Sir Tiernan Bain notched the reins, urging Champion out of the gates of Righen Castle, and on towards the Outlands between his brother’s kingdom and the land of Hollon. It had been many weeks since he had seen his home; one turning of the moon since King Damian had been betrayed by the Pride and Sirs Tiernan and Fainden had made their midnight escape to Righen. Now, Lord Sepon was making his yearly tour of the kingdom, set to end with territory negotiations in Hollon. Sir Fainden was out on hunt, and so Sir Tiernan took none with him on his pilgrimage.
He had heard the tales, of course, heard the vague and horrible rumors of the goings-on of Hollon, and so had taken it upon himself to divine their truth. Sir Tiernan had loved his former land, and it pained him deeply that Lord Sepon now sought peace with the young usurpers and murderers. When he had first come to Righen, both his brothers and Lady Beatrice had begged him to never return, for he would surely be killed for his support of the fallen King Damian. Now, however, his conscious spurred him to action; the people of Hollon had been left behind, and by the Code of Chivalry, he could not leave them to suffer.
Confidence stayed him, and assured Sir Tiernan that his mission was noble and none could unjustly raise a hand against him. For the present, he sought to scout out the kingdom and alleviate his fears that the peasants were being abused by the Pride. There was no longer a king, no mention of anyone having taken the place of the murdered man, though Sir Petrik had been granted a title, and was now called Lord Petrik. It was said that he and Lord Fralis took on the business of running the country, but dared not call themselves kings.
Perhaps he could manage to convince the lords to give up their stranglehold on the land and its citizens. It tore at him, the thought that his once proud home was now a den of traitors against whom he was seemingly powerless. Their arrogance was perhaps the worst thing; the superior and condescending gleams in their eyes and the grating, idiotic grins on their faces. They thought themselves far above any man, and for that alone, Sir Tiernan was more than willing to teach them fear.
Sir Tiernan shoved such thoughts away, for he had entered the outskirts of Hollon. The fields were not yet completely barren, but it was evident that famine would soon come again. As he rode down the streets, the people looked away or fearfully hid in their houses. The only man who remained was the blacksmith, Samson, a freedman who had been a loyal servant of the fallen King Damian. He did not look up from the chains he was hammering, sparks flying and startling Champion, who shied away from the small hovel. The knight dismounted and approached the smithery.
“Hail, Samson!”
The blacksmith looked up, expressionless. “Hail and well met, Sir Tiernan. I had heard that you fled in exile to the barbaric Outland region of Righen, what business brings you here?”
“Righen is a kingdom ruled by my brother, Lord Sepon, not a barbaric province, and my business is the welfare of the people of this land, my former home.”
Samson shrugged and threw the red-hot chain into a nearby bucket of water, clouding the smithery in thick steam. “I would say no more to you, Sir Tiernan, for you are no longer of the land of Hollon. You are an Outlander and therefore my enemy.”
“Who has told you that one not of your land is your enemy?”
“My lords, Petrik and Fralis, and my masters, Sirs Rhyer and Nacketel. They are the Pride and protection of Hollon, and it is they and only they who know what is right for the rest of us. I am blessed to serve them.”
“Samson, what has happened to you? Was it not King Damian who helped you several times when you were in need? Now you would support those who rose up against your king and killed him?” Sir Tiernan, frustrated, slammed his fist against one of the thick posts of the smithery.
“That tyrant would have been the failing of us all had he not been dealt with! My masters are brave and honorable men for doing what had to be done! I see what has been said about you is true,” and Samson turned back to pump the bellows.
Astonished and frightened, Sir Tiernan backed away and leapt back into the saddle. “If that it the case, Samson, then so be it. If I am your enemy because you call me an Outlander, then I cannot trust you because you are of Hollon.”
The blacksmith said nothing as Sir Tiernan rode deeper into the land, but the knight knew that Samson would soon spread the word of his being in Hollon; the noose was closing around his neck, and he could feel it. Onward he rode, past ruined fields and through heavy forests, crawling with wolves and other such night creatures. Nearing a river, he spied a young woman on the road.
“Hail to you, Sir Tiernan!” It was Mary, the wife of Squire Lucas, a young man who had been a friend and apprentice of the court. She looked to be carrying most of her possessions with her, and seemed to be heading out of one of the small villages.
