For the remainder of the day, Melias led them through the snow and cold, onward through the Sacred Land. Dorenn was not exactly sure why Ianthill stayed to himself, but he suspected the wielder was ashamed for using essence in the heat of anger. As the light of day faded, the temperature drop was more than Dorenn’s feet and hands could bear. His boots offered some protection from the cold and he had his hands wrapped tightly, but he would have traded anything for a good pair of gloves. The biting numbness of his fingers made it difficult for him to hold onto the reins.
The sun had already set when Melias finally allowed the party to stop for the night. They were to bed down in what must have been a farmstead long ago. Remains of a barn sat only a few paces from a stone farmhouse that someone had kept in fair condition. Gondrial told him the Defenders maintained dwellings in the Sacred Land where they could stay the night sheltered from the elements while on patrol. The Defenders even kept stores of dried food in the old farm cellars.
As soon as a fire was roaring in both fireplaces and they had eaten their fill from the cellar stores, both Vesperin and Melias set about with their meditations in the south room, each in his own ritualistic way. The monk of Fawlsbane Vex had not uttered a word the whole trip. Ianthill disappeared into the decaying barn shortly after they had arrived without eating and had not yet returned. Rennon bedded down in a corner just after supper and was unwilling to speak with anyone. Dorenn was left, in the north room, with the company of Gondrial, who had managed to find the Defender’s stash of ale.
“Ah, here we go, Dorenn. I found two mugs in the cellar. This ale will warm our tired bones now that our bellies are full.” Gondrial had rolled a barrel into the room and tapped it.
“You are not expecting the two of us to finish off this entire barrel are you, Gondrial?”
“Certainly not, but we shall try with all our combined efforts,” he said smiling.
“How do you do it, Gondrial?”
“Do what, my boy?” he said, gulping some of the ale.
“Keep your spirits up.”
“Well, it helps to drink some spirits down first,” he joked, holding up his mug. How do you feel?
Dorenn sipped some of his ale. The brew was surprisingly good; it had little of the aftertaste he had expected. “I feel fine. Why do you ask?”
Gondrial took out his pipe and began to pack it. “We are not going to get very far on this barrel if all you plan to do is sip it like that. Ale’s for drinking, not for sipping.”
Dorenn tipped his mug and took a long, hard drink. He lowered the mug, smacking his lips. “Ah,” he said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
“There you go, boy. That’s how it’s done,” Gondrial said with satisfaction. “I asked how you feel because that was no easy feat you accomplished back at the monastery. Have you been warned about essence sickness?”
“No, what’s that.” He took another long drink.
“Apprentices get it when they first start learning to draw essence. It makes you feel sick, like not yourself, and it tends to affect your thought process and change your personality. It makes you feel terrible and act even worse.”
“How do you get over it?”
“Usually the trials at Rugania, where Ianthill is the keeper of the isle. Sometimes it can be cured by other means. Ianthill can tell you more about how to cure it. You may be old enough to skip it. Not every apprentice gets it. I don’t remember Lady Shey ever having it, but I could be wrong.”
“I will have to talk to Ianthill about it.”
“Sure, just let him get over his mood first. I think he is proud of you for your impressive use of essence, and the way you controlled Dranmalin. I’m sure he will tell you so soon.”
Dorenn wondered for a moment if he should try and approach the subject of what Ianthill did at the monastery again, but he decided to let Gondrial drink a little more ale to loosen up first.
Dorenn and Gondrial finished off two more mugs of ale before Melias startled them by appearing next to the fire. “Are there any more of those mugs about?” he asked in a voice Dorenn would never have believed came from his scarred face. Dorenn expected it to be much rougher and raspy. Instead it was almost melodic.
“I’d wager there is another in the cellar,” Gondrial said, getting up from his comfortable position on his bedroll and heading back down into the cellar. A moment later Gondrial reappeared and blew the dust out of a brown mug before handing it to Melias. Melias took the mug and rinsed it out with a bit of the ale and tossed it into the fireplace. Gondrial winced at the loss.
