Battlefield of the Sacred Land

by Mark E. Tyson

  Oria saw him when she opened her eyes. “I wouldn’t drink that. Didn’t I tell you time was going to be strange here?” She took the cup from him and placed it in an empty washbasin. Dorenn suddenly realized he had to relieve himself.

  “There is an outhouse out back,” Oria said, as if she read his mind. “Hurry, I need to make use of it too.” He moved to the backdoor. “I will get the fire going again and cook us a meal. I assume you’re hungry.”

  Dorenn nodded. “How long has it been?”

  “A few days, I’m sure. I never know how long exactly. I’m afraid it will get worse the more we delve into the past.” She pointed urgently to the door, and Dorenn hurried out.

  When Dorenn returned, Oria had the hearth fire lit and was washing dishes in the now-filled washbasin. “Where did you get that water from?” Dorenn asked.

  Oria pointed to a strange-looking contraption with a large handle. “It’s called a water pump. You just move the handle up and down and water comes out.”

  “Ah, I have seen one of these before, at the palace in Symboria. I didn’t know what it was, though.”

  Oria left to go to the outhouse.

  Dorenn paced around the cottage. “So, do I get to find out what happened to the disciple—Adell, was it?—and her child? I assume she was with child. Where did Gondolar take her?” he asked as soon as Oria returned.

  Oria put on a cooking apron. “Gondolar took her to the isle of the elves, Arillia. There he fell in love with her and eventually married her.”

  “Really! Well, I’m glad about that. He seemed so sad about the loss of his first wife. What about the child?”

  “She was born and . . .” Oria swallowed hard. “Maybe I should wait and see where Fawlsbane takes you next before I tell you her name.”

  “Is it that important?”

  “It could be,” she answered.

  “I’m sure it won’t hurt to tell me.”

  “They named her Kimala,” Oria told him.

  “Our Kimala?”

  “Aye, the same. Kimala is Gondrial’s stepsister and Lady Shey’s half-sister.”

  “Why didn’t Gondrial or Lady Shey tell me?”

  Oria turned to him, a smirk on her face. “Neither of them know. You act as if you’re the only one with a destiny in this narrative.”

  “Does Kimala know?”

  “I doubt it. Gondrial had already left to apprentice with Ianthill by the time Gondolar returned with the pregnant Adell, and he never was able to see his father again.”

  “Why, what happened to Gondolar?”

  “I only now realized that you may be seeing the story from Gondolar’s experience next. I think your questions will be answered by Fawlsbane.”

  “All right, how soon until we eat? I’m starving!”

  “Soon, and then we will get right back to into your visions.”

  Part 2: Through the Eyes of Gondolar

  Chapter 6: A New Home

  Gondolar eyed Kymlie suspiciously. “Are you certain?”

  “Aye, I found out that the creature sent to Veric’s daughter’s room that night was not from Aedreagnon but Kambor! And moreover, Kambor has been experimenting with the dragonkind to improve it.”

  “Improve it how?”

  “He wants to get rid of the stench and anything else that might give it away as what it is when disguised.”

  “That would be very bad, indeed,” he said, stroking his chin in contemplation.

  “There’s more. I have been made aware that Aedreagnon’s chief disciple, Toborne, has had Aedreagnon’s power to create Dramyds and Drasmyd Duil for seasons. Aedreagnon gave him the knowledge well before Fawlsbane Vex forbade his songod to create them or interfere directly with the folks of the world. He simply transferred the ability and knowledge needed to create them to Toborne. He probably anticipated his father’s disapproval.”

  “Who else knows all this?” Gondolar asked.

  “No one. I gathered the information from different reputable sources.” He paused to let Gondolar process the information. “There is one other thing. Veric has managed to get free from Venifyre.”

  “Oh, and he is well?”

  “As far as I can tell he is. He wants you and me to meet him in Paladine to discuss what happened.”

  “He is curious about Adell, I would imagine,” Gondolar said.

  “What will you tell him of her?”