“Hail and well met, Mary. Where are you going so late in the day?”
She wiped her eyes, and he could see that she had been crying. “Sir Tiernan, I am so glad to find you! I am leaving Hollon, and hoping that Lord Steven will grant me permission to dwell in Righen.”
“I am quite sure that he would, but why are you leaving, and where is Lucas?”
“You haven’t heard? No, of course you haven’t. They tried to kill him. Those false knights chased my Lucas for sport! He escaped to the Outlands and has sent the message that I must join him and we would live in Righen.” Mary began to cry, the tears pouring down her sweet face, “The Pride of Hollon has made life in this land torture, and I will bear it no longer. They even went so far as to hold court without Lady Lydia.”
“My dear, please, do not trouble yourself. If Lucas is safe in the Outlands, then he can easily reach Righen, as can you. Trust in me that I will right the wrongs here, and that Lord Sepon will keep both you and your husband safe in his kingdom, where the Pride may hurt you no more.”
“I want to believe that, Sir Tiernan, but what can you do? Hollon is surely lost, and they are to blame!”
Sir Tiernan jumped down from his mount. “Mary, the Outlands can be quite dangerous to one who has never traveled them, and I fear for your safety. If you ride Champion, he will bare you straight to Righen, and once there, our loyal scouts may be sent out to find Lucas and bring him to the castle.”
He helped her up onto the saddle, then took the small journey-pack with all that he would need. Mary bowed her head, the tears now dry. “I thank you, Sir Tiernan, but how will you be able to return to Righen if I ride your mount?”
“When I was a boy, I would spend many days at a time in the wilderness. Fear not for me, but go quickly; darkness will soon be upon us.”
“Well parted, and may we meet again in the halls of Righen Castle,” she shouted back, as she rode away from the knight.
Shouldering his pack, Sir Tiernan walked on. Dusk was settling over all, and a brilliant sunset lit the skies over Hollon with fire. Presently, he came to a small crossroads and found there posted a notice on the cross-post.
To all citizens of Hollon and loyal subjects of the Pride ~
You are in danger, though your noble knights and lords will protect you. The evil Lord Sepon, master of all infernal, seeks to destroy Hollon to appease the demons that he serves. In his control are his brothers, the Two Cursed Knights; the cruel Sir Fainden and the mad Sir Tiernan. Your lords bravely banished them to the Outlands where they, cowards, sought shelter in the vile wasteland that is the barbaric, desolated tract that they dare call a kingdom, Righen. These monsters will not be sated until all that is good and pure is destroyed, so for the safety of your land and families, be watching for the wicked fiends.
~ Lord Fralis & Lord Petrik, Kings of Hollon
Sirs Rhyer and Nacketel, Keepers of Justice
The sun set as he read the horrible proclamation. This was not possible; how could the good people of Hollon believe such lies? Of course, they were being told only what the Pride wanted them to believe, and were being told by the silver tongue of Lord Fralis. Sir Tiernan realized that he was no longer safe in Hollon, for that any citizen he might see would already be turned against him. Dusk was rapidly closing to darkness, and he knew that he must flee back to Righen immediately.
Running through the night with all the speed he could muster, the knight raced through the fields and deserted villages. A sudden and horrible pain ripped through him, and Sir Tiernan fell hard to the ground. He reached back, and felt the arrow in his shoulder. At that moment, a ring of riders, bearing flaming brands, rode into the clearing and out of the woods in which they had been hiding.
"So, it is the mad Sir Tiernan who is foolish enough to try and return to Hollon." The voice was that of Sir Nacketel, who spurred his horse forward. "You are in the sights of at least twenty archers who would shoot you dead should you move. We've won, Sir Tiernan, do you not understand? You have lost."
As Sir Tiernan struggled to stand, wracked with searing agony, Sir Rhyer stepped out from behind him, bow in hand, and cruelly ripped the arrow out of the wounded man's shoulder. Sir Tiernan bit down on the cry that nearly escaped his lips, and fell to his knees. The clearing was silent but for the nickering of the horses, and the steady drip of blood upon the dried leaves of the forest floor.
“I think we should bring this mad dog back to the castle. Samson, bind him.”
