Defenders of the Sacred Land: Expanded and Re-Issued (The Sacred Land Legacy Book 1)

by Mark E. Tyson

  “I don’t think so; they seem to be checking the narrow alleyways and docks.”

  “Good,” he said, dusting his breeches off. “I was hoping to ride fast enough and far enough ahead to get past them.”

  “What is it, Gondrial? Why do you need to avoid the guard here?” Dorenn asked.

  “It’s a long story, lad. One day I may tell it, but today is not that day.”

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?” Rennon asked.

  “Well, you could say that, but I prefer to think of it as…” he paused, “a disagreement.” He smiled a sarcastic grin. “I may let you two know someday, but today is not that day, and I grow tired of repeating myself.” He turned aft. “Suffice it to say I had a loose end to tie up.” He wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

  “He has fallen in with the queen and the king isn’t happy about it. That’s the entirety of his…secret.” Shey said. “There is nothing mysterious about it.” She went back to gazing over the side of the ship.

  Gondrial shrugged. “There you go.” He went back down below.

  Rain began to fall as the ship lumbered out to sea, forcing Dorenn and Rennon to pull their cloaks tight around themselves. Vesperin met his friends on deck, as the ship reached rougher waters. The three decided to go inside, after a while, to get in from the changing weather.

  Dorenn woke to shouts and a ringing bell. Two days had passed since the Sea Hag had left the port of Symbor, and from the commotion on deck, they were nearing the port of Adrontear in southern Adracoria. The storm from two nights ago had blown them to their destination sooner than anticipated. Dorenn quickly dressed himself and met Vesperin, Rennon, and Tatrice on deck. None of them had ever been out of Symboria, and the chance to see a new port made the four tingle with excitement and anticipation.

  At first, Dorenn could not make out the lighthouse of Adrontear, but as the ship drew nearer, he saw the immensity of it. On a rocky cliff, the lighthouse stood to let ships navigate the rocky enclosure to the port. It stood as a pure stone spire, stretching upward and outward. Its grey appearance gleamed in the morning sun, and its white cap reflected out to sea. The port itself was much different from the one in Symbor. Twice the number of ships lined its docks. Dorenn counted more than two dozen different designs. The wharf was painted a brilliant white instead of the dingy brown of Symbor, and the merchant houses were cleaner and painted with bright blues and greens.

  The Sea Hag docked near a merchant ship twice the size of the Tiger’s Head Inn and just as tall. “I never dreamed a port could be so…” Dorenn began.

  “Beautiful,” Tatrice finished.

  “And elegant. Look at the woodwork on the railing of the wharf,” Vesperin said.

  “This is where we depart,” Lady Shey said. “Gondrial is taking care of our baggage, so we can go ahead and meet Ianthill.”

  “Where is Ianthill?” Tatrice asked.

  Lady Shey looked around the docks for a moment and then pointed. “That’s him, right over there.”

  All four turned and squinted to see the ancient wielder.

  “You mean the man in the ragged hat?” Rennon asked.

  “Well, the correct term would be elf in the ragged hat, but yes. That is Ianthill.”

  Dorenn could not make out the features of the elf at first, but as the dock master pointed Ianthill toward the Sea Hag and he approached, his features became clearer. He wore crimson red robes and smoked a long pipe. His ragged brown, wide-brimmed hat sat on top of his white and blond-haired head. He walked with a dark red wooden staff with a large crimson crystal affixed to the top. He wore no facial hair, but as he came nearer, Dorenn could see his hair was of some length.

  “Greetings, Lady Shey.” He took her hand and kissed it. “It has been far too long.”

  Lady Shey curtsied. “Well met, Keeper of the Isle. I trust you are well.”

  “Aye, I am as well as a young stag on a spring day, and what of you?”

  “I am well, thank you.”

  Ianthill looked at the ship, his blue eyes sparkling in the morning sun. “Where is that rebellious apprentice of mine?” he asked.

  “I am here, my master,” Gondrial said as he left the gangplank. “I see you still have poor eyesight even for an elf. I thought we were done with this ‘apprentice master’ nonsense.”