  “I don’t know, but certainly not the truth. He would never allow the situation to go on as it has if he knew the truth. Besides, he would feel compelled to tell Sylvalora, and it would devastate her.”

  “I agree,” Kymlie said. “By the way, the message I received from Veric says he wishes to tell us something important.”

  Gondolar looked back through the balcony window into his living chambers. Adell was there changing a diaper. “No matter what he wishes to tell us, as far as I am concerned, when I married Adell, that little girl became mine.”

  “He does have the right to know.”

  “That may be, but he’ll not hear it from me.” He gave Kymlie a hard look.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll not tell him,” Kymlie assured him.

  “Good, let me handle it. I will tell him she fell aboard the ship to Arillia and lost it.”

  “And then?”

  “I felt so sorry for her I kept her safe here at my residence in Arillia, and we soon after fell in love and married. My own daughter came a few months after.”

  “You will have to be convincing,” Kymlie said.

  “Of course, but you see, I am in love with her and she with me. There is no deception there, so the rest seems plausible.”

  “You will leave them to go to Paladine, then?”

  “Aye, there is no better choice. I will make all the arrangements. Adell will understand. If we do not go, Veric will get suspicious and come here, and I would rather not have him see the baby. I wouldn’t want him to sense a connection with her.”

  “I don’t think he would.”

  “Well, I’m not taking the chance he might.”

  “Should I send word that we will meet him?”

  “Aye, in Paladine in one week if you can just find out where.”

  Gondolar donned his pack, kissed Adell and Kimala goodbye, and descended the stone stairs leading down from his apartments to the streets of Westercliff, Arillia. He made his way to the stables to pick up his horse that he had the stableman prepare for him. As he walked, he marveled at the elvish architecture of the city. The Arillian elves prided themselves on the thin lines and precise curves and circles of all their buildings, and Westercliff was no exception. He walked slowly, taking in the magnificent scenes of people hard at work preparing for the day ahead. He could smell bread baking and see the milkmaids with their buckets of fresh milk heading for the creameries. He wondered how long it would be before he would be able to return to his home this time.

  Once he entered the stables and mounted his horse, he tipped the stableman a gold crown and then trotted the horse through the streets and out the front gates toward the small port village of Northport. He could go to the capital city, Arill, but that was a bit out of his way. It was a straight day’s ride to Northport and another two days at sea, crossing the Arillian strait to Paladine in southern Symboria. Not an hour out of Westercliff, Gondolar got the distinct feeling that he was being watched, maybe even followed. The hair on the back of his neck stood up frequently, and he turned to look behind him each time it did.

  He was thankful when he caught up to a couple of finely dressed merchants on horseback riding to Northport to pick up a supply wagon. The larger of the two men was called Brell, and the smaller Tolin. They graciously accepted Gondolar when he asked if he could ride along with them. As soon as he joined them, the feelings of being watched and followed abated.

  “The more the merrier,” Tolin said.

  “Absolutely, I can’t stand to travel alone myself. It’s always a faster trip when one has company and conversation, espec
ially at mealtimes on the road,” Brell said.

  “Where do you travel from, friend?” Tolin asked.

  “I am from Westercliff,” Gondolar answered.

  “Oh, fine city, Westercliff. We stayed there overnight last eve. Fine food and better service,” Brell said.

  “Which inn?”

  “The Hearth and Kin,” Brell answered.

  “The finest in Westercliff, and the most pricy, I might add,” Gondolar said.

  “But so worth it, friend,” Tolin added.

  “What business are you two in, if you don’t mind my asking.”

  “Textiles, wine, and dry goods,” Brell said. “And anything else we can turn a profit from. Last season we dealt in shipments of turnips, and earlier this season, it was cured hams. We are going to Northport today to pick up a wagonload of imported silk and other textiles from Scarovia.”

  “I take it if you stayed in Westercliff last eve that you must come from Arill.”

  “You take it correctly,” Tolin said. “I suppose we could have taken a more direct route through the grasslands and stayed in one of the inns along the way, but none match up to the Hearth and Kin.”