The blacksmith, who had been walking at the side of Sir Nacketel’s horse, swaggered forward, swinging a set of heavy chains, most probably the very chains he’d forged that afternoon. Savagely, he swung them and belted Sir Tiernan in the head, knocking him to the ground where he lay, unconscious. Full night set in.
"Awaken, coward! Face your accusers!”
Fighting the blinding pain, Sir Tiernan slowly opened his eyes. He was lying on a wooden table, in a dimly lit place. The air was rank and damp, and he knew then it was that of the dungeons. Someone roughly shoved him, and he landed heavily on the cold stone floor. His shoulder and back burned as if on fire.
“What, no words, Sir Tiernan?” The jarring voice of Lord Petrik, “Where is your brilliant oratory now?”
“I…shall not speak…to a dog such as you.”
With a roar of fury, Lord Petrik kicked the fallen knight in the ribs. Agony throbbed, but Sir Tiernan refused to cry out. He instead looked up, and saw the Pride standing around him. He was in one of the larger rooms of the dungeons, which had been rarely used during the reign of King Damian. Hollon Castle had been built over the ruins of a far earlier site, and the dungeons had been but the highest level of the ancient catacombs beneath. One trapped that deep could scream until mute, and none would ever hear.
“Sir Tiernan Bain, you are guilty of high treason against the crown of Hollon, and for your crimes you will be punished,” said Lord Fralis, as he pulled back Lord Petrik, and motioned for Sirs Rhyer and Nacketel to leave.
The younger knight spit in Sir Tiernan’s face, but allowed himself to be dragged out by Samson, who followed the Pride up towards the castle after the heavy wooden door had been barred. From somewhere in the torch-lit gloom, water dripped softly and echoed through the otherwise silent dungeons. Bright eyes of scurrying rats glinted for instants as they darted in and out of the stone walls. The damp saturated the air, and left every surface feeling oily and impure.
Slowly, Sir Tiernan pulled himself to his feet. His shoulder had long stopped bleeding, but the injury rendered his left arm nearly useless. The Pride had taken his sword and hand-daggers, of course, leaving him unarmed. Having no other options, he sat on the table, which he assumed was also to be his bed. It was then that he finally cursed himself for his foolishness in thinking that he could return to Hollon and go unmolested.
Within the hour, he’d fallen into a fitful sleep, and knew not when he woke, for the torches, not the sun, lit the dungeons. Time had slowed now; there were neither days nor nights, and mere minutes felt as years to Sir Tiernan. In fact, however, he’d been in his cell three days when he heard a sound by the door. As quick as he could, he ran to the north wall, a wall of thick metal bars. Sir Vincent, court sorcerer and consort to Lady Lydia, had reached the bottom of the staircase.
“Sir Tiernan, are you there?”
“Hail, Sir Vincent! I live still!”
The man walked over and knelt where Sir Tiernan was sitting by the bars. “I had heard that you were captured, but did not believe it until I heard the Pride boasting amongst themselves.”
“Yes, my friend, I was indeed a simpleton to come to Hollon, but knowing that cannot aid matters now.”
Sir Vincent stared in the low light. “Are you well, Sir Tiernan?”
“I am cold and wet, injured, and burn within, but I am no closer to Heaven than you, fear not. You and Lady Lydia are safe?”
“Yes. We have managed, thus far, to remain free of the conflict between Hollon and Righen, yet where we were once the companions of the Pride, they have seen fit in recent weeks to simply ignore our presence. I am confident that is for the best.”
Sir Tiernan nodded, resting his head against the bars. “I understand the risk you are taking by speaking with me, and I thank you. I also realize that your positions are all that keep you and Lady Lydia from the wrath of the Pride, and will not ask you to endanger yourselves. Tell me, however, how fares Hollon?”
“That is primarily what I have come here for. I trust that you have heard of Dame Aaran?” Sir Vincent asked.
“Yes, she is the knight who quests for the Orb of Tarmac, is she not? I remember meeting her, for she dwelt for a small time in Righen.”
“True, but did you not also know that she came up in the same court as Lord Petrik? They began as squires and both received their knighthood on the same day. Five days ago she came to Hollon to speak with her long-lost friend, but accidentally found her way into the catacombs.”
“The halls and tunnels beneath these dungeons?”
