by Mark Tyson
“Gondrial, wait!” Shey called after him.
“Let him go,” Veric said to her. “Who did you marry? Where is he? I should like to meet him.”
Lady Shey gave him a sour look. “You don’t want to know, Father. Let’s just say he turned out to be a lot worse than your fear of Gondrial.” She yanked her arm away from him and went looking for Gondrial.
Veric pulled himself up by steading himself on the desk. Dorenn rushed to help him up. “I don’t believe we have met, young man.” Veric Said.
When Veric could stand, Dorenn held out his hand. “Dorenn Adair of Brookhaven.” He thought it was odd that the man didn’t go after his daughter.
Veric took his hand. “I don’t believe I have heard of Brookhaven. Where is it located? Trigothia?”
“Symboria, near the southern pass.”
“Symboria. I see,” he said. “There appears to be much I need to catch up on.”
“Where are you from?” Dorenn asked.
“I am from Symboria as well. I am from Paladine.” Dorenn’s face showed no recognition. “I am sure you have heard of it being from a village near the southern pass. It is a large city just south, near the coast. Its ports service the isle of Arillia.”
“I think you are describing Symbor.”
“Symbor? Symbor is hundreds of leagues to the east, on the other side of Lake Trenan.”
Dorenn finally comprehended what the old man was saying. “That was before the Sacred Land. The city of Symbor you knew is mostly in ruins now and is known as Old Symbor. The capital and palace of the king was moved just after the War of the Oracle to what you apparently remember as Paladine, and then the city was renamed Symbor by the king. Paladine doesn’t exist, as you knew it, anymore.”
Shey returned without Gondrial. “He slipped away. I will catch up to him later.”
“Sheyna, let me apologize. I didn’t know,” Veric said.
“Father, let me stop you. This is not the place to discuss it. I haven’t seen you in a thousand seasons, and you managed to make me feel just like that young girl you left at the Tower of Morgoran.”
Veric glanced over at Ianthill, Dorenn, and Morgoran in turn. They were all trying to occupy themselves with one thing or another. “Perhaps you are correct. I need to talk to your mother, anyhow. She must be worried sick if she has not been able to find me for so long. Where is she?”
“She never stopped looking for you, Father, that’s true, but she isn’t here at the moment. In fact, we stumbled upon you quite by happy accident. No one knew where you were.”
Veric became concerned. “What do you mean she isn’t here? If she has been looking for me for so long, where else would she be? How is it that no one found me in a thousand seasons?”
“General Sythril, sir,” Dorenn answered. “You were guarded in the ruins of By’temog, Ishrak by the undead, cursed spirit of General Sythril.”
“No, this cannot be! Where is my bride; where is Sylvalora?”
“Father, just as you were looking for her a thousand seasons ago, you will be looking for her now. Toborne took her again. This time, he may actually have a way to use her to create the army he has always dreamed of creating.”
Veric abruptly confronted Dorenn. His face was so intense, Dorenn took a step back. “You were the one who opened my prison?”
Dorenn swallowed hard out of fear. “Aye, I did.”
Veric took him by the shoulders. “Then she chose you, did she not? She should have said the words I choose you, or something to that effect. Did she say it to you?”
“Aye, she did.”
“By the gods. You are the key to finding her.” He embraced his daughter. “I was not around to teach you what a father should teach a daughter, but I can teach you this. Nothing is a happy accident. Sylvalora gave Dorenn the ability to free me, and she gave me the means to find her.”
“It still seems like a random coincidence to me,” Gondrial said as he strolled back to the group. “If Sylvalora had been looking for you for a thousand seasons, how did she, or how could she, know Dorenn would stumble upon you? It’s a bit far-fetched. It wasn’t even his idea to explore the library, as I recall.”
Shey tried to go to him, but he held his arm out, stopping her.