  “Aye, many merchants come to Westercliff to stay there,” Gondolar said. “It doesn’t surprise me you might have gone out of your way a bit just to stay in its luxury.” He smiled at Tolin and noticed a few beads of sweat upon the man’s forehead in spite of the chill of morning. “I meant no inquest with my question,” he said. “Your business is your own. I was merely curious.”

  Tolin wiped the sweat from his brow. “Oh, pay no mind to me. I would sweat in a blizzard! This woolen jacket I wear is seriously warm, and my people come from far up north in the frigid mountains of Ardenia.”

  “Ah, you are Trigoths,” Gondolar said.

  “We prefer to be called Ardenians. Trigothia is merely the political name from the political side of things,” Brell said.

  “Forgive me,” Gondolar said. “I didn’t realize.”

  “It’s all right. Few outside of Trigothia realize it,” Tolin said.

  When the sun reached midday, Tolin was the first to suggest they find a shady spot just off the road to rest the horses and have a meal. The two merchants had a meal especially prepared by the kitchens of the Hearth and Kin. Gondolar had homemade bread, cheese, and dried meats, his standard traveling fare.

  After the horses were fed and watered, the three were nearly ready to return to their journey. Brell inspected his horse and then took out a bottle not unfamiliar to Gondolar, Ardenian corn liquor, and three shot glasses. “We always take a shot for luck,” he said. “We would be honored if you would partake.”

  Gondolar felt a little uncomfortable about accepting drink from someone he only just met. “I’m flattered, but you two go ahead.”

  “We insist,” Tolin said. “It is a grave insult in Ardenia to refuse.”

  Gondolar smiled. “We are not in Ardenia. Here in Arillia we have a saying: don’t give, don’t take.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Brell asked.

  “It means keep to yourself and no one will feel slighted.”

  “Well, I do feel slighted, friend,” Brell said.

  Gondolar sighed. “All right, in the interest of civility.” He reached for the shot glass.

  Brell and Tolin both held their glasses high, and Gondolar did the same.

  “To the road—may it keep us safe for the remainder of our journey,” Brell said, and the merchants both downed the shot, as did Gondolar.

  “Here is your glass.” Gondolar handed the shot glass to Brell. “Thank you for the drink. It was lovely,” he said. “Oh, and if you are expecting the sedative you slipped in it to work on me, you have gravely underestimated the constitution of the elves.” He quickly mounted his horse. “The sedatives I slipped into your horses’ water, however, should be taking effect right about now.” The two men’s horses both began to wobble and rock back and forth drowsily. “I bid you both good journey!” Gondolar raised a hand above his head and smiled widely before spurring his horse along at a brisk trot. As soon as he was out of earshot, he shook his head vigorously, allowing his cheeks to jiggle. “Whatever that was did get to me a tiny bit, I’ll admit.” He laughed at his own wit.

  It was early evening when Gondolar arrived at the gates of Northport. The sail ship masts reached into the air above the rooftops of the houses and buildings of the city like a forest of tall trees. Gondolar rushed to the stables and unloaded his provisions from the back of his horse. He paid the stable hand and hurried to get his ticket for the ride across the Arillian Strait to Paladine, Symboria. He wanted to get on the ship and out to sea as quickly as possible. The sedatives he carried in his emergency kit were strong enough to knock a man out for several hours but not strong enough to keep a horse down for long at all. The men, obviously sent to ambush him, were probably not far behind him now. He stowed his gear in the common hold of the ship and went back to the deck to wait for the crew to shove off. From there, he could keep an eye on the road into the city, which descended a hill to the main gates completely visible from his vantage point aboard ship.

  Just as the crew removed the massive ropes from the moorings, he saw the merchants riding down the hill toward the city at a rapid pace, kicking dirt from the road up behind them. He knew they would most likely ride directly to the docks, not that they would know exactly which ship he was on, but he wanted a little more insurance, so he whispered a few words he learned from spending time with the sand elves of Darovan. An abrupt breeze filled the sails as the crew unfurled them, almost pulling a couple of the sailors with them.