“Is Vesperin still praying?” Dorenn asked the monk as he filled his mug with ale.
“Oh yes, the priests of Loracia spend hours praying. I am not entirely certain what they have to pray about or why it takes them so long, but it does keep them occupied,” Melias said.
“Monks of Fawlsbane Vex do not pray as long, I take it?” Dorenn asked.
Melias finished filling his mug. “Not nearly as long.”
“Personally, I am pleased to have someone else to drink ale with,” Gondrial said. “The more the merrier. I would hate to have to drink it all.” Gondrial took another swig of ale. “I thought the monks of Vetell Fex were mostly sworn to silence.”
“We are within the monastery, but not in situations such as this. Fawlsbane Vex is a just god, so he does not require us to be unsociable. Monks that bear his name need their voices for war after all.” He took a gulp of ale. “How would we speak on the battlefield otherwise?”
“Good point,” Gondrial said.
The bald monk smiled at Dorenn, and for a moment, Dorenn saw his eyes turn red again, and he shrank back.
“What is it, boy?” Gondrial asked Dorenn.
“I can answer that,” Melias interrupted. “You see my eyes as red, right?”
“I do, why is that?”
“I am a warrior monk. I can conjure great strength and stamina when I need it. It is a skill developed by my people over thousands of seasons. I can also see in the dark as if it were day. When it is dark and I am trying to see, my eyes sometimes appear red.”
Ianthill suddenly burst into the room, bringing cold from outside and startling Dorenn. He eyed the barrel of ale and then the three drinking it. Dorenn froze. Ianthill seemed on the edge of anger as he closed the door behind him and stood with his eyes fixed on the barrel. “I see you wasted no time in finding the ale, Gondrial.”
“You know me, Ianthill, if there is drink to be found, I will root it out,” Gondrial responded.
“Indeed. Well, how about rooting out some for me?” Ianthill said as he warmed himself by the fire.
“I will be right back,” Gondrial said as he jumped up from his pallet. Ianthill took Gondrial’s spot as soon as he had left for the cellar. “So, what are we discussing?” Ianthill asked.
“You seem in better spirits now, Ianthill,” Dorenn said.
“Let’s not kick sleeping dogs, Dorenn,” Ianthill said in an even tone. He warmed his hands by the fireplace. “That was some impressive wielding you did by the way.”
Dorenn thought he heard Rennon groan from his sleeping pallet. “You think so?” Dorenn answered.
“Aye, but you need to be mindful of drawing so much so fast at your level of skill. You will get essence sickness right fast.”
“Gondrial mentioned that. What happens if I get it?”
“We will cure it. It’s not that difficult now days to get rid of it. It isn’t as dangerous as it once was. We have ways to lessen the severity of it now until it can be properly healed. If you do get it, we will take care of it. I am hoping that your age spares you the trouble.”
A moment later Gondrial returned with three more dusty mugs. He walked into the room and then, as an afterthought, went back outside. When he returned, the mugs were packed full of snow. He melted the snow over the fire and rinsed out the mugs with the resulting water. He tossed the water out the front door. “There, nice and clean,” he said, glancing momentarily at Melias
. “I brought enough mugs in case the other two want to join us later. I don’t want to go out again and…” He noticed Ianthill in his spot. “Hey, that’s my spot, Ianthill,” he said.
Ianthill intentionally looked dazed. “Oh, well, I guess it is mine now.”
Gondrial glowered, “I guess it is.”
As the merriment continued, Vesperin finally came into the room, and Gondrial poured him a mug of ale. Dorenn lit up his pipe and Ianthill followed suit. Since the laughter had woken him from slumber, Rennon decided to join in as well. Rennon made a point to stay clear of Dorenn, however. But Dorenn was glad to see Rennon join despite the tension between them, and he realized they all needed a break from the pressures of reality, even if for only a few hours.
