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

by Mark E. Tyson

  “Melias, let the boy go and join us in the chamber after you stable those horses,” Gragar commanded. The hooded monk released Dorenn and led the horses away.

  “Foolish boy, that is a warrior monk of Fawlsbane Vex.” Dicarion laughed as he walked by Dorenn. Two more monks took the reins of the remaining mounts. Dorenn retrieved Dranmalin and followed behind Vesperin and Rennon into the monastery, his head bowed to avoid looking at them. He was thankful his friends did not say a word.

  Vetell Fex was not at all what Dorenn had imagined based on the monastery’s outward appearance. The rough stone walls were polished and strong, but they were plain and brownish grey. Huge rooms and chambers, which contained almost no furniture, opened up along long halls. The monastery was somewhat gloomy, and Dorenn could see in the faces of his friends that he was not the only one who thought so. Vesperin’s childlike awe had been replaced with a slight scowl as if he had just sniffed a foul odor. Rennon carried a blank expression as if he were unimpressed. Gondrial eyed every nook and cranny, searching for any clues to Lady Shey’s whereabouts. At last, Gragar led them to an immense chamber with light and heat emanating from two huge braziers. In the center of the chamber was a large, rectangular oak table that reminded Dorenn of an eating hall rather than a meeting hall. Gragar motioned for the party to sit, and they did. Ianthill sat to Gragar’s left since Gragar sat at the head of the table.

  After a few moments of idle chat about the weather and the state of Symboria, Ianthill spoke. “Forgive my boldness, lord of the monastery, but have you any prisoners in your dungeon I should know of?”

  Gragar was startled for a moment. “A few heretics awaiting trial at the hands of the Enforcers, but no one important. Why do you ask?”

  Ianthill’s eyes narrowed, and he moved in closer to Gragar. “You are not holding Lady Sheyna in your prison are you?”

  Gragar was shocked and defensive. “Certainly not!” He glanced at Gondrial for a moment. “Even if the Enforcers had brought her here, I would have refused to hold her, and if I did receive her, it would only be to set her free. No, Ianthill, I do not have Lady Sheyna here.”

  Ianthill sat back in his wooden chair, his tone was almost a whisper. “I never mentioned the Enforcers,” he said. “I never mentioned them at all.”

  Gragar’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake. “Ianthill, I speak the truth, I never saw her.” He paused. “But I did hear of her capture.”

  “Then why didn’t you say so!” Gondrial interrupted. “Why the lies?” Ianthill motioned for Gondrial to sit down. “I’ll handle this,” Ianthill said. He turned back to Gragar. Sweat formed on Gragar’s brow. Dorenn could feel Ianthill’s anger as well as Gragar’s apprehension.

  “Well, Gragar, I await your explanation,” Ianthill said in hushed tones.

  “All right, I shall tell you what you wish to know. Yarbrille has her. He came to me with her, and I refused to imprison her just as I said I would. He was angry with me when I told him to set her free. I assume they hold her at Brightonhold Keep. It is the only place they could take her.”

  “By thunder, Palanon tricked us!” Ianthill said angrily. “He sent us on a wild goose chase.” Ianthill pounded the table with his fist. “This has set us back months.” His attention focused on Gragar. “Why did you not tell me this sooner?”

  “Spies, Ianthill, Yarbrille has them in every corner, and I cannot attest for the loyalty of all the monks who reside in the monastery. I have to be careful.”

  “Do you trust any of your monks?” Ianthill asked.

  “Of course I do. I trust Melias, the monk you met when you arrived. He will be joining us momentarily.” As if he heard Gragar’s words, the monk appeared at the doorway. “Ah, here he is now. Come sit down, Melias.”

  The monk sat at the long, wooden table, his hood still drawn over his head. After a moment, he lowered the hood to reveal his face. Dorenn prepared for the horror of the red eyes and was stunned to see they were now green, and the scar did not look so menacing in the light.

  “Melias, I have a task for you to perform. I need you to lead Ianthill and his companions to Brightonhold Keep. Use any force necessary to ensure their safety.” The monk nodded but said nothing. “Take them by the swiftest route.”

  “That is not necessary, Gragar, I can find our way to the keep. You will need every hand here when the Scarovians attack.”