Veric’s expression was completely blank as he produced a stone that looked very much like a Lora Daine and tossed it to Dorenn. It was pale blue in color until Dorenn caught it, and then it began to swirl in multi-colors and pulse. “Aye, he is the one. Gondrial is still a fool. All is right with the world.” He took the stone from Dorenn and stepped to talk to Morgoran. “You know what this means as well as I, Morgoran. It isn’t safe here. If the general was truly guarding me and you defeated him, our enemy will take steps to move on with his plans.”
“Aye, Toborne will retaliate by trying to eliminate you and everyone around you,” Morgoran agreed.
“Why would Toborne care to do anything of the sort? I would assume he would be running for fear of me in pursuit of what he has taken from me,” Veric said. “I was referring to his ultimate goal of creating his dragon army.” He clutched his head. Lady Shey moved to steady him. “I remember now! My mind has cleared.”
“Surely Toborne used one of his exiled dragon allies to imprison you here,” Ianthill stated. “Perhaps you are mistaken about the gold-scale.”
Morgoran studied Veric’s face. “No, not Toborne. He couldn’t have come here before or during the War of the Oracle. What are you remembering, Veric?”
“I am remembering that Toborne was involved, but only as a lieutenant.”
“I still don’t follow,” Ianthill said.
“I see you, Ianthill, and you, Morgoran, have either forgotten or were kept from the truth. Do you not remember what you were fighting for in the War of the Oracle?”
Morgoran shrugged. “You forget, Veric, I didn’t fight in the war. I was already cursed at the time.”
Ianthill tapped his mouth with his index finger. “The Oracle had convinced the general population that magic was evil and would destroy everyone and everything, and then proceeded and conspired in secret to make it happen. He planned to eliminate as many magic wielders as he could so he could ultimately take over the kingdoms with ease.”
“Perhaps you never knew,” Veric said. “The Oracle went by many names to deceive. Sylvalora found his true name to be Golvashala in dragon tongue. It means gold scales in common, which means the Oracle was the gold dragon. He imprisoned me here, not Toborne.”
Morgoran shook his head. “But that doesn’t make sense. Remember, the gold dragons were created by Fawlsbane Vex himself, and guard the godly realm of Venifyre. They are celestial beings.”
“Aye, which means your war did not destroy him.” He looked to Dorenn. “This Sacred Land you spoke of. What is it? Explain it to me.”
“The battlefield of the War of the Oracle. The overuse of essence drained it and made it into a barren wasteland.”
“What happened to the Oracle?”
“No one knows,” Dorenn said. “I have asked some of these same questions, but the people who were there will not answer them.” He looked at Ianthill.
“I did answer you to the best of my knowledge. Maybe my answer isn’t satisfying to you because we do not know exactly what happened. Toborne was with the Oracle and then the war ended with the Oracle dying in the midst of a blinding light. It looked to me as if Sylvalora had used a form of dragon fire, as I recall. It’s been a thousand seasons!” He looked at Lady Shey. “Shey was there.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said.
Veric went to her. “You know what happened? You know where the Oracle is?”
“I do know what happened, but I don’t know what happened to the Oracle.”
Veric looked around at each of the party’s faces and noticed Gondrial looked as sad as Shey. A realization dawned on him. “Marella? Your best friend?”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it, Father. Go find Theosus. He
was there, too.” Gondrial sympathized with Shey.
“Of course, my dear,” Veric said. “Wait, Sheyna, did you say Theosus Fiderea, the mindwielder?
Ianthill nodded. “Aye, she did. He still lives and is nearby.”
“Take me to him. I have a plan,” Veric said. “I must find Sylvalora. With her by my side, I can thwart the plans of even a gold dragon! If no one else knows of my return, maybe I can convince them I am still imprisoned. ”
“Ah, I see,” Ianthill said. “Theosus might be able to conjure up the permanent illusion that you are still imprisoned here.”
“Aye, mindwielders are a crafty bunch,” Veric said.
“We’re lucky we have a few of them nearby, then,” Dorenn said.
“A few?” Veric asked. “What happened to the rest of them?”