“Yes,” replied Sir Vincent, “and when she came out, Dame Aaran went to the central market square and told all that she had witnessed Lord Petrik and the Pride practicing infernal rituals deep below Hollon Castle.”
“Is there merit in her story?”
“The dark lord she cited by name was Almeranth, and his name is mentioned in several ancient tomes of arcane magic. I do not know where else she might have heard that word, though it is feasible that she might have come across it in her travels beyond the Outlands.”
“If what she says is true, I must speak with her as soon as possible.”
“Sir Tiernan, I am afraid that is quite impossible. After telling the people of Hollon that her testimony was simply the ravings of madness brought by the evil powers of Righen, Dame Aaran was burnt as a witch. That was the day before I heard of your capture.”
“Do they intend the same fate for me, I wonder?”
Sir Vincent turned suddenly. “I hear someone on the stair, so I shall take my leave. Have faith, my friend, for Sarah has told me that Lord Sepon will come to Hollon Castle in a few days to hold parley with Lords Fralis and Petrik. You must live until that time!”
A guard reached the dungeons as Sir Vincent silently faded into the shadow of the stair. For a moment, he hesitated, almost sniffing the air, then at last convinced that all was well, took the ring of his keys from his belt and unlocked Sir Tiernan’s door. The knight, still kneeling by the bars, rose.
“Are you come to take me to be killed?”
“My orders were only to bring you the front gates, I know nothing else of what my masters wish,” he replied, and reached for his club.
“No, you do not need that. I’ll give you no trouble.”
“You are a noble man then, Sir Knight. Come, we must not tarry or my masters, the Pride of Hollon, will become angry with me.”
Sir Tiernan staggered a step, then straightened himself. “Guard, if you fear the wrath of your masters, why do you serve them?”
They began to mount the stair. “Simply, Sir Knight, they are the leaders of Hollon, the rulers of divine right, and if they did not take up the mantle left behind by the evil King Damian, whom else would lead us?”
“Unjust kings lead you now.”
“When we arrive before the Pride, I shall strike you so my masters will be pleased with me. The blow will be strong, but I will aim it towards your back and away from that injury. If you wish, I can knock you unconscious.”
“No, I shall stand before my accusers, but I thank you, Guard.”
The two reached the castle, and Sir Tiernan was lead through the battlement corridors to the front gate. After his time in the darkness, the sun seemed too bright to be borne, yet he was thrust out onto the road, where stood Sirs Rhyer and Nacketel. As promised, the guard clubbed Sir Tiernan roughly in the back, then returned to the castle. The waiting guards grabbed the despondent knight, bound him tightly, and prodded him forward before the horses as the procession headed towards the town.
All along the road the people were gathered, and they followed to the town square, where Lords Fralis and Petrik were waiting. Sir Tiernan was untied and thrown to the ground, where Sir Rhyer kept himself busy, beating his enemy. Finally, Samson hauled the young knight back, but not before he slammed Sir Tiernan’s head into the stone one final time.
“Sir Tiernan Bain, criminal and traitor against the land of Hollon, stand before your accusers! You are the defeated, and we, the victors. Look, faithful and loyal subjects, look upon your enemy, the infernal and mad Sir Tiernan!”
For once, it was Lord Petrik that was speaking, and not the silver-tongued Lord Fralis. He waved his hand, sending Samson and Sir Rhyer forward to bind Sir Tiernan to a post at the center of the square.
“Speak, Sir Tiernan, you dog!” Lord Petrik hit him squarely in the face. “I hear no words, no worm-speak crawling from your mouth, what, have you finally fallen silent as you should have long ago?”
“So…it was you. I had always thought…Lord Fralis was the one…to betray the king.”
“I am king now!”
More was spoken, though Sir Tiernan had fallen into a stupor, and remembered only the roar of voices and the searing sun. Stones were thrown at one point, yet the pain felt only as a slight breeze which half-wakens a sleeping man. In the night, in the cool and soothing dusk, they cut him down. He became aware of being dragged down the dungeon stair, and of the door slamming.
Fevered dreams tormented him, and Sir Tiernan lay burning on the bed, crying out for those who were but as spirits. Dame Aaran, Ladies Abigail and Rosemary, Lady Katherine; they all came before him. The betrayed knight begged Sir Tiernan to believe that the Pride were infernalists, the long-dead sisters warned him that the most dangerous battle was still to come, and the banished Lady Katherine reassured him that he would survive if he only believed in his own valor.
