Cartlan gulped. "I'll be careful."
Trenton adjusted his cloak. "I must be moving on now. Stay on the path, lads, and make no trouble."
Cartlan bowed again. "We wouldn't dream of it."
Trenton nodded. Then he fixed his gaze on Lannon. "You really must think you're something special," he whispered.
"Huh?" said Lannon, not knowing what to say. The Investigator's piercing grey eyes sent goose bumps scampering all over his flesh.
"You heard me!" snapped Trenton. "My eyes are on you, Lannon. I know your heart, child, and if things start turning out badly, you'll pay dearly."
With that, Trenton strode on past them and was swallowed up by the shadows. A moment later another wolf howl arose, this one louder and closer-coming from the direction the Investigator had gone. It was followed by a crash as something big leapt away through the forest.
Cartlan and the Squires hurried away without looking back.
When they got a little further down the path, Cartlan wiped sweat from his brow. "That was really strange," he muttered. "That man is…well, what can I say? He's somewhat different. There are rumors about him."
"He seemed crazy to me," said Vorden. "What did he say about the woods?"
Cartlan shook his head. "Just forget what you saw and heard, Vorden. You'll be far better off for it. Remember, you're just a lowly Squire."
"I won't mention it to anyone," said Vorden. "But I won't forget it, either."
Lannon said nothing, still feeling the effects of Trenton's chilling stare. He couldn't fathom why the Investigator had singled him out-unless it had something to do with the Eye of Divinity. But why would that cause Trenton to be angry with him? Wasn't the Eye of Divinity supposed to be helpful to Dremlock somehow?
They came to where the road split into three, and they took the East Path. The land sloped downward some, and boulders began appearing amongst the trees. The pine trunks were gnarled and split, their roots clustered thick along the trail, and their boughs hung low like huge furry hands descending upon the travelers.
"This part of Knightwood has the most ancient feel to it," said Cartlan. "Ruins of Olrog dwellings stand here in the woods. Taris' tower is older than Furlus' keep, and it was built on some of those ruins, including the remains of the fortress built by Kuran Darkender before Dremlock existed as we know it today. Rumor has it that there are catacombs beneath the Old Keep, as the fortress is called-Olrog tombs filled with traps and riches, and even darker places that have been closed off with bars made of indestructible Glaetherin so that nothing can creep forth and enter the tower. But actually, who knows?"
"What do you know about the Blue Knights?" asked Vorden.
At first Cartlan looked irritated that Vorden had changed the subject, but then he stopped walking and stood in a silence for a moment. Then he sighed loudly. "I don't want to worry you or anything, but the few things I've heard about them were not very pleasant-to say the least!"
"What things?" Timlin asked fearfully, pressing close to Lannon and Vorden. The lad was shaking in his boots, his gaze darting this way and that into the surrounding shadows.
Cartlan turned and smirked, his cockiness and attitude of superiority resurfacing. "Very odd things, Squires. You'd probably rather not hear of them at this point. You'll find out for yourself soon enough."
"Fine by me," said Vorden, refusing to be drawn in.
"I'd like to know," said Lannon, wishing he were as strong-willed as Vorden.
"Tell us!" Timlin begged. "We should be warned."
Cartlan shrugged. "Very well, if you must know. I hear that they're actually assassins. They're throat cutters and backstabbers and spies. They sneak around in the shadows and kill people when they're sleeping."
Vorden shook his head in disbelief. "No way, Cartlan. The Divine Knights would never accept a class like that."
Cartlan laughed. "Think what you must, Vorden. But with the Blood Legion and all, and the recent troubles with smart Goblins, spies and assassins are badly needed. And Blue Knights aren't real Knights. They're just, well, assassins. Their Books never get put in the Round Library. No Lord Knight has ever been a part of that color class. Actually, I don't think any Greens have, either. I think Blue Knights always stay that color."
"What?" said Vorden, his mouth hanging open. "You mean a Blue Knight can't get promoted? So I could never be Red, or Green, or a Lord Knight?" Vorden's body was shaking, so distraught was he all of a sudden.
Cartlan nodded. "From what I know, yes. Look at Carn Pureheart, the Lord of the Blue Knights. He was never made Green."
"I can't believe this!" said Vorden. "But I've worked so… No, I just can't believe it. You've got to be joking with me, Cartlan."
"Not at all," said Cartlan. "But calm down. I'm just telling of rumors. I suggest you relax and see for yourself before you get angry."
"I won't stab someone in the back," Vorden muttered. "That's not why I wanted to be a Knight."
Cartlan raised his hands helplessly. "You still get to train with the other new Squires every day. It's just that you'll receive your special training also-the training nobody talks about much because it's an embarrassment to Dremlock."
Lannon wished he could shut Cartlan up, and somehow permanently remove that smirk. Cartlan was probably just trying to get to them, and he was doing an exceptionally good job with Vorden-which irritated Lannon all the more because in the short time Lannon had known Vorden, he already seemed like a friend. And Lannon had never had a true friend near his own age.
Timlin just trotted along looking mystified yet hopeful, his hands in his cloak pockets. Once in a while he'd look at Lannon or Vorden, give a shrug, and then shake his head-as if the whole matter were beyond his comprehension.
Vorden mumbled quiet words now and then, his hands knotting into fists, while Cartlan strode ahead, whistling a merry tune.
***
Taris' tower looked much the same as the West Tower in size and shape, yet it seemed a bit taller and had a small river running through its courtyard. Crumbling boulders stood here and there, and the ground was sloped in a shallow valley of mossy stones. No flowers or carefully trimmed hedges existed here-just a natural landscape that needed no maintenance. The Knightwood pines grew close to the tower, their roots arching up from the ground in thick tangles. A stone bridge, webbed with vines, spanned the river.
An ancient scent arose from the soil here that reminded Lannon of Knights Valley, and for a moment he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, imagining he was back home. Oddly enough, the front door was not guarded.
"Where are the guards?" Lannon asked.
"The East Tower needs no guards," said Cartlan. "This is the Tower of Sorcery. It's protected by magic, and people are allowed to come and go as they please. Still, you can bet that even now we're being watched."
The Squires glanced up along the tower wall, their gaze passing over balconies and windows-some lit by lantern and torchlight-all the way up to the tapering peak. They shivered, their hearts pounding harder. This tower, for whatever reason, seemed somehow dark, sinister, and very ancient. Perhaps the feeling lurked in the mossy landscape and the vine-covered stone blocks at the tower's base, or perhaps it lurked in something else that only their subconscious minds could grasp. Regardless, as they gazed up at the moonlit keep, they were chilled to the bone.
"Don't stop now," said Cartlan gleefully. "This is your new home."
After exchanging nervous glances, they followed Cartlan to the front door, which bore a leering, demonic face forged of silver at the center. He grasped the door handle and pulled it partly open.
"Well, there you go," he said. "Good luck."
"What?" said Timlin. "You're just going to leave us here?"