“The mindwielders were thought to all be gone,” Ianthill told him. “A few appeared here and there, but no one knew how to train them anymore and they were killed or exiled. I tried to save a few myself, but without training, mindwielders proved to be extremely dangerous.”
“Unfortunate. Mindwielders are a useful lot.” He paused. “Why didn’t Theosus train the young mindwielders?”
“He did,” Morgoran said. “There are a few dozen very well-trained mindwielders in the world because of him. Over the seasons, he has made it his personal crusade to find and train mindwielders. I believe that is why he is here now.”
“Excellent! King Amarantus must be proud.”
“That, my friend, is a different story,” Morgoran said. “Come, I will take you to the camp of Theosus.”
Chapter 3: Trouble at Briarwick
If Tatrice had ever entertained the notion of remaining married to Bren, it was thoroughly quenched by the time the couple reached the shores of Adracoria from the Vale of Morgoran. Close quarters aboard ship across the Strait of Adracoria had given Tatrice more than adequate time to get to know her fellow dragon knight. The remainder of the way to the city of Whitebridge would be by horseback. At least I can avoid talking to him on horseback! she thought.
Bren had arranged for horses to be waiting for them upon arrival through contacts living in the village of Eastshore, a few days east of Whitebridge where they could finally have their accidental marriage annulled once and for all. Tatrice peered down at the imprint once more, wishing she could just erase it with some soap and water. Trigothian marriage rituals dictated that only the holy woman who performed the ritual in the first place could reverse it. Ni’esa traveled around the three Trigothian kingdoms performing marriages. In three days, she would be in Whitebridge, Adracoria. The only fear Tatrice had of the entire ordeal was that Ni’esa would refuse to annul the marriage, which was a real possibility since the decision to annul fell exclusively on the holy woman’s discretion. They could simply ignore the imprints and deny the marriage, but the imprint would forever hold a stigma against her, and Tatrice didn’t want it hanging over her for the rest of her life.
Tatrice watched as Bren negotiated with the stablemen. Her dragon knight companion was not a particularly bad person, or even an irritating man, but he was certainly not Dorenn. Bren was always overly concerned with her well-being, he was forever considerate of her feelings and preferences, and he complimented her entirely too much. He must think I’m as fragile as a newly fallen snowflake! she thought. Worst of all, he didn’t argue with her. He would back down and agree with her or give her what she wanted without a word of derisiveness! It was infuriating.
Bren led the horse she would ride over to her and proceeded to help her climb up. “I am quite capable, Bren,” she said.
Bren nodded. “Unquestionably, you are,” he said.
She growled. “Just get on your horse so we can get to Whitebridge. How far is it on horseback?”
“About two and a half days,” he answered.
“Two and a half days! Where will we stay the night tonight?”
“I thought we might enjoy the stars.”
“In case you have forgotten, it’s still winter out. The nights will be too chilly,” she reminded him.
“Aye, they will. We will have to stay close for warmth.”
Tatrice was speechless. She didn’t know how to respond to that, except to get incredibly angry. After a few seconds, she regained her speech. “You must not be thinking clearly.”
Bren grinned from ear to ear. “Relax, I’m only fooling with you. There is a small village about halfway. We can reach it just after nightfall, if we get moving. I believe the inn there is called the Lion’s Den Inn.”
“It doesn’t sound very inviting, does it?” she said. “Tigers, lions, names of animals that may eat you, come sleep here tonight!”
“I think a lion’s den would be warm and cozy,” he countered.
“Aye, unless you are a sheep.”
“It could be worse; it could be called the Snake Pit Inn or the Viper’s Den!”
Tatrice smiled in spite of her mood but quickly recovered. She didn’t want to like the joke.
Bren caught the brief glint of joviality. “Was that a smile I saw?” he asked.
“Certainly not!” she fired back and then spurred her horse to a gallop down the muddy street. Bren gave a loud whistle, and she reined in the horse to see what he wanted. He was pointing down another street. She had taken off in the wrong direction.
