Read Online Knights Of Dark Renown by David Gemmell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Gemmell
Tags: Fantasy
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me.’
Errin watched as the Nomad turned on his heel and strode from the room. He gazed down at the wine and shivered. Having closed the window, he walked to the far side of the room where a log-fire blazed in a stone hearth. Dragging a heavy chair to the fireside, he sat and stared into the flames.
The meeting with the Seer, Okessa, haunted him -forcing its way into his mind again and again. He had never liked the man, whose shaven head and curved nose gave the impression of a vulture. And his eyes always seemed to shine with a malevolent gleam. No, Errin did not like Okessa.
‘It is rare that you take the time to consult me,’ the Seer had said as Errin entered his study.
‘Our paths seldom cross,’ Errin replied, gazing at the shelves and the tomes placed there. ‘You have some interesting books. Perhaps I could borrow some?’
‘Of course, my Lord. I did not know you were expert in the Dead Languages.’
‘I am not.’
‘Then, sadly, the books would be of no value. How can I help you?’
Errin sat in a high-backed chair opposite the Seer, who carefully laid his quill on the desk, pushing aside the book on which he had been working.
‘I have come to seek your advice. A youth - a runaway - shouted a word. I think it was some kind of spell casting, for his running speed increased. I wounded him, but he escaped to the Great Forest.’
‘And the word?’
‘Ollathair.’
‘You are sure?’
‘I believe so. My man, Ubadai, heard it also. What does it signify?’
Okessa leaned back and stroked his long nose with the index finger of his right hand, his pale eyes fixed on Errin. ‘A dead wizard - he shouted the name of a dead wizard. Are you sure his speed increased? Could not fear have spurred him to greater urgency?’
‘It is possible — but only just. I have never seen a man run faster and, as you know, I was Master of the Games last autumn in Furbolg. No, I think the word was one of Power. Is that possible?’
‘All things are possible, Lord Errin. Some. . . artefacts . . . of Ollathair’s survive, I believe. The King beyond Cithaeron has a golden falcon, and King Ahak possesses a Gabalic sword which can cut through anything, even steel. But these are priceless. How would a runaway slave obtain such an artefact?’
Okessa stood and moved to the bookshelves, drawing down a leather-covered tome. Returning to his seat, he opened the book and carefully began to turn the pages.
‘Ollathair,’ he said at last. ‘Yes, here it is. The son of Calibal, fifteenth Armourer to the Knights of the Gabala. Ollathair was apprentice to his father in 1157 at the age of thirteen. He succeeded his father in 1170, so, he would have been twenty-six then. In 1190 the Knights vanished from history and we are left with merely legend, the most enduring of which is that they rode into Hell to destroy the essence of all evil. Ollathair was arrested as a traitor the following year, and was put to death in the dungeons of Furbolg. There is also a brief description of his interrogation. No, I do not think you heard the boy correctly.’
‘Could there be more than one Ollathair?’ Errin
asked.
‘If there was, my Lord, be assured I would have heard of him. Was there anything else?’
‘No, my Lord Seer, but I am grateful for your time | and effort,’ said Errin, rising.
‘Please, do not leave quite so soon: there is a matter I wish to discuss.’ Errin sat down. ‘It is the question of your household, my Lord. You have some six Nomad .-, retainers, I believe?’
‘Yes - and all loyal, both to myself and to the crown.’
‘The crown sees it differently. The King is about to issue an edict that all Nomads be detained and sent to Gar-aden.’
‘It is a desert!’
‘You question the King’s wishes?’ asked Okessa softly.
‘It is not for me to question my sovereign; it was merely an observation. However, the Nomads in my employ are not slaves and they are free to travel where they wish.’
‘Not
Errin watched as the Nomad turned on his heel and strode from the room. He gazed down at the wine and shivered. Having closed the window, he walked to the far side of the room where a log-fire blazed in a stone hearth. Dragging a heavy chair to the fireside, he sat and stared into the flames.
The meeting with the Seer, Okessa, haunted him -forcing its way into his mind again and again. He had never liked the man, whose shaven head and curved nose gave the impression of a vulture. And his eyes always seemed to shine with a malevolent gleam. No, Errin did not like Okessa.
‘It is rare that you take the time to consult me,’ the Seer had said as Errin entered his study.
‘Our paths seldom cross,’ Errin replied, gazing at the shelves and the tomes placed there. ‘You have some interesting books. Perhaps I could borrow some?’
‘Of course, my Lord. I did not know you were expert in the Dead Languages.’
‘I am not.’
‘Then, sadly, the books would be of no value. How can I help you?’
Errin sat in a high-backed chair opposite the Seer, who carefully laid his quill on the desk, pushing aside the book on which he had been working.
‘I have come to seek your advice. A youth - a runaway - shouted a word. I think it was some kind of spell casting, for his running speed increased. I wounded him, but he escaped to the Great Forest.’
‘And the word?’
‘Ollathair.’
‘You are sure?’
‘I believe so. My man, Ubadai, heard it also. What does it signify?’
Okessa leaned back and stroked his long nose with the index finger of his right hand, his pale eyes fixed on Errin. ‘A dead wizard - he shouted the name of a dead wizard. Are you sure his speed increased? Could not fear have spurred him to greater urgency?’
‘It is possible — but only just. I have never seen a man run faster and, as you know, I was Master of the Games last autumn in Furbolg. No, I think the word was one of Power. Is that possible?’
‘All things are possible, Lord Errin. Some. . . artefacts . . . of Ollathair’s survive, I believe. The King beyond Cithaeron has a golden falcon, and King Ahak possesses a Gabalic sword which can cut through anything, even steel. But these are priceless. How would a runaway slave obtain such an artefact?’
Okessa stood and moved to the bookshelves, drawing down a leather-covered tome. Returning to his seat, he opened the book and carefully began to turn the pages.
‘Ollathair,’ he said at last. ‘Yes, here it is. The son of Calibal, fifteenth Armourer to the Knights of the Gabala. Ollathair was apprentice to his father in 1157 at the age of thirteen. He succeeded his father in 1170, so, he would have been twenty-six then. In 1190 the Knights vanished from history and we are left with merely legend, the most enduring of which is that they rode into Hell to destroy the essence of all evil. Ollathair was arrested as a traitor the following year, and was put to death in the dungeons of Furbolg. There is also a brief description of his interrogation. No, I do not think you heard the boy correctly.’
‘Could there be more than one Ollathair?’ Errin
asked.
‘If there was, my Lord, be assured I would have heard of him. Was there anything else?’
‘No, my Lord Seer, but I am grateful for your time | and effort,’ said Errin, rising.
‘Please, do not leave quite so soon: there is a matter I wish to discuss.’ Errin sat down. ‘It is the question of your household, my Lord. You have some six Nomad .-, retainers, I believe?’
‘Yes - and all loyal, both to myself and to the crown.’
‘The crown sees it differently. The King is about to issue an edict that all Nomads be detained and sent to Gar-aden.’
‘It is a desert!’
‘You question the King’s wishes?’ asked Okessa softly.
‘It is not for me to question my sovereign; it was merely an observation. However, the Nomads in my employ are not slaves and they are free to travel where they wish.’
‘Not
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