After hours, at the next dawn, Sir Tiernan was again taken to the town square, and the previous day played itself out again. Through all, he remained in his coma, seeing only some far-off promise that he could never quite remember when he tried to grasp it wholly. Merciful night came again, and he woke, truly woke, in the dungeons again.
A chill wind blew in from the tunnel, and he crawled towards it, wanted only to quell the fire that consumed him. The sweat on his brow dried, and he leaned against the bars. How many eternities had passed since the night he’d been shot down in the forest? To Sir Tiernan, it no longer mattered. The breeze, sweet zephyr from the catacombs, played over his face and ruffed his matted hair. Whispers echoed.
Come unto me, Tiernan. Live no longer in your tortured shell, and come unto I who would be your master. Come unto Almeranth.
Violently, he threw himself back. Darkness and shadow played across his vision, and Sir Tiernan lost himself once more to the voices and shades of nightmares.
The voyage through the Outlands has been long, and though Lord Sepon was heartened to reach Hollon, he was also gripped by foreboding. He and his escort had seen no man on their way to the castle, and Lord Fralis himself met the king of Righen at the front gates. The sun was setting, and as he crossed the great drawbridge, Lord Sepon glanced up and could have sworn that Hollon Tower was truly a shade darker than he remembered.
There was a great feast that night in honor of the visiting lord, and the Pride assured him that the parley would begin the next day. Alone in his chambers, Lord Sepon took occasion to write to his brothers in Righen.
Fainden and Tiernan,
I have finally come to Hollon, and am sheltering at the castle, where our council will take place at sunrise. Though it was my whim when I came to the kingdom, I now feel that perhaps a peace can be reached with the Pride, and we may one day come to trust these once-enemies. No malice has been brought against myself, and I pray that concord will hold. This news, I hope, will come as great relief and solace to you, my dear brothers. Should fate be with us, this letter will reach you before I return from Hollon.
~ Sepon
In the morning, bright and clear, Lord Fralis, speaking for the kingdom and the Pride, held council with Lord Sepon in the grand hall of the castle. Two guards were posted at the door, and it was said that they kept parley throughout the day.
At dawn, the guards brought the weakened Sir Tiernan to the courtyard at the heart of Hollon castle. Only the Pride, excepting Lord Fralis, were present. Not one of them touched him, however. It was Samson who bound him to the cross, and Sir Tiernan found himself wondering absently why nails were not driven through his hands and feet, for they seemed to be crucifying him.
“I am to…die now. Is that…why you dragged me here?”
“Why should it be of matter to you? We are going to crush Righen and kill the king and people, and nothing you might do will prevent that!” Sir Rhyer smiled arrogantly, intoxicated and aroused by his own power.
Leering, Lord Petrik stood over the cross. “Repent, you traitor! Swear your fealty to your kingdom and the Pride of Hollon!”
“I swear my fealty to the people of Hollon, and its true ruler, the fallen King Damian!”
Roaring in fury, Lord Petrik kicked him repeatedly. “Stand him, and leave the unrepentant coward to the elements!”
The pain dulled slightly as the cross was righted. The Pride stood jeering as unbridled asses, and Sir Tiernan was overcome with a past and future that might have been. Perhaps he should have stood in support of the young knights when first they came to Hollon. If he had been with them against King Damian, he would dwell peacefully in his beloved kingdom, ally, not enemy, of the Pride. Perchance matters would be as they once were in the idyllic time, long ago. Yes, the meaning of Hollon, the dream of King Damian and the people.
“The dream is dead, long live the dreamer!” Sir Tiernan shouted suddenly, and the stone hit him squarely in the jaw; it no longer mattered which one of them had thrown it.
To what end was valor, chivalry, and integrity? The prize went to the scoundrel at the close of the day, not the honorable knight. Even the sun, shining beacon of hope, baked him on the cross. Sir Tiernan wanted only the cool of night, or death, whichever should find him first.
