“Nothing could be further from the truth, Tat; I am just worried about our fate. All of this traveling about has happened so fast. It unnerves me to think we’ve come into the presence of men such as Ianthill, Morgoran, and their apprentices.” He held her close. “I had hoped to ask you to marry me this coming Summerwills day.”
“Oh, Dorenn, that doesn’t have to change.”
“Just hear me out,” he interrupted. He collected his thoughts. “I had hoped to settle down with you and eventually take over running Father’s inn. If Ianthill has his way, we will be far from Brookhaven on Summerwills day.”
“Maybe we should leave,” Tatrice suggested.
“What?”
“We should leave. You, Rennon, Vesperin, and I. Let us flee this place and go back to Brookhaven.”
“I thought of that already, but I don’t believe it would work, Tat. Remember the first time we decided to go home. The Enforcers arrested us. If not for Gondrial and Lady Shey we might not have gotten this far. I wouldn’t want to run into Dramyds without them, would you?”
“No, what do we do then?”
Dorenn smiled, pushed her back and got on one knee.
“Dorenn, what are you doing?”
“Tatrice, I can think of no better time than now to ask you for your hand in marriage. I know it is traditional to ask for your hand from your father, and I promise I will as soon as we get back to Brookhaven. What do you say?”
“Oh Dorenn, I…I think this is a bad time to-”
“FIRE!” someone shouted from the hallway. “Everyone get out while you can!”
“Come on, Tatrice,” Dorenn said, grabbing hold of Tatrice’s hand.
As the two exited the room, they could see the flames for the first time coming up the stairway, blocking them in. Vesperin and Rennon joined them in the hallway. “Get your things,” Dorenn shouted, “and come to the far end of the hall.”
At the end of the hall, Dorenn opened the small window, and one by one, he threw their belongings out onto the lawn. “I saw a trellis here when we arrived. We should be able to climb down it.” The four friends climbed out of the window and made the short leap to the trellis as the flames inched closer to them.
The first to reach the bottom of the trellis, Dorenn turned to run for help and came face to face with a Dramyd. The foul beast bared its teeth and claws. Dorenn reached for his sword, but he had not buckled it on. Panic began to well up inside him.
“Run, Dorenn!” Tatrice shouted from the trellis. Dorenn prepared for the coming claw and teeth attack, but to his surprise, the Dramyd stayed its ground and screeched to alert the other Dramyds lurking in the darkness. Dorenn heard the singing of a sword, and he watched in shock as the Dramyd’s head sailed over him. Standing behind the fallen body of the decapitated Dramyd was Bren, his two swords drawn and gleaming in the moonlight. The firelight especially illuminated his eyes, which now appeared with slits as pupils, like that of a dragon. “Run to the docks, run!”
Vesperin and Rennon took off running as soon as their feet touched ground.
Bren helped Tatrice down from the trellis. “Ianthill and Lady Shey are near the road.” He pointed to the general direction. “Either find them or run to the docks.”
Dorenn, took a hold Tatrice’s hand and ran in the direction the broodlord had pointed.
Dorenn noticed several dead Dramyds lying about. He spotted Ianthill and ran to him. “What happened here?”
“We sensed the Dramyds attacking, and we engaged them. We didn’t know about or see the fire in time to warn you fast enough. Gondrial is searching the area, and the townspeople will arrive soon to help put out the flames. May I assume Rennon and Vesperin made it too?” Ianthill asked.
“Aye, they made it out of the building at least. I think Bren is going after them down to the docks,” Dorenn replied.
Dorenn observed Ianthill holding the tome Lady Shey had brought with her from Symbor. “We have to get to the docks and leave as soon as we can. This fire and these dead Dramyds will raise concerns and questions from the townsfolk that I dare not answer. Here, Dorenn, take Tatrice and Lady Shey and head for the dock. Moored to the seventh peer is a ship called The Sea Goddess. Go aboard and rouse the captain. His name is Felladan; tell him to make ready. I will round up the others and meet you there shortly. Tell him I want the ship to pull away from the docks as soon as I arrive.”
