Chapter 3:
The Council and the Secret Plans
Lannon did little but lay in bed for a couple of days in Ollanhar Tower and heal from his wound. He was recovering swiftly thanks to help from Dallsa--but only in the physical sense. Mentally his confidence had taken a blow.
He kept thinking of the battle in the woods, how Tenneth Bard had nearly killed him, and his chest ached from the memory of the cold blade that had pierced it. He was deeply troubled by the fact that he'd been caught off guard. He was supposed to be the High Watchman of Ollanhar, but he had behaved like a mere Squire, turning his back on an orb of energy that should have been an obvious threat. Once again Lannon felt like a fool undeserving of his status.
The wound itself was also troublesome--infected with the evil sorcery of the Deep Shadow. It could have been fatal based on that fact alone. But Jace had done something to remove most of the infection (as usual, the sorcerer refused to discuss his abilities, and so whatever he had done remained a mystery), and Dallsa was able to deal with the traces that remained. If not for those two, Lannon might have struggled for weeks or even months to recover. If fact, he probably would have been forced to visit Dremlock's Hall of Healing. Tenneth Bard's twin swords were devastating, and Lannon had no desire to encounter them again.
Lannon was alone in his bedchamber. The windowless room was lit by a single candle burning on a small table. He lay atop his blanket, shirtless, his chest wrapped in bandages. His Dragon sword lay next to him. The shadows hung thick about the room, and Lannon imagined insane, violet eyes gazing out at him from the dark. Tenneth Bard would strike again eventually, and if Lannon didn't find a way to advance his skills, the Black Knight would take his head. Tenneth Bard in the flesh seemed more fearsome than the phantom of days past--a real Knight bound to this world with vengeance burning in his heart.
If Jace hadn't come along, would Lannon have prevailed? It seemed unlikely. It seemed luck had saved Lannon, and luck was not what he wanted to rely on, for eventually it ran out.
Lannon groaned. So much for the High Watchman.
The chamber's oak door swung open and Lothrin Windbow entered. The Blue Knight and Birlote Ranger had been away at Dremlock on business. He closed the door and nodded to Lannon. "You're still alive, I see."
"Barely," Lannon mumbled.
In spite of being a member of the Birlote Royal Family, Lothrin wore simple Ranger clothes, which consisted of a green tunic, brown trousers, and soft leather boots. A long dagger with a bone handle hung from his belt, and a hunter's bow was slung across his back. His silver hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He was a handsome young Tree Dweller with a strange leaf-shaped birthmark on his cheek. He was also an exceptionally swift and deadly warrior, his skills often underestimated by his foes.
"You'll be up and about soon enough," said Lothrin. "You have more strength than you realize."
"How are things at Dremlock?" asked Lannon.
Lothrin hesitated, then replied, "There is a strange mood there--a grim mood. At first I assumed it had something to do with Bellis, but the High Council spoke of the Hand of Tharnin. They fear our enemies are searching for it."
"And with good reason," said Lannon.
"What do you mean?" asked Lothrin. "Does this have something to do with your battle in the forest?"
Lannon nodded. "We can talk about it later, though. I assume we're going to hold a meeting soon to discuss these issues."
"As soon as we possibly can," said Lothrin. "Furlus Goblincrusher and a small company of Knights are here as well. It seems Furlus will be guarding Ollanhar in your absence."
"In my absence?" said Lannon. "I expect to be at full health again fairly soon. And what about Aldreya, our Green Knight?"
Lothrin smiled. "You don't understand what I'm saying."
Lannon's heart sped up with excitement. "I see. So this means we're leaving Ollanhar on a mission. Daledus will be happy to hear about that. So where are we going?"
"I'm not sure yet," Lothrin replied. "Jace will know. The Hand of Tharnin and the Black Flamestone must be dealt with soon. Yet at the same time, the tower must remain in our possession."
Lannon sat up, eager to start the meeting.
"Relax, my friend," said Lothrin, motioning for Lannon to lay back down. "We're not in that much of a hurry."
"I can attend the meeting," said Lannon, using his power to help him stand. He was sore and probably should have stayed in bed for a few more days, but he wanted to hear what Jace and the others had to say.
"Very well," said Lothrin. "Allow me to get everyone assembled in the Dining Room, and then I'll summon you."
Lannon sat back down, gnawed by impatience that he knew a Dark Watchman shouldn't experience. "As soon as everyone is gathered, I want to be informed. In fact, ring the Meeting Bell in the Library. It's about time we used that thing."
Lothrin bowed. "It shall be done."
After the Birlote Ranger left the room, the pain from Lannon's wound began to throb again and so he stretched out on the bed.
Tenneth Bard was seeking the Hand of Tharnin--perhaps hoping to make himself even more powerful--and somehow Dremlock was already alert to his plans. But Lannon was experienced enough to know that in the war against the Deep Shadow nothing was ever exactly what it seemed.