The council had broke, and after a day of parley, Lord Sepon felt that the Pride could perhaps be trusted allies of Righen. He’d been treated finely by Lord Fralis and the people of Hollon. Surely this would be welcome news to his brothers, but most to Tiernan. Lord Sepon pondered this, for he knew that the death of King Damian and the falling of his kingdom caused great grief to the knight. When he returned to Righen, they two would speak at length, and perhaps Tiernan could be shown the light of this new revelation.
“This way, my good lord.” Lord Fralis walked along with the king of Righen back to the chambers to find his escort. “I assume you will now return to your kingdom?”
“Yes, I am eager to share our truce with my people and court.”
The two strode through the halls of Hollon castle, and the late-day sun shone golden through the small windows. They spoke of minor matters, of rumors of barbaric hordes from beyond the Outlands and such. Lord Sepon halted for a moment.
“What sound was that I heard?”
“Pardon me?”
“I am certain that I heard shouting, a great deal of shouting. I pray that there is no conflict in the castle.”
“Oh, yes. The sounds that you heard were doubtless from the Hollon Festival, take no notice,” purred Lord Fralis, urging the other man further down the corridor.
Lord Sepon brightened. “Ah! The Hollon Festival, I remember it from my youth! Many were the fire-lit nights of revelry when I and my brothers were boys; I think that I shall delay my returning to Righen and make merry with the good people of Hollon.”
“My good Lord Sepon, such is not necessary! Doubtless you wish to see again your own land, and I would suffer to think that I and my kingdom should keep you from it.” Lord Fralis stood rigidly before one of the windows to the castle courtyard.
“Nonsense, my new friend! Do not trouble yourself, Righen can fare for itself for one day more. Oh yes, I remember the courtyard as well. Are the traveling players come again there as in the festivals before?”
As the king tried to see through the window, Lord Fralis blocked him. “I must insist…”
“Why are you preventing me from looking through this window? What are you hiding there?”
Forcefully, Lord Sepon removed the protesting man from his view. He looked down upon the courtyard and saw his brother, unconscious and perhaps dead, crucified, and taunted by the others of the Pride and Samson. The sun began to set.
“Liar! All your overtures of peace meant nothing! To think that I trusted you, vile coward!”
Lord Sepon ran down the corridor and stair, reaching the courtyard. Sirs Rhyer and Nacketel drew their swords and stood between him and Lord Petrik, who drew his as well. For moment upon moment, none moved. A figure rushed out of the shadows and stood by Lord Sepon.
“Fainden! How did you reach Hollon, why did you come?”
The knight drew his sword. “Mary and Lucas came from the Outlands to Righen, and told of all that has passed here. It was Champion upon which Mary rode, saying that she had seen Tiernan. I came because I knew he was in danger.”
“Release my brother and loyal subject at once!”
Lord Petrik stepped forward. “You believe that you might order me? You dare to tell me what I should do? I am king of Hollon, and all shall follow mine orders and none other! Lord Sepon, the little lord. You are an arrogant, pompous, selfish, self-righteous, lying bastard!”
“I see. My trust is revoked. Truly, you and your compatriots are mad or worse, and I believe I know the root of your personal angst. Fainden, cut Tiernan down, and we shall return to Righen.” Sir Fainden stepped forward, checked by Sir Nacketel.
“Come then! Weakling, you are but the simple tool of your brother, and can be bested. I do not fear you.”
Scarlet rage burned in the eyes of Sir Fainden, and in one move, his sword caught that of Sir Nacketel and sent it flying to the north wall of the courtyard. Disarmed, he backed away, and the knight of Righen cut the ropes that bound Sir Tiernan, gently easing him from the cruel cross. Two members of Lord Sepon’s escort arrived and bore the comatose man.
“We have no further business here. I enjoyed the feast presented, but it was just that; lasting for but a night while treachery stands eternal. Should any of you come to my kingdom, you will be treated with justice and honor, but I cannot say that you will be welcome.
Lord Sepon, flanked by Sir Fainden, turned to leave Hollon castle, followed by the escorts and Sir Tiernan, who groaned and seemed to awaken. He stirred and spoke.
“This is no longer the land of bright dreams and I re-christen it ‘Malentor’, the land of black fire!”
The sun set on Hollon as the emissary entered the Outlands bound for Righen. In the days that followed, the people would hear of the gathering of a great army at the behest of the Pride, but ever after, the sun would set over Malentor.