  “If the Scarovians attack, I will handle them. Ianthill, take Melias, it is the least I can do.” Gragar smiled. “I think you will find his skills useful.”

  “I’m sure I would, but—” Ianthill protested.

  “I will not take no for an answer, Ianthill. In time you will come to trust Melias as I have.”

  Ianthill took a long look at Gondrial and then at Dorenn. Dorenn raised an eyebrow hoping Ianthill would interpret it as a sign to use caution. “Very well, we will take you up on your offer. We will leave at first light even if the snow doesn’t let up tonight. Can you lead us through snow, monk?”

  Melias nodded but did not speak.

  “Show us to our rooms, if you don’t mind, Gragar. We have a long day ahead of us in the morrow,” Ianthill said as he looked at Dorenn. He could not be sure, but Dorenn thought Ianthill had gotten his message and was responding with caution in mind.

  Dorenn caught up to Ianthill in the hallway. “Ianthill, what of the Shades?”

  “What of them?”

  “Will they not attack us in the night if we stay here?”

  Dicarion, who was directly behind Dorenn, replied, “Shades are notoriously slow creatures. We are safe for the moment.”

  “I thought you said we underestimated Naneden. Does it not make sense he would improve upon them? Gondrial said they were different than he had even seen before. And why are we spending the night here? We should be making our way to Brightonhold Keep this night.”

  Ianthill grinned. “Spoken like a true leader. Good, good, you demonstrate you do have a brain in that head of yours; however, in this case, we are safe. It would take the whole army to attack this place; the Shades alone cannot defeat the warrior monks of Fawlsbane Vex. And, since it is snowing past nightfall, travel would be slow. It is better to leave at first light.”

  “If you say so, Ianthill,” Dorenn replied. “I pray you are correct.”

  Chapter 41: Gatherings

  Dorenn stood in a mist; he was warm but damp and a bit uncomfortable. Slowly the mist receded, revealing a long wooden suspension bridge between two massive trees leading to two sturdy wooden platforms. As Dorenn looked around to familiarize himself with his surroundings, the mist completely faded. He could see many platforms with elongated buildings stretching straight up and encircling the tree trunks. The architecture was stunning, with curved walls and sharp edges on the tips of the slate roofs, and long, lateral windows culminating in arches. Latticework and engraved mosaics decorated the exteriors.

  Confused, Dorenn turned and stumbled to a bulky branch, which extended outward into several smaller branches. For a moment he thought he could see a figure hiding behind the leaves. Dorenn looked around for more signs of habitation but found none. Slowly he walked onto the branch, which was wide enough to drive a wagon onto.

  “Hello? I will not hurt you. Is there someone there?” he asked.

  The branches and leaves moved in closer and tighter to each other as he approached. “Do not be frightened, I am a friend,” he said.

  Dorenn stopped and turned back to the platform, afraid he may have frightened whoever was behind the branches. “See, I will go back to the platform, come out and see.”

  Dorenn walked back to the platform, but the branches still remained tightly closed. Dorenn was about to give up and explore the platforms when he heard the braches rustle. Slowly the leaves rescinded back and upward one at a time until Dorenn could see the figure of a woman walking along the main branch. As she passed, each branch it would reach down and caress her arms and legs before retreating to its position as if the trees we
re loving parents smoothing back a child’s hair to make them look more presentable, a loving caress. As she drew nearer, Dorenn could make out her features. She wore brownish-black hair and had hazel eyes. Her facial features were soft, and her lips were full and light red in color. Her clothes looked to be made of brown leather, and a vine descended to wrap itself around her waist and midriff. Two vines moved to wrap around her wrists and settled into place. Dorenn realized he had dreamt of her before. “Is this a dream?”

  “If it is, I am dreaming too,” the woman replied.

  “Who are you,” Dorenn motioned toward the buildings, “and where am I?”

  “I am called Seandara and this place is called Foreshome in common tongue; although I do not know where my kinsmen may be.” She smiled and Dorenn felt his heart jump.

  No, I love Tatrice, he thought.

  “I know you love Tatrice, and I am sure she is safe with Bren, but for the love of Loracia wake up!” she said.

  “What the…” Dorenn said confounded. He awoke to Vesperin’s face above him. “What is going on?” Dorenn asked.

