Battlefield of the Sacred Land

by Mark E. Tyson

  “That’s not the point, friend,” the captor said. “I hate Kylerie elves. They’re always putting their noses in where they don’t belong and making promises they never keep. They’re lazy and make life miserable.”

  “I can tell you have had some unpleasant run-ins with Kylerie elves before, but I assure you they are not all like the ones you have encountered. This one is a good and kind-hearted soul.” Gondolar hoped he could elicit sympathy for his friend.

  “I told you, friend. It’s sport now. I plan to kill every Kylerie elf I see for the rest of my life.” He scowled at Gondolar.

  Realizing he was getting nowhere, Gondolar straightened his back and let his cloak fall to the side of his sword. “Careful who you call friend. This is your last warning. Let him go, and I will let you walk away.”

  The captor laughed. “Is that a threat, friend?” The captor cruelly cut across Kymlie’s throat, and he fell to the ground.

  Gondolar didn’t hesitate now. He let fly six finger-sized daggers he had concealed within his cloak, along with the word of true, another sand elf trick designed to guide finger-sized daggers exactly where he wanted them to go. Two of the daggers found the captor’s face, specifically his eyes. Two more found a home in the left man’s neck, and two did the same in the man on the right. Time seemed to stop as the captor fell to the ground. Gondolar snapped his fingers, and all six daggers returned to his cloak as clean as when he had thrown them. As soon as they left the necks of the two flanking men, blood poured out of the wounds with every solid beat of their hearts. They each desperately tried to plug the holes with their filthy hands and fingers, but Gondolar knew they wouldn’t be able to stop it.

  The door behind him flung open, and a cloaked figure stood there. The hood fell back, slightly revealing red eyes staring out from under it. Then the figure pushed the hood off his head. It was Veric, looking like he had been through an ordeal himself. Gondolar bent down to the bleeding Kymlie, a tear rolling down his cheek. “Don’t just stand there, Veric!”

  “Quickly, get him inside. Put him on the bed and use the linen to hold the wound. I will be right there.” He rushed into the inn. Gondolar heaved up Kymlie and carried him into the room—he was surprisingly heavy for one so small in stature—and placed him on the bed. Kymlie looked up at him pleadingly. “You will be fine, Kymlie. Just hold on.”

  Veric returned and slammed the door behind him. He carried something with him. “Step aside, my friend,” he said to Gondolar, and he complied.

  After several long moments of Veric tending to the wounds, the man clenched his fists. “As I suspected. That dagger was poisoned with dogroot.” He threw a small bowl containing whatever he was applying to Kymlie across the room. “I didn’t even think about how Kymlie would be thought of here. I forgot all about how Kylerie elves were hated by some of the men here. How could I be so careless?”

  “Why do they hate the Kylerie so much?” Gondolar asked. “And what has happened to you?”

  Veric glared at him with his red eyes and shrugged. “Who cares why?” He turned to his dying friend. “They call them dogs, and they ironically use a poison called dogroot to kill them. The salve I used sometimes counteracts the poison, but the dogroot used this time was too strong and too much got through.”

  “Veric?”

  “What? I have been in Venifyre all this time. What do you think has happened to me?”

  “You seem angry.”

  “I am angry. My friend is dying here.” He clenched his fists again. “No, I won’t allow it. I am a god after all. I will fix this!”

  “A god? What are you talking about?” Gondolar was appalled.

  “Aedreagnon’s soul lives within me now. I have quelled the mad god, Gondolar. Think about what that means.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “I killed him and he intertwined his soul with mine, but my will was too strong and he was too weak. I control him now.”

  “Are you certain? It doesn’t appear that way to me at the moment.”

  “I know how he created the Dramyds and Drasmyd Duil and I know he gave the ability to Kambor and now Toborne. I have set in motion a plan to defeat them both, but I am not myself yet.”

  “I should say not,” Gondolar agreed. “I can’t allow you to use the power of Aedreagnon. Not even to save my dearest friend. You must purge yourself of his influence, Veric. Purge yourself of the mad god; you cannot contain him. Think of Sylvalora and Sheyna.”

  Veric’s red eyes flared. “It is the power from Sylvalora as her dragon knight that allows me to contain Aedreagnon! And it is because of Sheyna that I need to defeat Kambor!” He reached for Kymlie. “I can save him.”

  “No, Veric. I beg you. Don’t do this. Aedreagnon’s power is twisted. You can’t know what will happen.”

