Battlefield of the Sacred Land
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Battlefield of the Sacred Land . . .
Maps
Rise of the Corrupted
Chapter 1: The Return
Chapter 2: The Baby and the Oracle
Chapter 3: A New Fear
Chapter 4: Treachery
Chapter 5: Venifyre
Chapter 6: A New Home
Chapter 7: Downfall: The Birth of the Unseen
Chapter 8: Wrong Place, Wrong Time
Chapter 9: Gods of War
Chapter 10: The Sands of Time
Chapter 11: Awakened
Chapter 12: The Darkling Soul
Chapter 13: Rabbits in the Wolf’s Den
Chapter 14: Necropolis
Chapter 15: The Way to Ardenia
Chapter 16: Gift of the Sand Elves
Chapter 17: Ardenia
Chapter 18: King and Prince
Chapter 19: Forgotten Secrets
Chapter 20: Resurrection
Chapter 21: In the Gardens
Chapter 22: Battlefield
Chapter 23: Nox Seducere
Chapter 24: Lingering Doubts
Chapter 25: Dragons at Dawn
Author’s Note
Copyright
Dedication and acknowledgements:
Glossary
Battlefield of the Sacred Land
Book 5 of the Sacred Land Legacy
Mark E. Tyson
Battlefield of the Sacred Land . . .
Who will seize the power of the Sacred Land?
As the Enforcers fade into obscurity and the Defenders are spread too thin, Dorenn Adair must use the weapons acquired from the ancient land of Lux Amarou to secure the Sacred Land as it completes its magic regeneration cycle. However, an ancient foe known as the Oracle has once again risen from his long sleep, and a new foe, wrought from the ways of old, also makes a bold and surprising crusade for the Sacred Land. Armed with visions given to him by the prophetess Oria, Dorenn alone knows the secrets of both friend and foe alike, both an advantage and a curse.
The Wielder Cycle
Wielder: Apprentice Book 1
Wielder: Adept Book 2
Wielder: Master Book 3*
The Sacred Land Legacy
Dawn of the Sacred Land: Book 1
Defenders of the Sacred Land Book 2
Exiles from the Sacred Land: Book 3
Redemption of the Sacred Land Book 4
Battlefield of the Sacred Land Book 5
Crusade for the Sacred Land: Book 6 *
*Forthcoming March/April 2016
Maps
Rise of the Corrupted
Down the dark, dank corridors of the former king’s palace within the ruined city of Old Symbor, an eerily dim green light lit the way to the nearly destroyed throne room. The source of the light emanated from a small jade statue of an elf maiden holding an orb, amid a pile of charred bones that was once the madman known as Naneden. Slowly, gloom began to creep out of the walls in the guise of an unnatural green fog as finger bones twitched and reunited with its hand, and in turn, the hand reconnected to its arm. The luminosity of the statue got brighter as the skeletal hand abruptly clutched hold of it. Wisps of essence and green-hued flame snaked along the bones of the arm and then the shoulder, joining them back together. The green flames continued to dance across the wet ribs and down the pelvis to the legs and toes. When at last a slimy, skeletal Naneden rose from the rubble holding up the statue before him, the green flames faded and fell away. Despite the sickly, sticky ooze covering him, pieces of his burned facial skin sloughed off as he stood, revealing his bare skull beneath. He felt for the tatters of his burned robes and drew in dark essence, essence from all the evil done in the world, and released the power, restoring his tattered robes into a sleek black-hooded robe, which crawled up his skeletal body like black, sinewy serpents, solidifying as they moved. He put the jade statuette into an inside pocket, and it ceased its unearthly light.
Slowly and carefully, he took his first step out of the rubble and held out his hand, drawing in the dark essence once more. Between his boney fingers, the essence coalesced into a great ebony staff with a human skull adorning the top, its jaw open in a silent jeer, or it could have been locked in an omen of permanent pain. He held the staff above his head. His voice gurgled and rasped. “Rise and come forth!”
The two dead Drasmyd Duil that he had purposely killed before in front of Lady Shey and her consorts rose from the smashed marble floor as two winged skeletons. They screamed in unison. Somehow, Naneden’s skull face twisted into a smile as he cackled. He spun his staff around. “Arise, all! Come to do my bidding.”
Two dragons, killed by accident in the attack on the throne room, animated and began to rise from the rubble. A black, ethereal fog rolled off the bones of the magical creatures now twisted into evil service.
“Whom do you serve, undead drakes?” Naneden said in his raspy, gasping voice.
“We serve you, master Lich,” they both said in turn.
“Good. Now follow, we have an army outside to raise!” He spun his robes around dramatically and pulled his hood over his skull as he walked. The two great undead dragons shifted into tall, blacked-robed humanoid skeletons. They stood slightly shorter than the undead Drasmyd Duil.
Outside on the dilapidated balcony hanging off of the throne room, overlooking the battered streets below, Naneden held his staff high above his head. Legions of the dead began to rise out of the ruins of the city’s burial sites as Naneden stood evoking dark magic backed by the reawakening power of the Sacred Land.
