Still fearing that Jace could be under the Deep Shadow's influence, Lannon tried again to probe him with the Eye of Divinity, but again he saw nothing but a wall of fog. Jace was endlessly shielded to Lannon's power somehow. When Lannon finally asked about it, Jace replied, "Yes, I've learned a few tricks over the two centuries that I've been alive. Does that surprise you?"
When Lannon asked about Jace's predictions of future events, including Lannon ending up covered in blood, Jace replied: "I don't remember. But it may be something worth noting."
And so Lannon got nowhere in his investigation, and the Knights-even Trenton- didn't seem interested and simply dismissed it all as strange sorcerer business. Regardless, Jace seemed normal enough (at least for Jace), talking and laughing and smoking his pipe. He eventually put Lannon at ease and the lad's mind wandered to other topics.
When they reached the lakeshore, they left their siege engines standing in the snow to wait for spring and were able to proceed at a faster pace across what remained of the Boulder Plains. For one afternoon, the snow let up and blue sky appeared, giving them hope that the wretched weather was behind them. Yet their hopes were soon dashed when the sky darkened again and a furious blizzard drove against them-the worst so far on the journey.
Travel slowed to a crawl as they forged ahead into the raging snowstorm. Visibility was reduced to almost nothing, forcing the Knights to hurriedly set up camp even though there were still a few hours of daylight remaining. They dared not be caught riding after dark, when it would be all too easy for some of them to get lost. They hunkered down sullenly in their tents, hoping the blizzard would let up by morning.
As the Squires sat eating bread and jerky by lantern light, Lannon explained how he was unable to use the Eye of Divinity on Jace. "Perhaps my power is growing weaker rather than stronger," he said, needing to talk about his fears.
"It doesn't matter," said Vannas. "We have a new power now, and there is no reason to fear. The White Flamestone is all we need."
"But you heard Jace tell of his dream," said Lannon, "of the Flamestone shattered and me…well, covered in blood." He winced as he said that last bit. "Jace is a sorcerer of some sort-though I admit certainly nothing like Taris-and his dreams could be visions of what the future might hold."
"Jace seemed out of his mind when he told us that," said Jerret. "He looked confused and maybe just plain crazy."
"I have to agree with Jerret," said Aldreya. "His behavior was very strange. I too was afraid the Deep Shadow was in his heart."
Vannas shrugged. "I should think the Divine Essence would know our fate better than Jace. I believe he was simply revealing his deepest fears."
Lannon said nothing more on the topic. As he drifted into sleep, the Eye of Divinity became the Eye of Dreams. Jace's vision merged with his own-as he saw Vannas struck down and the White Flamestone crushed by the swing of a heavy club even as some shadowy, winged horror descended from the sky. He saw himself covered in crimson but could not tell if the blood was his own. And finally, he saw the Hand of Tharnin reaching for his throat, as yellow eyes burned in the shadows. The smoldering gauntlet was far more powerful than the servants of the Divine Essence had imagined-a weapon forged with the will of the Deep Shadow for the sole purpose of destroying Dremlock Kingdom. The Divine Essence had given them the White Flamestone to oppose the Hand of Tharnin, but a third power-even greater than the other two-had awakened from its slumber. This third power, an unimaginable beast, was bearing down on Lannon, and he felt too weak to defend against it. And then the final ugly scene was revealed-the burning towers of Dremlock.
Chapter 16: The Pit of Misery
The ride to Rogue Haven was miserable. Timlin was given stale food to eat that he could barely stomach (by having it crammed into his mouth) followed by stale water. It was cold in the wagon and he often lay shivering on the dirty, gritty floorboards. When it rained, the roof leaked in several places, leaving Timlin soaking wet. Also, a moldy stench hung in the air that he never seemed to get used to. The wagon's purpose was obviously to transport slaves, and their comfort was not an issue. As far as the Dwarven master seemed concerned, Timlin could rot back there with the floorboards. And if he happened to take ill and die, what did the loss of a slave matter who'd been found wandering the countryside?
Occasionally, Timlin could hear Tolus whistling loudly, and his hands knotted into fists. He wanted to kill the Dwarf so badly it was like a raging, endless fire inside him. Timlin was trained in escaping ropes and chains, but the Dwarf's knots were so tight and secure that days of working at them produced no results. At last, Timlin simply gave up and lay there in the dark hating his captor.
Timlin wondered what his former friends at Dremlock would think of him now. No doubt they held only anger towards him for betraying the kingdom. They would probably have felt pity towards him as well, had they known the situation he now found himself in. Timlin knew one thing for certain-no one would be coming to his rescue. He was utterly alone in the world. He'd not only betrayed Dremlock, he'd also betrayed his friends. And most importantly, he'd betrayed himself. That last realization gnawed at him the most.
At last, the wretched journey to Rogue Haven came to an end, and Timlin was dragged from the back of the wagon. It was a cool fall day, and Timlin found himself in a misty clearing surrounded by towering pine trees. Timlin inhaled the fresh air, wishing he was free to wander where he wished. They stood behind a large, rugged-looking building made of pine logs. The sounds of merrymaking came from within-laughter, shouting, and music.
Tolus grinned. "This tavern is your new home, little man. We've got an arena down below, where you'll be fighting for your life now and then. Bear in mind that how well you eat, how much coin you make, and whether or not you eventually gain your freedom all depends on you. If you're lazy, you will get nowhere. You might even get yourself killed. So are you ready to work hard and better your life?"
Timlin shrugged. "All you really care about is your money."
Tolus jammed his finger against Timlin's chest. "Wrong, boy. I care about all my fighters. You'll come to understand that-if you live long enough."
The Grey Dwarf shoved Timlin along into the tavern and down some stairs into a hallway made of stone blocks. Several cells lined the hallway, containing rugged-looking men who were seated on the floor. The musty stench of the hall overwhelmed Timlin. At the end of the passageway was an oval-shaped iron door surrounded by oak carvings of exaggerated and hideous Birlote faces. A single guard watched over the tunnel-a stocky, bald man who held a knotted club. A large ring of keys hung from his belt.
Tolus pointed at the strange door. "The entrance to the arena. It is said that the man who walks past that door leaves his soul on the other side. Later tonight, you shall get your first taste of combat."
Tolus cut Timlin's ropes and shoved him into a cell containing another prisoner. Then he left the hallway. Timlin sat down and groaned.
"No use groaning," Timlin's cellmate said. He was tall, bald, and dark-skinned, with a short, scruffy beard. Muscles, displaying scars, rippled over his frame. He wore only a pair of leather trousers. "Might as well cheer up. You're not going anywhere. And why should a man be unhappy, even if facing death?"
He extended his hand. "My name is Oaran."
Timlin shook it. "Timlin Woodmaster."
"Woodmaster?" Oaran said, raising his eyebrows. "Sounds Knightly."