The Blood of Kings (Book 4) Read online

  "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."

&n
bsp; 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 have dreamed up. In a way, it was almost comical in appearance, but its aura was so deadly and powerful it demanded to be taken seriously.

  "I've seen it all before, little man," the Wolf replied. "Yet they're all dead--long dead, in fact--and I'm still alive and strong. I came here to create victory for Tharnin, and I will finish my task."

  "Dremlock will slay you," Lannon mumbled, not sure of what else to say. His promise sounded weak to his ears.

  "You are just a puppet," laughed the Wolf, "who will bring me wine. I will feast like a king while you waste away. Now leave me!" Its whispers became unintelligible for a moment, as if spoken in some dreadful language of the Deep Shadow, and finally Lannon could make out the words of a chant:

  "Beneath the moon, beneath the moon,

  "the devil prince did fall...

  Beneath the moon, beneath the moon,

  grins in Old Hammer Hall...

  Beneath the moon, beneath the moon,

  the key to Dremlock's wall..."

  Then Lannon was yanked away, back into his sleeping body.

  ***

  Lannon awoke in his tent, in the flesh, and this time he was able to move his body. He rose and belted on his Dragon sword, then rushed outside to find Jace standing guard by the tent. Two dead vultures lay at Jace's feet, and the sorcerer was casually smoking his pipe, keeping one huge hand over it to shield it from the rain. A hissing bonfire nearby burned with green flames, and Knights were tossing dead birds into the blaze. The stench of smoldering Goblin flesh hung about the camp. Meanwhile, wounded Knights and horses were being tended to by the healers. The sky was empty save for the falling rain.

  Jace glanced at Lannon and nodded. Jace's hood hung low over his forehead to shield him from the rain, his broad face lost in shadows beneath. "Welcome back, young dreamer. You have slept through the battle."

  "I need to speak to Taris," said Lannon, his legs a bit unsteady beneath him. His mind still seemed lost in a dream, a feeling of unreality hanging over him like a fog. He still felt detached from the real world.

  Lannon's friends--with the exception of Prince Vannas, who was nowhere to be seen--caught sight of him and hurried over. "I thought you were ill!" said Aldreya, looking relieved. "What happened?" Her silver hair hung in wet tangles and her cloak was streaked with mud. She still held her stone dagger unsheathed, indicating the battle had ended only moments before.

  "Your face does look rather pale, Lannon," said Lothrin. The Birlote Ranger kept one hand pressed to his chest, where his leather armor had been ripped through and the flesh torn beneath. "I imagine mine does as well, considering I've lost a bit of blood. I'll be fine, though."

  "Don't worry about it, Lannon," said Galvia, sighing as she leaned on her war hammer. Her muscles bulged with tension beneath her grey skin, still eager for combat even though there was none to be found. "I didn't get to strike a blow either. The Vultures wouldn't c
ome near me."

  "They were probably terrified of you," said Jerret, winking at her. The big, blond-haired lad was the dirtiest of them all, his cloak saturated with muck and blood. His cheek bore an ugly wound from a Vulture's beak that was sure to leave a scar that Jerret would be proud of. He'd fought fiercely, almost like a madman, still determined to prove he belonged with the group of elite young Knights.

  "Do you need a healer, Lannon?" asked Lothrin.

  Lannon shook his head. "I'm okay. But you should probably seek one for that chest wound, my friend."

  "I can tend to my own wounds," said Lothrin. "I did it for years, and for wounds much greater than this--yet I'm healthy as can be."

  Lannon smiled. "That's the Ranger side of you talking."

  "But you do look quite pale, Lannon," said Aldreya, "like you've experienced something terrible. I sense...a cold darkness around you."

  "Probably that Eye of Divinity stuff," muttered Jerret, with a dismissive wave. "Fine by me. With Lannon asleep, I got to kill more Vultures."

  Lannon wasn't surprised that his face looked pale, as the memory of the Wolf kept flashing through his mind. He glanced toward the oak grove and shuddered, wondering if the encounter had even been real. How had the Wolf been able to see and communicate with him? If Vorden spoke true, the Wolf was a living Goblin and it shouldn't have been able to talk to a spirit. Obviously, the beast possessed powerful sorcery and there was no telling what it was capable of.

  Jace placed his hand on Lannon's shoulder. "This young Knight is healthy enough, but I'm guessing he has quite a tale to tell."

  "Indeed," said Lannon, shivering. "Quite a tale."

  Trenton Shadowbane strode over to Lannon. The Investigator smoothed back his short grey hair, a look of disapproval on his weathered face. His green cloak was tattered from Vulture claws. He sheathed his sword. "And where were you, young man, while the rest of us were fighting for our lives in the mud and rain? Surely you didn't sleep through all that noise."