Dorenn nodded and then grabbed some of the equipment he had tossed out of the window. He searched for his sword, Dranmalin, but it was nowhere in the things he had tossed out the window. Tatrice and Lady Shey gathered up the rest of the equipment. Just as the weight of the packs began to slow them down, Rennon and Vesperin joined them and helped ease the burden. Dorenn looked at the flames and wished for his sword. A moment later the blade came sailing through the flames and pierced the ground before him, smoldering and hot. Wispy strands of white smoke rolled off it.
“Come on, Dorenn!” Tatrice called back.
Dorenn tested the hilt of Dranmalin and found it cool to the touch. “hmm,” he said to himself. He grabbed the hilt and followed after Tatrice and the others.
At the docks, Dorenn scanned the ships in berth. “Keep an eye out for a ship called The Sea Goddess,” he told Rennon. “It is moored to the seventh peer, wherever that is.”
“The Sea Goddess it is,” Rennon replied.
As they reached the docks, Vesperin spotted the ship, and the small party made their way toward it.
“Ahoy, Captain Felladan,” Dorenn shouted as they ran aboard ship. “Rouse the ship. Ianthill says make ready for sail.”
“Who goes there?” a deep, raspy voice answered.
“Friends of Ianthill. Prepare the ship for sail.”
The captain came out of his cabin still in his underclothes and started ringing a bell. Soon the ship was alive with activity.
“Keep the lights low, men; we travel out of the harbor in silence,” the captain shouted.
Dorenn wondered why the captain was making so much noise if he wanted to leave silently. He decided the man was either still sleepy or just not that intelligent to begin with.
Soon Ianthill, Bren, and Gondrial arrived, and the captain gave the order for the ship to leave the docks. Surprisingly, the ship did move rather silently once released from its moorings.
Dorenn could see the fire burning in the distance until the ship finally drifted out to sea. He wondered if the other buildings around Ianthill’s house had caught fire too.
Naneden stepped over the charred body of Dredor as he left his study.
“Clean that up,” he said to a maid as he passed her in the hall, “and make sure someone buries it, not just toss it away like the last one.” The maid hid her horror and managed to curtsy in acknowledgement.
As he entered his private gardens, Naneden sniffed the air. Rain clouds were gathering above. A storm is brewing, he thought. He plucked a red flower with large petals from a bush nearby and inhaled its fragrance. A slight rustling in the adjoining bushes made Naneden’s eyes narrow as he realized he was not alone. He inhaled the flower once more before he finally spoke. “The attack has failed, has it not?”
A voice that sounded as if someone were trying to speak while swallowing a stone issued from the bushes. “I fear what you ask is so, my lord.”
“What good are Dramyds if simple boys from a desolate mountain village can defeat them so handily?”
“They have some powerful help, my lord,” the voice said.
The flower in Naneden’s hand began to die and decay rapidly, turning to dust and falling between his fingers. “So do I, Drasmyd Duil, and I was under the impression that your underlings could defeat the help these boys have acquired. Will you force me to get involved? Do I have to illustrate to you what dark magic can do?”
The Drasmyd Duil cackled, which made even Naneden take a step back. “You need me, and I will deliver. Already our trap waits.”
Naneden felt a shiver as the creature gurgled
and began flapping its leathery wings as it took flight. A sudden flash of lightning silhouetted the creature briefly in the stormy skies. “Fool thing. Toborne the Destroyer may have created them, but so far I am not impressed with the mighty, fearsome Drasmyd Duil or their underlings.” His nose twitched as he rounded back toward the castle. “I will have to create my own minions. Aye, I believe it is time.” Naneden clasped his hands together and snickered to himself as he entered the castle. He rushed through the corridors quickly before the paintings hanging in the hall had time to stare at him.
Chapter 30: Seeds of Prophecy
The early autumn sun beat down relentlessly on the decks of the sail ship The Sea Goddess, reflecting light and sparse heat onto Dorenn and Tatrice as they stood looking at the Adracorian coast. The foliage along the coast was still lush and green; the tree line stood like an impenetrable wall between land and sea. Due to unusually strong currents, the captain had decided to hug the Trigothian coastline on route to the Sythian forest. Reports of raging storms farther out to sea also insured him that he was making the right decision.