  “The monastery is under attack,” Vesperin said. “We have to get up.”

  “I thought Ianthill said we were safe for the night,” Dorenn said as he threw off his blanket.

  Vesperin cocked his head to the left and gave Dorenn a stern look.

  “Right, I knew we were in danger. I should have insisted we leave last night.”

  “Too late now, Ianthill says to get to the battlements. Rennon and Gondrial are already there.”

  “What is the time?”

  “The middle of the bloody night, of course. Is it ever a pleasant hour when we have to be involved in one thing or another against our will?”

  “No, I suppose it never is.”

  “Bring what you can; Ianthill says we make for Brightonhold as soon as we get an opening to leave.”

  Dorenn followed Vesperin down the halls where a brown-cloaked monk ran back and forth silently. As they neared the entrance, Dorenn began to hear signs of battle. Horrible black creatures were trying to crawl through the battlements and over the balconies. Dorenn saw both Dramyds and some other wingless creatures which resembled the Dramyd. He also saw Scarovians with their brownish-green armor swinging long silver swords.

  Vesperin stopped at one of the balconies. “In here,” he said. Dorenn entered the balcony in time to see Gondrial clasp his hands together and cast a spell. Blue and red flames leapt from his hands and formed into a pattern that struck down several of the Dramyds approaching in midair. Dorenn marveled at the sight of the spell. He had heard stories that wielders of considerable skill used to compete by displaying their spells in designs and colors. The more skilled the wielder, the more elaborate the spell appeared when cast. Dicarion sniffed at Gondrial and then cast a spell of white light that burst into a skull above two more flying Dramyds. The skull opened its mouth and swallowed the terrified creatures, exploding as it grinned evilly.

  Ianthill rolled his eyes. “I have never understood the need for such theatrics,” he stated as he cast a bolt of lightning to the nearest balcony, striking down two Scarovians.

  Dorenn laughed at the surreal sight of the casters and their spells, enthralled by them until he noticed Rennon looking at him suspiciously. As if mocking Rennon, Dorenn turned to Ianthill. “Teach me how to do that,” he said.

  Ianthill was startled for a moment. “All right, remember how I taught you to feel the essence around you and draw upon it?”

  “Aye,” Dorenn replied eagerly. “I am already drawing some.”

  “Good, now focus on the target and think of the spell you wish to cast and release the essence.”

  Dorenn watched a Dramyd circle and come in nearer to his position. He cleared his mind except for the essence and the target, and then he thought of lightning and released the energy. Dorenn felt a curious sensation as a flurry of sparks issued from his hands but did nothing to the Dramyd. Ianthill ran it through with a bolt of light.

  “Very good, Dorenn,” Ianthill commended. “It’s a good start.”

  Dorenn glanced at Rennon who immediately left the balcony.

  Dorenn felt a pang of guilt for the way he was treating Rennon, but the excitement of the battle and his use of essence soon overshadowed it. Dorenn was drawing in more essence for another attempt at wielding when he felt his hair stand on end. Something was watching him, coming at him from behind. Dazed and confused, Dorenn spun around to see Dicarion, who was nodding at him with approval. Dorenn smiled back at him, and then he caught sight of movement coming up behind Dicarion. Slowly a shadow rose up. Palanon burst into a barking fit, alerting Dicarion. The old man turned to face the creature. The feeling of fear was unbearable as Dorenn instinctively took a step backward. He could see through the creature’s body. Its sword was as black as coal and the hilt was etched with skulls. The horrible face of the creature was gaunt, and no eyes occupied the sockets where they should. A hideous smile crossed its pale white face as it thrust the sword into Dicarion’s chest. The old man screamed in pain as he slumped to the rail of the balcony. Dorenn watched in shock as Dicarion fell over the edge of the balcony and out of sight.