Chapter 42: On the Road
Dorenn awoke to a pounding headache. He heard Vesperin and Rennon groaning as well. Gondrial moved about, preparing to make breakfast while nursing his head. Dorenn heard Melias complain to Ianthill that the day was gloomy and more snow was falling. Ianthill and Melias did not show any signs of a hangover, and Ianthill was delighting in speaking loudly to annoy Gondrial, who had drunk more ale than the three boys put together. Melias insisted on putting the farm house back in order when breakfast, consisting of hard bread and cheese, was done. He said they would respect the hospitality of the men who kept the farmhouse in good repair by leaving it the way they had found it. The horses had kept well in the stables located in the corner of the barn. Apparently, Ianthill had seen to their care before he had come back into the farmhouse the night before.
By midmorning the party moved steadily onward. By midday they had reached a stretch of plains with a single stone structure far in the middle of the clearing. As they moved nearer, Dorenn could see it was a great tower about twice the size of Morgoran’s tower. The outward edges of the stone structure were smooth, and it had many shuttered windows from top to bottom. The tower had an extended base that gave it the appearance of a large stone spike protruding outward from the roof of a house. A few trees grew around the base of the structure and, to Dorenn’s surprise, they seemed to be alive even though they were in the Sacred Land and covered with snow.
“Dismount here,” Melias said as he stepped down from his horse. A wooden pole, driven into the tower’s foundation and attached to the ground, served as a hitching post. “Tie up your horses.”
One by one they attached the reins to the post and waited for Melias, who entered the tower first.
The party followed Melias up several stairs until they reached a great, round room in the tower. A man with grey hair and beard and dressed in a Defender’s uniform sat at a marble desk. Behind him was an enormous looking glass.
“Melias,” the man said, “welcome to the watchtower. It has been awhile since I have seen you around here.”
“Selaan, you look well,” Melias said.
Selaan noticed Ianthill and his smile abruptly turned to concern. “Master Ianthill,” he acknowledged.
“Captain,” Ianthill said.
Melias spoke up. “I am afraid we have some disconcerting news, Selaan. Naneden’s army is in Symboria, and we have reason to believe it will march through here.”
Selaan laughed. “Not possible. The armies of the West are in Symboria. They will engage Naneden long before he reaches us.”
Melias looked tense. “We have reason to believe the dark armies have either gotten past the armies of the West or have defeated them.”
Captain Selaan looked at Melias suspiciously. “How would you know this?”
“We received word at the monastery before I left. It was attacked by some of the dark army. There was no sign of the Western armies.”
Selaan eyed Ianthill. “I will keep a sharp lookout for this army, and I will raise the alarm if need be.”
“You see that you do,” Ianthill said. “Now we will take our leave.”
Ianthill stormed out of the tower muttering under his breath.
They had mounted their horses and were well on their way before Ianthill spoke. “Fools, the lot of them.”
“Why not have him raise the alarm now, Ianthill?” Gondrial asked.
“Because I have a plan to rescue Lady Shey, and if he raises the alarm now, it may work against me. I just wanted him to keep a sharp eye out, but I could tell he didn’t believe us.”
“It’s difficult to believe an entire army has disappeared or has been defeated so quickly without seeing any signs of retreating soldiers,” Gondrial reminded him.
“True enough,” Ianthill said. “We will ride on to Calanbrough and see if we can rouse the Defender’s garrison there. If we can convince them of the dangers ahead, we will ask them to aid us at Brightonhold. The two keeps are within walking distance of each other.”
“What is your plan, Ianthill?” Dorenn asked.
Ianthill grinned. “Fox in the henhouse, Dorenn, fox in the henhouse.”
The Sea Goddess sailed into the ruined docks of the abandoned city of Gondolan without resistance. It was the nearest port for the captain to get them into the Sacred Land quickly. No dockmaster greeted them and no Defenders met them. Bren’s feeling of dread had intensified as they neared the land. Tatrice had also begun to feel the sensation of dread for the first time since donning her new armor. As soon as he, Enowene, and Tatrice disembarked, Captain Edifor sailed The Sea Goddess back out to sea with haste, leaving them in Gondolan. They left the ruins just before midday and continued on foot across the Sacred Land until the snowfall became so great, they could no longer travel effectively.
