Dalvin finally let his guard down some and lit a pipe. He produced a pouch of jerky and chewed some, then offered some to Lannon.
"My hands are tied," Lannon reminded him, sighing.
"And why does that concern you?" said Dalvin. "I know that rope can't hold you. But I want to see for myself. Break the rope."
Lannon hesitated, wondering if Dalvin was simply looking for an excuse to put an arrow through his heart. He again searched Dalvin's intent with the Eye, but this time Lannon had trouble sensing his mood for whatever reason. Finally, knowing he had to take a chance if he wanted to save his hands, Lannon seized the rope with the Eye of Divinity and pulled it apart. He brought his bruised, trembling hands in front of him to show Dalvin, then thrust them into his pockets.
The Legion Master nodded. "You broke stout rope with ease. You could kill me here and now, crossbow or not. Am I right? Don't lie to me."
Lannon shrugged. "I don't know, but I don't plan to try." Sensing Dalvin's agitation, he added, "And if I did, then what? I couldn't kill everyone in the camp, and if I tried to escape, your Soldiers would just finish me off. I don't want to kill anyone. I just want to rest, heal, and eat some food."
"I'm under orders to bring you to Dorok's Hand alive if possible," said Dalvin. "I'm sure you guessed that. However, my master knows you're dangerous and so I have permission to kill you if need be-at my discretion. So if you try anything foolish at all…"
"Your master is Tenneth Bard?" asked Lannon.
"Do not speak that name again!" Dalvin growled, raising the crossbow.
"I'm sorry," said Lannon. "I didn't mean to offend."
Dalvin lowered his weapon. "You know who my master is. You're the one who led him to this fate."
"Vorden?" said Lannon. "He now leads the Blood Legion?" Lannon wasn't surprised, but he wondered what had become of Tenneth Bard.
"That's right, lad," Dalvin sneered. "And if you're wondering-do I think a mere boy should command the Legion? Of course not. But he does command it, and I am sworn to obey. Vorden wants you taken to Dorok's Hand alive. Not sure what grim plans he has for you, but I wouldn't want to be in your situation. Well, you brought it on yourself."
"What did I do to deserve this?" said Lannon, suddenly gripped by anger. "That Hand of Tharnin device took control of him and turned him into a puppet of the Deep Shadow. I had nothing to do with it!"
Dalvin smiled. "You live under a pathetic illusion, Lannon. You were Dremlock's most prized servant. Vorden was a friend of yours. Have you ever considered the fact that you may be cursed? No, you've probably believed you were blessed by the Divine Essence. How arrogant and misguided. Maybe you should begin to consider the notion that you're a catalyst for doom to those around you."
Dalvin's words stung Lannon, and he pondered whether or not there was truth in them. Both Vorden and Timlin-his two closest friends-were now corrupted. Maybe he was cursed, bringing suffering and evil to those closest to him.
"I think you're a bad fit for Dremlock," Dalvin went on. "You could change your fate and fortune by joining your friend-if that is what he seeks from you. The Blood Legion would benefit greatly from a sorcerer of your talents."
Lannon started to protest, but then he considered the fact that he was better off playing along. It wasn't Lannon's nature to be dishonest, even when his life was threatened, but many lives were at stake besides his own. "I admit I am tired of the way things are at Dremlock," he said. "I was there less than a year, yet the Knights sent me blindly into danger repeatedly."
"They don't care about you, really," Dalvin pressed on, pity in his gaze. "You're just a tool to be used until you break. Then you will be discarded and replaced. The Legion doesn't treat its Soldiers that way. Here, you would be valued and respected. And you can help us crush the army of Knights at our fortress gates."
Lannon's anger returned. "I doubt you're going to win."
"Oh, we will win," said Dalvin, grinning. "Let's just say we have an edge the likes of which Dremlock can never prepare for."
Lannon probed Dalvin with the Eye, trying to learn what that "edge" might be. But it appeared the Legion Master didn't know, in spite of his excitement. He was simply repeating what he'd been told.
Dalvin gave Lannon a water flask and some jerky. "When you're done eating, try to get some sleep, for we ride at daybreak. Meanwhile, just think about what I said-how you would be a good fit for the Legion and how you would be loved and respected by your fellow Soldiers-your brothers. Does Dremlock ever speak of brotherly love? I was once a Knight-Dalvin Skyaxe. I know how the Knights treat each other-with great respect, but never like true brothers. Dremlock is cold hearted compared to the Legion."
"The Knights care about each other," said Lannon. "They honor those who get promoted and hold extravagant funerals for the dead."
"It's not the same," said Dalvin. "The Knights don't even speak of love for the god they so blindly serve! Loyalty and honor, yes, but it ends there. The Knights are not brothers-not the way Legion Soldiers are. To serve Dremlock and its shattered god is a cold, lonely existence."
Lannon thought of how the Knights reacted whenever one amongst them was slain, and he could not agree with Dalvin. Obviously, the Legion Master had forgotten what it meant to serve Dremlock. It was true that the Divine Essence was a strange god in that it did not require love or worship. It demanded loyalty and respect and was spoken of with great reverence, but that's typically as far as it went. It was almost as if the Divine Essence did not consider itself a god at all-which made sense considering it was only a fragment of the White Guardian. Yet in spite of all that, Lannon would have given his life to protect the Divine Essence and would gladly spend his remaining years serving its will. Lannon realized that he did in fact care deeply for the Divine Essence, whether it was a real god or not.
Over the next few hours, Lannon worked on healing his hands. The technique was one all Squires had to learn and practice frequently-especially after harsh training sessions when muscles were sore-but since Lannon's Knightly Essence was very weak for a Squire of Dremlock, he was not highly proficient at it. However, he focused hard on his task, and it was a powerful technique that involved visualizing what he wanted accomplished-in this case, the healing of his hands-and repeating commands in his mind. Eventually some of the feeling returned to his hands. Soon they began to itch terribly. He ignored the itch and continued on with the technique, letting nothing distract his mind.
At some point during his meditations, he fell asleep and dreamt he was gazing up at the frozen moon. Its light was fused with the power of the Deep Shadow, washing away all hope. The moon was stalking Lannon, and he fled underground to escape it before it could claim his soul.
Once again the Eye of Divinity became the Eye of Dreams, and Lannon found himself in the smoldering chamber with the lava pool. He saw the dark figure again standing on the other side of the pool-only this time the figure wore the Hand of Tharnin, the blue stones in the gauntlet beckoning Lannon to his doom. The figure wore dark armor with runes that were glowing like liquid gold. Once again, something horrendous was moving about in the fiery pit-something so terrible it seemed to defy sanity. The dark figure laughed and said, "Soon you will join me, old friend." And it pointed into the pit.
Chapter 19: The Deadly Land
The next day was bright, with a blue sky above, yet it seemed colder than the day before. Thanks to his healing technique, Lannon's hands were doing much better in the morning, and he vowed to himself he would not let them tie him up again. But they left his hands free as they led him to a horse-obviously confident their crossbows would put an end to him quickly if he tried anything.