  “A Shade!” Ianthill shouted, casting a spell at the creature. The spell had no visible effect. Gondrial also cast a spell, which sputtered to an end before it reached the Shade. The balcony was large enough for Gondrial, Dorenn, and Ianthill to take a stance on the opposite side of the Shade. Dorenn stared helplessly at Vesperin as the Shade moved in toward the cleric. Dorenn became paralyzed with unnatural fear. He tried to call out to Vesperin, but his mouth would not form the words his heart was screaming. Dorenn, who was already drawing essence panicked. He thought it was about to get to Vesperin too. He haphazardly drew in essence at an uncontrolled and astonishing rate. He held Dranmalin point first at the shade and thought the words dragon hammer. It was all he could think of at the spur of the moment. Dranmalin burst into red and yellow flame, it dripped from the sword like molten metal. The shade turned to look at him and he thought release. The essence flowed through his arm and into Dranmalin. The sword exploded with power, sending shards of molten metal-looking flame into the shade. It burst into white hot flame and screeched death as it exploded. Dorenn could feel Dranmalin in his head, beckoning to do more. Dorenn took control of the power and lowered his sword.

  Vesperin was gaping at him, astonished.

  Ianthill’s eyes turned icy and his face was as stone. “Cleric, see to Dicarion!”

  “Aye,” Vesperin reached down to the mindwielder. “I regret the shade has slain him!” Vesperin said.

  A cold wind blew and Ianthill’s scarlet robes fluttered. He reached the railing of the balcony and clutched the edge. Dramyds and monks fought furiously below, but Dorenn no longer heard the screams of battle. All he could hear now was the essence rushing in his ears like a wave from a turbulent sea. Dorenn shrank back as Ianthill let out a roar of anger. Essence rushed through Dorenn’s body and the monastery groaned loudly. Dorenn tried to resist the feeling of essence pulling away from his body, but his efforts were abruptly halted as the old wielder spun to face him. The fear he had felt from the Shade was nothing compared to the fear Dorenn felt now. Ianthill’s eyes changed from icy blue to blood red as he moved along the edge of the balcony. The monastery itself began to groan under its own strain, and sweat started to pour down Gondrial’s face.

  “We had better move back,” Gondrial said.

  Cracks began to form in the walls of the monastery, slowly rising up the columns and balconies, spreading clouds of dust along its face. Glass panes shattered and Dorenn’s vision blurred. Ianthill lifted his arms above his head. Dorenn felt woozy and his head began to hurt. He saw a hazy view of Ianthill as he faded into a black, shapeless figure and then released the power within him. Dorenn felt relief as the old wizard let lose a column of flame as black as raven feathers infused with flecks of purple light. At first, Dorenn had to cover his ears to protect them from t
he rushing, thunderous burst of the spell. He felt a rush of cold air, and then he heard the screams, terrible, painful screams. Parts of the monastery began to collapse in a low rumble. The earth shook, and then all was silent. No sounds of battle, no more screams, it was over. Ianthill turned from his position on the balcony.

  “Gather up your things; we leave now, it is done,” he said somberly. He left the balcony without looking back. Vesperin and Dorenn hurried to the balcony’s edge to look over at the valley below. The valley was scorched black, and the river ran red with blood. In heaps, the black, charred figures of the attacking army lay twisted, completely destroyed. What was left of the army was fleeing into the blackness of the night toward the Lake of Souls, Lake Trenan. Only a few confused monks slowly made their way back. The monastery itself had the appearance of being scorched black, and more than half of it lay in ruins from the bottom of the structure to the middle balcony where the party had first crossed the bridge the night before.

  As Melias led the party down out of the valley and away from the Lake of Souls, Dorenn looked back at the monastery one last time. The damage looked even greater from the ground. If Dorenn had not witnessed it, he never would have believed that any one spell could destroy so much. Of course, he realized that the blackfire only destroyed the portion of the army. The monks were busy gathering up the carnage for disposal. The monastery was so badly damaged because of the violation of its essence. Maybe Rennon was right. It certainly seemed to Dorenn, by the sight of what Ianthill could use essence to do, that wielding could be evil after all.

  Ianthill rode close behind Melias; no one approached him or bothered him. Palanon sat silently behind the saddle horn of Ianthill’s mount. Rennon brought up the rear, and Dorenn felt sure that if he had a chance, Rennon would slip away, but Dorenn thought he would at least wait until he felt it was a bit safer to do so. Vesperin rode just ahead of Dorenn and behind Ianthill. Beside Dorenn rode Gondrial. Dorenn felt the emptiness of the fallen wielder as they rode. He understood that Ianthill had been angry for the loss of Dicarion, but to use the blackfire? Ianthill must have been more frustrated than Dorenn thought.