Chapter 1: The Return
Dorenn pushed down the door of the crumbling inn. A cracked sign near the steps, as faded as it was, read The Fair Maiden Inn. Even though the place was in the process of decay, the dark magic of Lux Amarou preserved it so it decayed much slower than it should have. In fact, the inn should have been nothing but dust by now, so much time had passed, but instead, it stood as a building maybe twenty seasons abandoned.
A dozen undead or so stirred within the common room as Dorenn entered. He unsheathed Dranmalin. The sword felt light and eager in his hands, and he prepared to use it with deadly accuracy. His bond with the sword strengthened every time he used it. He pointed it straight out at the first advancing abomination, raised it up into the air, and threw it. As it sailed through the air, it burst into flames, searing the heads off two of the advancing skeletons. He called it back to him, and the blade spun as a flaming wheel into his sword hand, where he immediately used it to cut down the next nearest advancing ghoul. He pivoted on his heel in his dance of death, smashing the skull of one, slashing in half the body of the next, slicing the third into several pieces. The music of the dance seemed to play in Dorenn’s head as he moved from one to the next. When he was done, all of his foes were dispatched.
He urgently hurried to the entrance. “All clear,” he said as he sheathed Dranmalin.
Rennon and Bren brought in Tatrice wrapped in a robe bound with twine and covered in blood while Dorenn cleared off the granite countertop to receive her.
“I know you don’t want to hear this”—Rennon met Dorenn eye to eye— “but she’s almost too far gone, even for me.”
“What of Theosus?” Dorenn asked.
Rennon stiffened at the name. “Even less so with him. He couldn’t even reverse the malady on our people.”
Dorenn held up his hand. “I don’t mean to offend you.”
Rennon relaxed. “I wasn’t offended.”
Bren was transfixed on Tatrice, who was still unconscious. “Is any of this blood hers? Are we certain she’s not injured?”
“I don’t think so,” R
ennon answered. “I believe it belongs to the crew of the ship. I don’t think any of them stood a chance against her.”
“Aye, you trained her well, my friend.” Dorenn put his hand on Bren’s shoulder, trying to offer him some comfort. “No sword found its way to injure her.”
“Considering they were mostly unarmed, I’m not surprised,” Bren stated flatly. “What did Bannon do to her? How could she be so cruel?”
“He fractured her mind,” Rennon said. “She is mired in illusion, unable to tell friend from foe, illusion from reality.” He sighed. “But I admit, this is all new to me as well. I only know what I see in her mind, and even that’s difficult for me.”
“There is no one else left in the world who could hope to match your ability now, my friend,” Bren said.
“I saw her cut down Bannon. What, or rather who, has her mind now?” Dorenn asked. “I mean, with Bannon dead.”
“Toborne, I should think,” Bren said.
Dorenn grinned. “No, I can assure you that Toborne is not responsible this time. He is now lost to this world.”
Bren winced. “Forgive me, Dorenn. I have forgotten myself.”
Bren and Dorenn bolted upright at the sound of someone approaching. They relaxed as soon as Seandara appeared. “Good, I’ve found you,” she said to Dorenn. “It’s Kimala. Fayne has found her, and something is gravely wrong with her.”
“What is it?” Dorenn asked.
“I’m not certain. All I know is that she is not herself.”
Dorenn absently rubbed his cheek. “Do you two think you two can keep an eye on the situation in here? I really should see what is going on with Kimala.”
Rennon nodded. “I have work to do if I hope to stabilize her and bring her back to reality. Bren, I will need you to stay close in case she wakes. I’m not sure I would be any good in a melee against her now.”
“Aye, I will stay by her side.” He glanced at Dorenn, who failed to hide his wince. Nothing was ever really resolved between him and Tatrice, and now Bren was married to her, and it no longer seemed they were seeking to have the marriage annulled. Dorenn feigned a weak grin and nodded. “I will return.” He looked at Seandara, who he was sure easily perceived his thinly veiled reaction to Bren’s words. “Maybe you should stay here too.”
“I will not,” Seandara said. “My place is with you.”
“Not this time. I want you to help with Tatrice.”
“No,” she said defiantly. “You might need me out there.”
Dorenn took her by the arm and led her away from the others. “Seandara, Bren is emotionally compromised, and Rennon is no match for two dragon knights. Should Tatrice awaken and drastic action must be carried out, you are the only one I trust to do what must be done. You must stay. I will return for you.”
Reluctantly, Seandara agreed. She kissed him hard on the lips. “And you must be careful.”
Dorenn nodded, glanced nervously at his smirking friends, and left the decaying inn, headed for the docks. As soon as he was away, he touched his lips. Tatrice never kissed me like that, he thought.
