil in my heart--whispers left from the Hand of Tharnin, as if the demon is still speaking to me. Until I am completely free of that, there is no way I will be allowed to go back to life as a Squire. I'm not sure I can ever be cleansed of it.

I don't know, said Lannon. He wanted to speak words of hope to Vorden, but he didn't want to give him false hope.

I'm glad you came to see me, said Vorden, because I have a warning for you. He leaned forward. The shadows seemed to hang thick about his face, contrasting the gleam in his yellow eyes. Tenneth Bard wants you dead--or in the clutches of the Deep Shadow like the Dark Watchmen of old. That's no secret. But there is a new creature that stalks you, something nearly immortal. It hunts you relentlessly.

What manner of creature? asked Lannon, chilled by the conviction in Vorden's words. And how do you know about it?

It is a Goblin, said Vorden. I couldn't bring myself to speak of it before, because the evil was blocking my attempts. This Goblin has existed on our continent of Gallamerth since the ancient war involving the Crimson Flamestone. It was a servant of the Barloak Demons that escaped into hiding after the war. It was one of several unique and extremely powerful Goblins.

Lannon shivered. His back suddenly felt very exposed, and he glanced behind him. Why hasn't it attacked?

It is a cunning and patient creature, said Vorden. It will wait for the best opportunity to strike, like an expert assassin. It is also somewhat insane and cannot easily be controlled. The beast was being kept at Old Hammer Hall. Now it has been turned loose at last.

Vorden gazed at Lannon for a moment, then said, Tenneth Bard is winning the war against Dremlock. The beast is just another servant.

You think he is winning the war? said Lannon, surprised. Last I knew, we had defeated Bellis and the Blood Legion, and captured the Black Flamestone and the Hand of Tharnin. And... He paused, not wanting to speak of Timlin Woodmaster's death. Anyway, how exactly is Tenneth Bard winning the war? Lannon was still hoping the Black Knight was actually dead and that Vorden was mistaken, but Vorden seemed so convinced that Tenneth Bard would return that Lannon didn't try to dispute him.

Vorden smiled. That was a tiny victory over Bellis. Surely you don't believe that's the end of the conflict. And Tenneth Bard is connected to Bellis' expansion somehow. I am certain of it.

Lannon knew Vorden spoke true. Bellis had an enormous army and likely wouldn't let a loss in a small battle sway King Verlamer from trying to conquer Dremlock. But Lannon remained hopeful further conflict could be avoided.

Until Bellis is properly dealt with, said Vorden, Tenneth Bard clearly has the upper hand. As I said before, he is still alive and he will return. He would love for you to serve him, but your death would also be a blessing for him.

Tell me more about the beast, said Lannon. Is that what has been creeping around the campsite and has all the Knights on edge?

Vorden nodded. That is our stalker, yes.

Do you know of any way I can defeat it? asked Lannon.

No, said Vorden. I wish I did.

Lannon rose, no longer inspired to chat. He wanted to take the new information to Taris.

Vorden's yellow eyes suddenly looked sad rather than evil. Soon we will depart for Kalamede. Without some amazing luck, Lannon, I fear you will be dead before we ever arrive.

Lannon gazed at his friend for a moment, seeing the haunted expression and certainty on Vorden's face. He wanted to say something to dispute Vorden, but could think of no response. He left the tent in silence.

Chapter 2: The Visitor

Later that night, Lannon awoke to chaos in the camp--bloodcurdling screeching, horses whinnying, and the shouting of Dremlock's Knights. He seemed to be awake, but his eyelids wouldn't budge. He couldn't move a muscle.

Lannon was flooded with panic, for he'd been in this situation before, with dark sorcery holding him paralyzed. He wondered if his stalker had at last made a move. He fought fiercely to break free, and when that failed, he sought to call upon the Eye of Divinity. But his power also eluded him.

He was certain he was about to be attacked, and this time--without the ability to even open his eyes and glimpse his foe--he was sure he was doomed. He was seized by panic, his heart fluttering wildly.

But then he could hear Aldreya's voice coming from above him. I can't wake him, she muttered. It's almost like he's dead. I'll give it one more try. She shook Lannon viciously. Wake up!

Lannon remained unable to respond. If he wasn't being held by dark sorcery, then why couldn't he move? It made no sense.

Something is wrong with him, said Aldreya. Perhaps he has suffered an injury of some sort. Lannon could feel her warm hand as she probed his skull. No apparent head wound. The hand moved to his chest.

Leave him! Prince Vannas commanded. The Healers can look after him later. We're needed outside.

Aldreya patted Lannon's shoulder. Stay strong, if you can hear me. Rest assured the healers will take care of you.