  “We have the breath of Fawlsbane Vex sending us on!” the captain shouted from the bridge. “Secure those sails, men.”

  A grin crossed Gondolar’s face as he saw Brell and Tolin ride up to the docks and gaze intently at each of the four ships all sailing away at the same instance. He simply stepped behind the main mast to elude them. He was concerned, however, when he looked at the northern skies and noticed they were clouding up, almost unnaturally. “More wielders?”

  “Nah!” The nearest sailor thought Gondolar was speaking to him. “That’s the Nor westerlies, quite common this time of season. We will skirt right by them as they blow toward the southwest. Nothing to worry you about, sir.” He exposed a nearly toothless grin.

  “Thank you, friend. They do look ominous.”

  “It’s just Fawlsbane Vex trying to show us how tough and strong he is.” He tugged on a rope and secured it. “Still, there might be rain. You best be getting down below.”

  Gondolar nodded and walked toward the hold with a strange, forbidding feeling suddenly coming over him.

  Chapter 7: Downfall: The Birth of the Unseen

  Gondolar met Kymlie as soon as he disembarked and followed him through the rough underbelly of the city of Paladine to an inn called The Stamping Stag, a somewhat seedy establishment that had definitely seen its better days.

  “I know this inn. Veric told me this place was built over an older building. He managed to buy the place long ago,” Gondolar said. “It’s his hiding place from an earlier life.”

  “An earlier life?” Kymlie asked.

  Gondolar pondered for a moment how much he should tell his friend about Veric. “Veric used to work in the royal service of the king of Symboria. Let’s just say he was dispatched by the king when negotiations stalled or failed completely.”

  “He was an assassin?” Kymlie said, surprised.

  “I wouldn’t say that around him. He strongly dislikes the word. Anyhow, he gave that life up after he met Sylvalora. I guess he held on to some of his old life just in case.”

  They entered the inn, and the first thing the innkeeper focused on was Kymlie. Gondolar ignored his huffing and sighing in the general direction of his friend. “Innkeeper, we are expected, if you would direct me to the chambers of your patron.”

  The innkeeper acted as if he didn’t know what Gondolar was asking. “I am t
he owner of this establishment, and I’m afraid I don’t allow pets. Your dog will have to wait outside.”

  Gondolar feigned looking around his feet. “Dog, I have no dog. But, if you are referring to my Kylerie elf friend here, you should know this dog has teeth.” Kymlie let his hand fall to the hilt of his dagger.

  The innkeeper grinned and bared his brown, tabac-soaked teeth. “Round back, there is a door you might be interested in.”

  Gondolar bowed curtly and motioned for Kymlie to follow him.

  They found the door easily and knocked upon it. Gondolar spun around when he heard the whimper of Kymlie. One of the dirty men from the inn had him by the neck with a hand over Kymlie’s mouth. The elf bit the man, and he removed his hand temporarily. “Ambush!” he said.

  Gondolar went for his sword but stopped when the man produced a knife and held it to Kymlie’s throat. Two more men with rusty swords and chains appeared behind the one who held Kymlie.

  “Whoa, let the elf go. He has done nothing to you,” Gondolar pleaded. “We are not looking for trouble. Let him go, and I will send him away.”

  “Too late for that, friend. The innkeeper told you to cut the dog loose and you chose not to.”

  “My mistake, friend. Let him go, and I will give you all that I possess. I am not wealthy, but I do have means.”

  “Aw, where’s the fun in that?” the captor said.

  “One of his kind cursed my sister,” the other man on the left said.

  “And me mum,” the one on the right added.

  “Shut up, you two. I doubt he cares about your wench sister and your filthy mum.”

  “Hey, that’s me mum you’re talkin’ ’bout.”

  “Why are you talking like that?” the captor asked.

  The man on the right spit out a chunk of tabac. “Sorry, I was chewin’.”

  “Look, fellows, this elf did neither of those things you said. He is innocent. Surely you will not condemn him for the actions of his fellow elf?”