  “I could see a flea on a mutt too leagues past you, and you know it. As far as you being my equal that is yet to be seen.” He laughed. “Oh, Gondrial, my boy, it does me good to look upon you.” Ianthill embraced Gondrial.

  “And you, Master, don’t look a day over two thousand.”

  Ianthill patted Gondrial on the shoulder and then noticed the four companions staring at him. “Well, well, who do we have here? You are obviously a cleric of Loracia,” he said to Vesperin.

  “Aye, my lord,” Vesperin said bowing.

  “I am old, but I am not a lord, young cleric. Ianthill will suit me just fine.”

  “As you wish, Ianthill,” Vesperin said, bowing again.

  Ianthill held Tatrice’s hand and kissed it. “And you, my lass?”

  “I am Tatrice of Brookhaven.”

  “Splendid.” Ianthill moved to Rennon.

  “I am Rennon of Brookhaven, sir.”

  “Excellent,” Ianthill remarked. “A polite bunch,” he said to Gondrial.

  “And what is your name, lad?” he said to Dorenn.

  “I am Dorenn of Brookhaven.”

  “I see. Pleased to meet you Dorenn of Brookhaven. I have heard much about you.”

  Dorenn bowed.

  “Well, gather your things and follow me to my dwelling. We have work to do.” The elf clicked his crimson staff on the wooden dock and moved ahead without waiting for anyone else to follow.

  Gondrial had loaded the horse he brought as a beast of burden, and Dorenn fell in beside Gondrial.

  “He wears robes, carries a staff, and looks the part of a wielder,” Dorenn whispered.

  “Aye, what did you expect?” Gondrial answered.

  “Isn’t magic outlawed in Adracoria?’

  “Hmm,” Gondrial nodded. “I follow where you are leading. Ianthill is Keeper of the Isle. The same isle where the most powerful and feared wielders were exiled to after the War of the Oracle. He can come and go as he pleases; no Enforcer would dare try to stop him. After the first couple of centuries or so after the war, they no longer bothered to keep an eye on him.”

  “Centuries? I know elves live for long periods of time, but how old is he?”

  “Old.”

  “How old?”

  Gondrial rubbed his chin. “The last time Enowene and I tried to figure it out, he was about nine thousand seasons old, but recently we found an account of him helping King Fet A’ador arrange the marriage of his daughter to the King of Lux Amarou, which would put him closer to twelve thousand.”

  “Seasons,” Dorenn said stunned.

  Gondrial laughed. “Aye, Ianthill was one of the original disciples to the gods, as were Morgoran and Toborne. Do you not have an account of history in Brookhaven?”

  “We do, but I never studied it.”

  “Why not?”

  Dorenn shrugged. “I can’t say. I suppose I found it uninteresting.”

  Gondrial was shocked. “I suggest you read the histories. It will help you on your journeys.”

  Dorenn nodded, and the two quickened their pace to catch up with the others.

  Ianthill led them through the city streets to a row of buildings overlooking the docks and ocean. The street was one of wealth and influence judging by its splendor and architecture. The building Ianthill stopped in front of had marble steps leading to an arched porch with stone spires. The whole of the building was painted a light brown with white trim at the windows and doors. A man dressed in a blue overcoat came and took the horse.

  “Find out what belongings belong with whom and have everything cleaned and polished and brought to their rooms, Kerick.”

  “At once, Master Ianthill,”
the man in blue said.

  “Gondrial, bring the boys to my study as soon as Mavis shows them their rooms.”

  “Aye, Master,” Gondrial replied.

  Ianthill disappeared into the house as a large woman dressed in servants clothing halted them at the doorway.

  “You still remember where your room is, Master Gondrial, I presume. Or has your brain been so pickled by ale you cannot remember?”

  “Mistress Mavis, so good to see you. I assume you have fully stocked the cellar with my favorites.”

  The round-faced woman’s stern look turned to one of jovial bliss. “And I will be helping you drink it.” The two embraced in a hug.

  “Let me show the young masters to their rooms, and you can take them to the study. Master Ianthill has been up near a week pouring over text in anticipation of this meeting.” Mavis turned to look at Tatrice. “And I suppose you would like a nice hot bath with sweet soaps and a dash of perfume.”