Both Sythia and Adracoria were once part of a great empire, but now each kingdom stood as individual monarchies with only the traditional Trigothian cultures in common. Ianthill had told Dorenn about the Trigothian civil wars and the splitting up of the empire after they had set sail the night before. Although Dorenn found the subject interesting, Ianthill did not seem to require sleep, and Dorenn was exhausted so much of the history went unheard.
This morning, Dorenn loitered on the deck near the bow of the ship. At his left, Rennon fished over the side. Rennon had traded one of the crewmembers a bag of tabac for a fishing pole. He had caught several good-sized fish in the two days since they had fled from Adrontear; he cleaned them and served them for evening meals. Dorenn found the change in menu refreshing. Vesperin was stowed away down below, performing deep meditative prayer in his cabin. Dorenn was glad that the cleric had finally gotten his sea legs. On the first day, Dorenn felt Vesperin might not make it to the Great Sythian Forest. His bout of seasickness had taken on legendary status among the sailors. Tatrice strolled the deck at Dorenn’s right, her sandy golden hair gently blowing in the salt sea air. She had not yet answered his question, and he was becoming increasingly concerned. He thought back to the night of the fire a hundred times over, analyzing the moment. Did he see excitement in her face that night, or was she about to turn him down? He also thought that maybe she would have revisited the subject by now, if she had intended to answer yes.
“What is it?” Tatrice asked, noticing his faraway gaze. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” Dorenn replied, deciding to leave the subject alone long enough to give her time to think it out. At least, that’s what he told himself.
Ianthill appeared behind them. “Dorenn; I have been looking for you all over the ship.”
“Well, the ship isn’t that big, Ianthill.”
“Ah, you are so right,” Ianthill regarded Tatrice. “However do you put up with him?”
“He makes me laugh. Not that he’s particularly funny on purpose, but the fact that he doesn’t know he’s funny is what I love about him.” She kissed Dorenn lightly on the cheek. “I will leave you two to your business and go find Lady Shey and Enowene,” she said, then disappeared down into the hold.
Ianthill leaned farther against the wooden railing to observe Rennon fishing. “He caught supper yet?” Ianthill asked, producing his long-stemmed pipe from beneath his robes and stuffing the bowl full of tabac.
“I have not seen any fish yet, but I suspect he will catch a few before the hour rolls around.”
Ianthill eyed the sky suspiciously. “If the weather holds he should have plenty of time.”
Dorenn nodded.
“Is there anything you wish to tell me?” Ianthill asked, still stuffing the pipe.
“What do you mean?” Dorenn replied.
“About you and Tatrice,” Ianthill said, pointing the stem of the pipe to the direction Tatrice had gone before.
“No, not particularly. Why do you ask?”
“I am no fool, you know. I have been around for some time. You two have been back and forth since we left.” He stared out into the sea. “Something weighs heavy on her mind, and yours too, I think.” He put the unlit pipe to his mouth and puffed a few hard tugs. The pipe lit even though he put no visible flame to it. “You know, I once loved one such as Tatrice.”
Dorenn was stunned. “You?”
Ianthill grinned. “I am old, my lad, but not dead.” He puffed white smoke into the air. “This girl I fell in love with was a beauty. She was tall and thin, with eyes of greenish-yellow and hair of gold.”
“Was she from Arillia?” Dorenn asked.
“Nay, she was Sylvan. Have you ever seen a Sylvan elf?”
“No, I have seen Arillian and Darovan, but never Sylvan. I did read once that they never leave their forest.”
“Oh, they leave the forest, but not without good cause,” Ianthill said in between puffs. His mind seemed to wander for a moment before he spoke again. “Sylvan elves have olive skin, you know, not as fair as the Arillian.”
Dorenn knew of the elves’ long life span. “Does your Sylvan elf maiden still reside in the forest? In the Great Sythian Forest, I mean.”