“If you trust me, my ladies, I will provide for us,” Bren said.
“I trust you, Bren,” Tatrice said.
Enowene glared at Tatrice and then nodded to Bren.
Bren sat for four hours holding a Lora Daine and meditating. Tatrice had just begun to worry when she heard the beating of giant wings from somewhere above. She gasped in awe as the figure of a white drake took shape amongst a backdrop of snowflakes, which made it almost invisible. The drake landed and walked to where Bren and Tatrice waited. Tatrice marveled at the drakes’ beauty; her snow white scales glistened and her eyes where ice blue. She was about half the size of Amadean.
“I hear your call, dragon knight,” the drake said in a feminine, melodic voice. “I am Delanorasylva, Shadesilver in common tongue. I am here to assist you.” The drake became visibly startled when she noticed Tatrice was female. “A woman dragon knight, how can this be?” she asked.
“She is the first,” Bren said. “A knight of Amadace the Blue.”
“Amadace?” the beast said surprised. “How extraordinary.” Tatrice was not certain what to make of the drake’s words, but she did not question them. Bren and Tatrice climbed up on the drake’s back, and Enowene followed reluctantly.
“I can take you within a few miles of Brightonhold Keep but no farther. Two foul black dragon exiles have been sighted patrolling that area.”
Bren spoke with concern. “What are black dragons doing in this land? They never come down this far from the mountains of Ishrak.”
“They are up to no good for certain,” Shadesilver said. “Hold on to my scales and keep down low, for it is very cold.” The drake took flight easily and soared into the falling snowflakes.
Trendan had known for some time that he was being followed. As the snow blanketed the Sacred Land, he found it increasingly difficult to hide his tracks. Not that it did any good anyway; the woman called Fayne still found a way to track him. He had finally decided to stop and wait for the woman to catch up. The invading army from Scarovia was far behind, and he had time to wait a day or so. Trendan stopped at an old farmstead and found signs of recent inhabitants. He wondered if he would reach Brightonhold Keep or Calanbrough Keep in time to warn them of the Scarovian army. The armies of the West had vanished into thin air, and the Scarovian army marched unopposed, destroying and looting everything in its path. The Defenders, the Enforcers, and the knights of Lux Enor were all the Sacred Land had to stop them n
ow.
By midday Trendan saw the first sign of Fayne, and he waited patiently for her to find him. She rode to the farmstead. After finding oats and water in the partially collapsed barn for her horse, she entered the farmhouse where Trendan had a fire going and a stew cooking.
“Welcome, Fayne, come and share a meal,” he offered.
“You knew I followed you?” she asked.
Trendan smiled and dipped her some stew. “I did. I tried to shake you off my trail, but you track nearly as well as I do.”
“I told you I needed to find Vesperin,” she said, accepting the stew and sitting on the pallet Trendan had put down on the cold wooden flooring.
Trendan sat on the pallet with his meal in hand. “I may not even see Vesperin. I am trying to reach the twin keeps to warn them of the Scarovian armies. I may not come in contact with Vesperin or his party for some time.”
“You will. I know you will,” she said confidently.
“How can you be so sure?” Trendan asked.
“Because, for some reason, I have a feeling,” she said.
“A feeling, just a feeling?” he asked.
“Don’t mock me, Trendan, my people have a sense for such things.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” He took a bite of stew. “It makes sense for us to travel on together.”
“Agreed, how much farther?” she asked.
“We still have a few days yet, and it will be slow going if the snow doesn’t let up some.”
“Are we going to stay here for the night?”
“That was my plan. This farmstead is a Defender’s shelter, and it appears someone has stayed here recently, but it still contains enough food and water for us and our mounts to stay a night.”
Defenders of the Sacred Land: Expanded and Re-Issued (The Sacred Land Legacy Book 1) Page 37