  Tatrice’s face lit up. “Oh, very much so, mistress. I have not had a proper bath since Cedar Falls.”

  “Come along then,” Mavis directed. She stopped beside Dorenn. “Don’t worry, you filthy boys will be next!” After Mavis showed them to their rooms, Gondrial took the boys down the hall to Ianthill’s study while Mavis took Tatrice to the baths.

  At the end of the hall stood wooden double doors carved with mosaics of ships and sea monsters. This end of the hall was somewhat dark, but as soon as Gondrial opened the doors, rich, natural light poured into the hall from the study. Ianthill’s study dwarfed the common room of the Tiger’s Head Inn in comparison. Bookshelves lined either side with a large desk centered under towering, glass windows. Two large divans were positioned at an angle in front of the desk, and a long table with eight chairs stood between the divans and the double doors.

  “Welcome to Adrontear,” Ianthill said. “Come and have a seat while we wait for Lady Shey and Enowene.”

  Dorenn, Vesperin, and Rennon walked to the divans and made themselves comfortable while Gondrial headed for a small table near the window and began packing a pipe.

  “Good idea, Gondrial,” Ianthill said. “Pack me one as well, will you?”

  The doors opened again, and Lady Shey entered carrying the tome she and Gondrial had taken from Symbor. “Sorry I’m late.” Enowene followed in behind her.

  “Not at all, Shey, you are right on time. The boys have just arrived.”

  Dorenn felt the same strange feeling he had experienced in Signal Hill for a moment, as if the events he was witnessing were somehow wrong. He felt uneasy and squirmed briefly in his seat until he realized Rennon was watching him inquisitively. Dorenn shook his head to let Rennon know it was nothing of his concern.

  Lady Shey took the book and put it on Ianthill’s desk before she sat down on an empty divan.

  Ianthill opened the tome and poured over its pages and then slammed it shut with dissatisfaction. “Useless, I am afraid, my lady,” he said. “Naneden has placed this tome as a decoy. He has the original already in his possession.”

  “But the spells within worked, Master Ianthill. I used them,” Lady Shey said.

  Ianthill opened the tome again. “Oh, yes, work they do, but they are of limited usefulness, Naneden has seen to that. This book is little more than a novelty. The real spell is hundreds of times more powerful than this one.” He slammed it shut again. “Placed to throw us off the trail of the real tome for months. We have to step up our plans a bit.”

  “You mean we are to begin the training?” Gondrial asked.

  “Aye, Gondrial, it is time for preparation. We may already be too late. The Drasmyd Duil are already on the prowl, looking for our young men here.”

  “This should be good,” Gondrial said as he lit his pipe. He packed a second pipe and handed it to Ianthill.

  “Do you boys have any idea of the situation Symboria is in?” Ianthill asked.

  The boys looked at each other with puzzled expressions before Rennon finally spoke up. “Soldiers have been coming to Brookhaven whispering something about a coming war and possible invasion, but that rumor has been around as long as I can remember. Scarovia never makes good on the threat.”

  “Rightly so, young Rennon,” Ianthill said as he searched for a book on his bookshelves. “Dark minions called Drasmyd Duil have visited Brookhaven of late. These creatures where created by Toborne using ancient magic. Their numbers are few the last I heard. There are many more Dramyds than there are Drasmyd Duil to lead them. Their purpose is to gather what information they can and report back to Naneden.” He selected a blue bound book and held it into the air, showing he had found what he was searching for, and he placed it on his desk. “This prophecy I open on my desk tells of the last and only hope of our known world.”

  “What kind of prophecy?” Rennon asked. “How can the future be revealed by a book? Rennon held his hand up to his mouth in a mocking drinking gesture as he looked at Dorenn.

  Dorenn chuckled.

  Ianthill raised an eyebrow at Rennon.

  Rennon stood up in anger. “I will not sit down and shut my mouth. I will not stand here and be insulted.”

  Ianthill smiled smugly. “How did you know what I was thinking Rennon? I spoke no words.”

  Vesperin gasped. “He’s right. He did not speak.”

  “A trick, a simple trick he played,” Rennon insisted.