“Aye, I expect she does. She has long since married before you go getting any ideas, but we will most likely see her. In a few days, we will dock at Crystalmill, the village at the edge of the forest, and from there we will travel to the city of Endil known in common tongue as Foreshome. The dock lies on the very outskirts of the Great Sythian Forest, and the journey to Endil will be long.”
“Did you have something specific you wanted to discuss with me, Ianthill,” Dorenn asked, “or have you come to discuss long lost loves?”
Ianthill sighed. “Gondrial tells me you and Tatrice are very close.”
“Aye, that is true.”
“How close, Dorenn? Would I be safe to say you plan to ask her hand in marriage?”
Dorenn’s surprise was apparent. “Did Tatrice say something to you about it?”
“Oh no, lad, it’s just a guess.”
Dorenn looked at Ianthill apprehensively. “What is this all about?”
“I would urge you to curb your affections for Tatrice for the time being.”
“It is too late, Ianthill, I have already asked her.”
Ianthill puffed his pipe. “What was her answer then?”
Dorenn lowered his head. “She has not given it to me yet.”
“Then it is beginning,” Ianthill whispered, and Dorenn was unsure of whether he was supposed to hear him.
“You are making me nervous, Ianthill. What are you not telling me?”
Ianthill shifted his weight against the rail, searching for the right words to express what he wanted to say. “You have an important destiny. I can’t tell you much about it at present, because I don’t know everything about it myself yet, but I know you do.”
Is it because I am a descendant of nobility from Ardenia?
“You know about that already do you. That’s good, but it’s not the whole picture. There is a seed of the prophesy in Asheth’s Grimoire, even the counterfeit copy, that talks about a son of the Jagged Mountains taking in all the souls of all the men before him to defeat the greatest evil.”
“What does that mean?”
“I am afraid that no one knows for certain. The theory is that this person will have all the souls of man behind him, backing him up to help defeat evil, but it’s only a theory. The book also says something about this person being good nor evil, but again, after one thousand seasons, no one understands the book’s meaning. When we get the real tome, I want you to look at it. Many of the magic tomes of the world are only readable and decipherable by the person intended to read it. If that’s you, it may speak to you where it doesn’t to others.”
“I look forward to it.”
Ianthill puffed his pi
pe. “Now, back to my original line of inquiry, I just cannot see Tatrice as an integral part of your destiny.”
Dorenn huffed. “Destiny! Destiny is what you make of it. What destiny are you talking about? A few words in a dusty old tome doesn’t speak to my destiny any more than it does Vesperin’s or Rennon’s. You speak of a tome that no one understands and you have no idea of whether it refers to me or not, and let me be honest, I think not. I will marry Tatrice if I choose and no silly superstition will dissuade me.”
Ianthill puffed his pipe once more. “You have great potential within you; all I ask is that you don’t deny it to yourself. You have the ability to harness the essence of the land, if only you would accept it.”
“What are you suggesting, Ianthill? That I become a wielder?” He pounded his fist on the wooden railing, allowing his bottled up emotions to surface. “I will never take the path of a wielder over a life with Tatrice.” Even as the words left his mouth he knew they were false. He had secretly been fascinated with wielding all of his life. He was just too afraid to admit it to anyone.
After a long, uncomfortable silence, Ianthill spoke. “Go and do as you will, Dorenn, but you cannot deny your destiny. Sooner or later, it will have its way with you,” he said, puffing on his pipe. He gave Dorenn a cold stare and then backed away toward the hold.
“Crazy old elf,” Dorenn mumbled to himself, “trying to get me into trouble.” Dorenn looked at the coastline again and noticed the ship was coming in closer to shore. Ahead he could see a city and the masts and sails of ships in port. He saw that a crewmember was preparing the mooring ropes nearby.
“What city is this?” Dorenn asked him.
The crewmember looked up. “That be Port Arovan. I s’pect we’ll be stopping there.”
“We’re putting into port then?”
“Aye, I just told you so. We always sail into Port Arovan and exchange cargos. We’ll be here a day or two.”
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