Tatrice spent most of the day off to herself, only talking to Bren when they stopped for a lunch of dried meats, cheese, and dried fruit, and even then the conversation was limited to the bare minimum. Bren must have sensed my mood, she thought, and decided to give me space, another annoying trait about him.
Just after Bren told her they would come upon the small village shortly, he galloped ahead a bit. When he returned to Tatrice, his face was ashen and grim. “The road up ahead is blocked and the village looks to me like it’s smoldering, or at least there is a bonfire burning there.”
“What’s a bonfire?” she asked.
“A huge fire built by piling wood up high. The Trigothians build them for celebrations and holidays. They dance around them, roast meats on long sticks by them, and they even roast nuts and seeds by them at certain holidays.”
“I was about to say how revolting it was to waste all that wood, but if they use it to cook, I guess it’s all right,” Tatrice said. “Wait, did you say they roasted meats on long sticks? You are fooling with me. I have worked in the kitchen for quite some time, and I know a fire that size would be too hot to get anywhere near close enough to hold a stick into it.”
“Heh, in this case, it isn’t a problem at all. They tie several long, skinny branches together and coat it with some kind of substance that doesn’t burn easily. They prop them up in the fire like fishing poles on the shore. The people using them don’t get near the fire. As far as the waste of wood, they use a woody bush-like tree. I forget what it’s called, but it grows at alarming rates. If they didn’t burn them off occasionally, they would be overrun with them in no time. Trigothia is a very different place than Symboria, Tat.”
“I am finding it difficult to believe this story of yours.”
“You are thinking of the trees from Symboria, my lady. These trees are much smaller and more rugged, and they add incredible flavor to meat. You’ll see.”
Tatrice looked at her marriage imprint. “I’m sorry. You are absolutely right. We are in a different land. I hope it is a bonfire ahead. What else could it be?”
“I won’t know until we get closer.” He hesitated. “Maybe you should stay back here while I investigate.”
“Bren, I am a dragon knight!”
Bren stared at her for a moment as if he wanted to say something before he diverted his eyes and nodded. “Aye. If not an inexperienced one.”
They traveled toward the village until they reached the barrier blocking the road. It was a couple of over-turned wagons. There were no bodies or horse carcasses nearby, so Tatrice concluded that the barrier was placed there on purpose. The bonfire was not bei
ng tended and was beginning to die out. Bren was right; it was not nearly as huge as she imagined.
Bren got off his horse to inspect the wagons more closely. “There is no sign of a crash. It appears these wagons were brought here and turned over intentionally.”
“I thought so, also,” Tatrice said. “What do you make of it?”
He mounted up again while scanning the area. “We need to ride on. I have heard of barriers like this being a setup point for an ambush.”
They Traveledntil they could see clouds and wisps of smoke rising from some of the buildings. A small sign at the edge of town swung back and forth on one nail. It read Welcome to Briarwick.
“Briarwick is known in these parts for their excellent smoking pipes,” Bren said. “I had hoped to pick up a new one while we were in town.”
As they entered the village, Tatrice noticed there was surprisingly little damage to the main buildings. The main street was empty until they were about halfway down. Villagers, seeing Bren and Tatrice’s shields attached to their saddles, began to emerge from their houses and businesses. Bren and Tatrice were approached by an elderly, white-haired gentleman wearing a dusty brown robe.
“Greetings, knights!” he said.
In Trigothia, knights were trusted and honored as protectors of the common folk.
“Ho there, what has happened here?” Bren answered the greeting.
“Bandits and cutthroats. They came in and robbed everything we had,” the old man said. “We were preparing for a wedding celebration, and the attack ruined the whole affair.”
“What was the barrier for at the edge of town?” Bren asked.
The old man appeared confused. “What barrier?”
“You didn’t wheel out a couple of wagons and make a barrier on the road?”
“It was not I, nor was it my people.”
“What’s your name, sir?” Bren asked.