Lannon could hear them exit the tent, and he guessed he'd been left alone as the battle raged outside. He wondered if this was some sort of trick to draw the others away from him. His stalker was cunning, and perhaps his friends had fallen for a diversion. Now Lannon was alone and paralyzed, waiting for the beast to rip its way into the tent and descend on him. Vorden's words echoed through Lannon's mind--his fear that Lannon would soon be dead.

But the assassination attempt never came, and Lannon began to wonder if something else was going on. Again, he struggled fiercely to move. Then a shock surged through him and he suddenly broke free, rising to his feet. Glancing down, he saw his body still lying beneath its quilt, and it all became clear to him. It was the Eye of Dreams again, the power that allowed him to witness events like a ghost. Lannon was free for a moment to roam where he chose, beyond the reach of weapons or the elements. As far as he knew, nothing could harm him in that form.

Yet the Eye of Dreams had a will of its own, and it could lead him wherever it felt the need. Lannon waited for a moment, frustrated by the poor timing. His camp was under attack and he could do nothing to help. He hoped the Eye of Dreams would finish its business quickly and then return him to his body.

Nothing happened, however, and Lannon at last floated out of the tent, anxious to see how the battle was proceeding. He exited into a rain shower, which passed right through him. The camp was ablaze with Knightly sorcery, as winged shadows--Goblin Vultures--descended from the night sky. A massive flock of the beasts was circling over the camp. Lannon saw that several Knights and horses had already been bloodied in the attack. As clawed shadows swooped down, fireballs of varying color shot into the sky from sorcerers' blades--along with gleaming arrows from the archers and thick blasts of white fire from Prince Vannas' Flamestone. Hissing sparks bounced around the camp, as black smoke arose here and there. Burning and bleeding Vultures flopped around on the ground, as Knights hacked at them.

A screech split the air directly above Lannon. A devilish humanoid face, with a mouth like a bloody gash, gazed down on him from a bloated body and leathery wings. The mouth split open wide, and a curved black beak--like a dagger--thrust out from it. The Vulture dove straight at him, and Lannon raised his hands on instinct. But the Vulture passed right through him and glided low over the ground toward Jerret Dragonsbane, whose back was to the creature.

Lannon cried out a warning, even as he realized Jerret couldn't hear him. But Jerret somehow sensed the beast, and he whirled around and chopped off the Vulture's head. Jerret kicked the severed head away with a leather boot, his eyes blazing as black blood on his blade was washed away by the rain. The Vulture's headless body flopped around for a moment before going still. Jerret looked more like a barbarian than a Divine Knight as he stood in the rain gazing skyward, his wet hair plastered to his forehead. He held his sword in both hands, and he shouted at the Vultures overhead, daring them to try their luck against him.

Meanwhile, Jace stumbled past with three Vultures tearing at him, his long shadow falling upon Lannon. The giant sorcerer's face held a disgruntled look, as blood ran from a wound in his forehead. He held one Vulture by the neck, and he swatted at the others with his remaining hand. It was an odd sight, this enormous, shadowy, lurching figure being tormented by evil birds. Jace staggered off behind a tent and vanished.

Lannon continued to watch helplessly as two Vultures descended on Lothrin. The Birlote Ranger shot one from the sky, but the other tore his bow away and then latched onto his chest, bearing him to the ground. Lothrin drew his dagger and stabbed the beast repeatedly, but it refused to let go. Finally, Lothrin shoved the wounded Vulture away and rose, his leather armor split open and his tunic beneath soaked in blood. He ran to retrieve his bow.

Aldreya hurled blinding fireballs into the sky. Lannon could sense the vast power radiating from her. As Taris Warhawk's apprentice, her sorcery had reached new levels. She stood calmly in the pouring rain, with only her thick cloak for armor, her blazing dagger held at arm's length before her. Dead and dying Vultures dropped to the ground around her.

Then Prince Vannas moved toward Lannon, the White Flamestone cupped in his hands. His eyes gleamed like the gem, and his lips were curled into an odd smile. The lean, handsome Birlote prince looked wicked in the pale glow with his pointed ears and chin. His silver hair rippled from the Flamestone's heat, and his skin looked pale and shadowy. Despite the great light he held, he seemed sinister--a dark figure bent on destruction.

A shiver of fear ran down Lannon's spine, and he was frozen in place. He could only watch as Vannas raised the White Flamestone, the prince's eyes focused on Lannon--as if he could somehow sense him. Perhaps he thought Lannon was an invisible enemy. The Flamestone's glow intensified, and Lannon was certain he was about to be destroyed, for nothing could withstand the white fire. A blinding burst of energy hurtled at Lannon--and passed harmlessly through him. With a sigh of relief, Lannon whirled around to see a cloud of black smoke where a Vulture had just been incinerated. Grinning, the Prince turned away to face another foe.

Having finished off his attackers, Jace stepped back into view. He met with Taris a few yards away from Lannon. The two cloaked sorcerers stood face to face as the battle continued around them.

I sense this is some kind of diversion, said Taris.