He collected himself and moved stealthily through the ruins. He didn’t get far, however, before he saw something white glowing from the corner of his eye. He froze and slowly turned to face an apparition floating between the crumbling buildings. He placed his hand on the hilt of Dranmalin, but could clearly see this was not one of the nonliving. The apparition halted when Dorenn caught its gaze. In the gloomy alleyway before him floated a woman in ghostly white robes, the edges blowing around her with an unnatural breeze. Her hair was snow white and her complexion pale. Hollow eyes fixated on him. He took his hand off Dranmalin. There was no sense of threat from her. She lifted her right hand and, with a bony finger, beckoned him to follow. She turned and floated down the alleyway. Dorenn briefly had the presence of mind to resist, but something told him it was important that he follow her. He did not sense any danger. He made his way after her, keeping Dranmalin within easy access if he needed it.
She floated out into the next cluttered street and up the steps to what looked remarkably like a temple of Loracia, but he could tell it was more of a meeting place than a temple. She disappeared inside the open fissure that used to be the front entrance. Dorenn took out Dranmalin and hacked away the debris so he could more easily get through the broken entrance.
When he was inside, the apparition floated over what appeared to be a broken altar. It was marbled stone, but it had amazingly been shorn in half, as if with an enormous axe, down the middle; one side was even crumbling onto the floor.
“What happened to that altar?” he asked curiously.
“I recognize your linage.” The apparition spoke with a reverberating ethereal voice, sweet and terrible at the same time. She ignored his question.
“Oh?” Dorenn answered. “How is that?”
“Your linage left here long ago. I am surprised you have returned. You must have made a mess of things to come back here. You are lost and need help now, no?”
“What are you going on about?” Dorenn asked. “Who are you? What is this place?”
“This was an ancient temple dedicated to Fawlsbane Vex, and I am his prophetess. He has sent me to you, for he cannot come himself, regretfully. Of course, you will know his reasons for not speaking with you directly soon enough.”
“Oh, of course you are.” Dorenn rolled his eyes. “Just what I need right now. A ghostly prophetess,” he muttered to himself. “Fawlsbane Vex has never shied away from appearing in some way to me before. Why now?”
The apparition floated silently for a moment, her lips curled in slight amusement. “I am not a ghost, and I am the prophetess of Fawlsbane Vex, sent by him to inform you, so he is hardly shying away from appearing to you in some manner. I am appearing to you on his behalf.”
“You look like a ghost.”
“I am a . . . projection. I exist in this world as you do. I am flesh and blood.”
Dorenn was confused. “I can see you exist . . . wait, what?”
“This form is just so I may communicate with you, so I might bring you to me. I would never venture into this necropolis you now stand in. Fawlsbane would never allow me to be put in such harm.”
Dorenn felt he had wasted enough time. “Look, I respect the fact you’ve come here to tell me something or warn me of some impending doom, but I am actually a very busy man and I am quite aware I face many dangers. Forgive me, but I don’t believe you could tell me anything of consequence. In fact, I don’t need to hear anymore doom and gloom at the moment. I mean, currently, your words may be more discouraging than helpful. One can only hear that kind of thing for so long before the situation begins to feel overwhelming.”
“Are you quite done droning on and on?” the apparition said. “You would think the wisdom of all those wielders who have imbued you with their essence would have had a more positive effect on your personality. Tell me, do they still offer you their wisdom?”
Dorenn took notice now. “What do you know of that?”
The projection shrugged. “All of it. It’s how you see me now when no one else can. In all of your recent experience, you still have not embraced your spiritual side, even though you absorbed all the essence in the Hall of Ancients. Pitiful! You have convinced everyone around you, and maybe even yourself, that the many wielders have left you now, but you and I know the real truth, don’t we? You still have them all swirling inside your head. All that spiritual power and knowledge at your command, and you deny it. You even have the entirety of Toborne’s being now, yet you remain unenlightened.”
“No one knows any of that but me, other than what happened to Toborne, I mean.”
“I am someone, and I know. You can fool everyone else if you wish, but not me.”
“All right.” Dorenn sat on a stone bench near the altar. “You have managed to insult your way into getting my complete attention.”
The projection giggled, which irritated Dorenn more. “I’m not going to tell
you anything else here in this place,” she said as if he should know better than to ask. “There are too many unseen ears and prying eyes. You will have to come see me face to face. I’m not far.”
Dorenn looked around the empty chambers but sensed nothing. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for you.”
“Oh, you have time.” The projection lifted her arms, and Dorenn abruptly stood against his will. Not knowing what might be coming next, he grasped Dranmalin as the room around him changed and distorted and then began to fade away. He brandished Dranmalin in defense and lost his grip. The sword left his hands as if pulled away from him. It sailed through the air and outside the broken doors of the quickly disappearing temple. A moment later, he was standing in the woods, facing a small cottage. He recognized the travel spell used on him. It was similar to the one Gondrial and Lady Shey used after they had first met, to help them all escape the Enforcers at the Vale of Morgoran. The door to the cottage opened, and a youthful woman exited. She had brown hair with traces of blonde tied back in a ponytail, and she sported a green dress with brown lace. She appeared to be no more than sixteen seasons.
“Welcome, Dorenn Adair. Come inside. We have much to discuss.” She grinned, and Dorenn’s anger and irritation melted away. Then he remembered his sword.
“Wait, what have you done with my sword?”