  “Trick! Tricks and sleight of hand, is that it, boy?” Ianthill’s words were venomous. “Sit down and hold your tongue, or did I not speak clearly enough?”

  Rennon stood steadfast in defiance.

  Ianthill’s eyes narrowed. He exhaled a puff of white smoke, and Rennon sank down onto the divan.

  “Prophecy is just that, my boy, a prediction. Nothing in this world is an absolute certainty.” Ianthill took another puff of his pipe. “However, prophecy does give us a map to follow when hope fails us.” He stood and looked out of his window to the bustling port in the distance below. “Hope is failing us.” He turned back to his desk and the tome.

  “How so. Master?” Gondrial asked.

  Ianthill closed his eyes. “The situation has become grave. Naneden possesses a power capable of granting him his goals. We are but a few, and we have to contend with madness, stupidity, and children.”

  “Master, I realize we are few, but I have seen the potential in these simple folk from the mountains. Their upbringing is working against them, but I do believe there is hope in them yet,” Gondrial said.

  “I trust your faith in them is warranted, my friend,” Ianthill said, sitting behind his desk. He opened the book and read aloud. “In times of darkness, the land will divide once again, and from this division the Silver Drake will be called to action for the search of a new high king. Once her decision is made, there will be five and then seven.”

  “That’s a bit cryptic, isn’t it, Master?” Gondrial said.

  “Hold on, it becomes clearer,” Ianthill said with a grin. “A boy will be brought to life by the gods combined will, another will unite the realms of forgotten lore, still another, of finer grace, will bring the knights of the drakes. The last shall reunite the knights of men.” Ianthill stopped and looked directly at Gondrial. “We need more time, and Naneden’s army stands ready.” Ianthill’s gaze became distant for a moment. “I don’t suppose you have a plan to stop an army from invading?” Ianthill said.

  “Ha,” Gondrial laughed. “And they say elves have no sense of humor.”

  “You do not have a plan then?” Ianthill asked.

  Gondrial sighed. “According to Enowene, Naneden’s army waits just over the Jagged Mountains, and if he has the tome, he will send his army to the heart of the Sacred Land while the hapless army of the West waits in the north and south passes. He will take the Sacred Land for himself before anyone can stop him. In addition, the Enforcers and even the general citizens will fight the use of wielders to aid them. Once Naneden has the Sacred Land, we will not have the power to dethrone him. Even if I had a pla
n, how would I implement it in time? I was hoping you would have a plan.”

  “Why is the Sacred Land so important?” Dorenn asked. “I thought it was a blackened wasteland. I have never understood why the Defenders patrol and guard it anyhow.”

  “Have you ever cleared a field of grass by fire, Dorenn?” Enowene asked.

  “Aye, I have seen it done many times. Why?”

  “What happens after you burn the field grass?”

  “It comes back greener than before.”

  “There is your answer, Dorenn,” Gondrial said. “The War of the Oracle took place a thousand seasons ago, and the wielders stripped the land, now known as the Sacred Land, of all its magical essence, drawing upon it to fight the battle. No wielder has been able to draw much essence from the Sacred Land since the war. Now, after a thousand seasons, its essence will return, only it will be many times stronger than it ever was before. Whoever controls that land when the essence returns will rule absolutely.”

  “That is why we must take action. We have waited for far too long and underestimated Naneden,” Ianthill said, returning the book of prophecy back to the shelf.

  “There is one hope. If we could persuade the Defenders of the Sacred Land to aid us, we may be able to buy the armies some time to react to an invasion. After all, the Defenders are supposed to protect the Sacred Land from ill will,” Gondrial suggested.

  Ianthill puffed his pipe as he thought. “I can think of a few allies in the Sacred Land that may help us. The Defenders may not be strong enough in numbers to do much good against an invading army for long.” Ianthill took a deep breath. “We need to protect our interests and hide Dorenn and his friends away for now.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” Dorenn spoke up. “I still do not understand our involvement. If you need strong men to join the Defenders in the fight to save Symboria and the Sacred Land, then we need to join the armies of the West and do our part. Hiding us away makes no sense. We could contribute much more by fighting.”