Jace shook his head. No sign of anything but Vultures. I think they have come for the Flamestone. You should order the prince back into his tent before one of the nasty birds gets their claws on it.

Taris nodded. Sound advice. He turned and shouted orders to Vannas, but the prince ignored him. Vannas continued to blast white fire into the sky, as Vultures dove at him. The agile prince dodged them, and continued his gleeful blasting. The camp was aglow from the pale flames.

Jace started forward, but Taris stopped him with a wave. I'll handle this. You go check on Lannon. He may be the real target.

Jace turned and started toward Lannon's tent, but he suddenly paused for a moment, and his piercing gaze fell upon Lannon. Lannon stared at the towering sorcerer in shock. Was Jace actually seeing him? Lannon glanced behind him, but there was nothing there that would have caught Jace's eye. Surely Jace was looking right at him! Then Jace strode on past and entered the tent.

Soft, mocking laughter reached Lannon's ears through the sounds of battle and raindrops. He turned about, trying to pinpoint where it had come from. He sensed it had emerged from a nearby grove of oaks beyond the campsite, nestled in the grassland, and he was compelled to float off in that direction. When the Eye of Dreams chose to seize control of him, he was a helpless puppet that could be sent anywhere. But he didn't want to go. As he was pulled along, shivers of dread ran over his flesh. Something horrific awaited him amongst the oaks, something that was aware of his presence and was calling to him. It was well hidden by the trees, its energy binding with the roots, trunks, and branches and making it almost part of the grove. It was the master of wherever it chose to lurk.

Lannon fought fiercely against the power of the Eye of Dreams, but he could not slow his progress. There was no resisting his captor even in the slightest. He found himself hating the Eye of Dreams--useful though it was--for the way it ordered him around. As he closed in on the great black trunks and gnarled branches, the evil laughter drifted out again to greet him.

What do you want? Lannon called out.

The laughter intensified and became a snort. Just you, spirit wanderer. Just you! I want you, who walks through fire and rain untouched. I want the floating boy who cannot be harmed yet fears death at every turn, the ghost who dreads the world.

I don't understand, said Lannon, as he hovered at the edge of the trees. What would you want with a ghost?

The trees groaned and swayed, as if from the wind. Lightning flashed in the distance, and the rain fell harder. Yellow eyes gazed out from between two trunks, and then a huge, dark form slunk forward. It was some kind of monstrous, crouching wolf. The Eye of Dreams allowed Lannon to view the creature in detail, and what he saw seemed to freeze his soul.

The Wolf was immensely strong, muscles rippling over bones that had the endurance of those of a Dragon. The flesh beneath its bristly black fur was almost impenetrable by most weapons and could knit together rapidly when damaged. Dark sorcery infested the beast, adding further layers of protection. Despite being larger than a Greywind horse, the Wolf could move as quietly as a mouse when it wanted to and could make itself unseen to most. Its yellow eyes were set in a broad and wrinkled face, and its jaws hung open in a devilish grin.

Like the Great Dragon and the Tharnin Specter, this was a foe of unimaginable power, and Lannon wondered why he wasn't dead already. It seemed the Wolf could have simply charged his tent and crushed him in his sleep. But he sensed that it feared the White Flamestone--which was perhaps the only thing that could threaten it. He also sensed it was a bit insane, and in no hurry to finish him off. It wanted to play games with him.

I'm hungry, said the Wolf, its voice a disembodied whisper that came from all around Lannon. Each night, at midnight to be precise, you will bring me all the food you can carry.

No, I won't, Lannon insisted. I don't feed my enemies.

The Wolf's muzzle curled back to reveal oversized teeth. You will feed me, Lannon Sunshield--and bring me wine, as well, and a bowl to drink it from. You will see. I have planted the seed in your mind that will carry you into a dream. The yellow eyes shone hypnotically, and Lannon couldn't seem to look away.

The Wolf nodded its huge head. Yes, I shall enjoy this.

"Enjoy what?" Lannon asked.

Your slow and bitter destruction, came the reply. And some good Birlote wine. You will not forget my wine!

Prince Vannas will destroy you, Lannon promised.

That fool of a prince, said the Wolf, will destroy himself beneath the cold moon. I need not worry about him. I'm interested in you, Dark Watchman. I've dealt with your kind before. Your blade is bitter, but your heart is conflicted. You could destroy me, but you won't unlock the answers. You're too young and naive.

If not Vannas, said Lannon, then Taris will know how to defeat you.

The Wolf yawned and stretched, its bones making cracking noises. The black fur rippled over its body, as if each strand of hair was under its control. Its spine was a sharp ridge of bone along its back, almost like a blade. The beast's ribs protruded in the same fashion. Its claws were also oversized, sprawled out over tree roots, and drool dripped from its long, curved teeth. It was like a bizarre, exaggerated mockery of a normal wolf that some frightened child's mind might