  Veric put his hands on Kymlie. Gondolar hurried to stop him. Veric extended his hand, and the door to the outside opened. He flung his hand, and Gondolar flew across the room and out the door with it slamming shut behind him. Gondolar leaped up from the ground and vigorously, frantically, tried to get back through the door. “VERIC!”

  “They want a dog! I will give them a dog! A dog they will never see coming,” he heard Veric shout from within.

  “Don’t!” Gondolar pleaded. A bloodcurdling howl issued forth from within, and Gondolar took a step back. The door crashed open, knocking him down. He watched in horror as a dog-like animal with tendrils at its snout and a body covered in lizard-like scales emerged. It attacked the bodies of the dead men, tearing them to shreds. A few moments later, it howled and then faded to invisibility. Gondolar pulled himself up from the ground and stumbled backward. He regained his footing and turned and ran as hard as he could. His only thought was to get away. He couldn’t afford to think about what he had just witnessed.

  Dorenn’s eyes snapped open and he shook himself awake in horror. He felt sick; his stomach turned relentlessly. Oria was there in an instant, comforting him.

  “I am going to be sick,” he told her.

  “It’s the side effect of what we are doing. You need food and water.”

  Dorenn gave her a hard look. “Did you not see what I saw?”

  “If you are suggesting the events you witnessed might be making you ill, I can sympathize. However, I’m certain you need to eat and you are suffering from lack of water. I have done this before. Trust me.”

  “Why didn’t Gondolar tell Morgoran or Ianthill what Veric had done? How did Veric end up trapped in the library at By’temog? Did they know about him, trapped him there, and just did not tell me?”

  “Here.” Oria handed him a glass of water, and he drank deeply.

  “No, that wouldn’t make sense. Morgoran had me free him. Veric is running around out there right now with Aedreagnon.” He tried to sit up. “I have to get out of here. I have to tell Morgoran and Ianthill.”

  Oria pushed him back into his chair. “We’re not done here. You don’t have all the information you need yet.”

  “If Gondolar didn’t tell Morgoran or Ianthill, then what happened to him?” Dorenn asked.

  “As I have already stated, we are not done here yet. Hold your questions and let me cook us some food.”

  Dorenn nodded. “All right. I am going to go to the outhouse.” He smiled weakly at Oria and exited out the rear of the cabin. As soon as he was sure she wasn’t watching him, he bolted into the woods. There has to be a village or something nearby, he thought. I have to get out of here! He pushed through the trees and stumbled over some brush until he saw the smoke from a chimney directly ahead. He rushed through the thick trees and broke into the clearing. His chin dropped at the sight of the very cabin he had just left behind. Oria opened the front door, rubbing her hands on her apron.

  “The food will be ready soon. The outhouse is in the rear. You are going the wrong way.” He took a few steps toward the cabin, still dumbfounded. “Oh, and before you can go warn anyone of what you have seen here, we have to finish, as I have now told
you three times.”

  Chapter 8: Wrong Place, Wrong Time

  Gondolar stopped running when he came to a tavern a few streets over from the Stamping Stag. He fumbled into the door of the tavern and quickly found the bar and barkeep.

  “Whoa, sir,” the barkeep said. “You look as if you have been in a dead run from the misses!” One of the patrons close by chuckled, but Gondolar was not amused.

  “Give me a double of your stoutest,” Gondolar told the barkeep.

  “My stoutest? You are running from the misses.” He poured Gondolar a clear liquid in a medium-sized glass. The patron nearby chuckled again.

  Gondolar flicked him a silver and turned to leave.

  “Thank you kindly, sir,” the barkeep said, inspecting the silver piece. Gondolar caught him eyeing the nearby patron. The barkeep subtly raised his left eyebrow just enough to tell Gondolar he was interested in how many more silver pieces were on his person, and he wanted the patron to find out.

  “That’s all I have, friend. If you are signaling him to rob me, there is no more,” he lied.

  “Well, now,” the barkeep began, “that’s exactly what I would say too.”

  “Look, I have had an unusually bad day, and I don’t have time for this. I have to get out of here,” Gondolar said.

  The patron got up from his stool. “I think you should make the time. Empty out those pockets.”

  Gondolar frowned and shook his head. “What is it with this part of Paladine?” He closed his eyes and concentrated. The patron looked at the barkeep, and they both snickered at each other. Gondolar knew what he was about to do might attract attention, but he decided to risk it anyway in this seedy part of town.

  “Hey, did you hear me? I said empty out your pockets.”

  Gondolar slowly reached out his hand and acted like he wanted to hand the man something. When the man greedily opened his hand, Gondolar touched him with one finger. At first, the confused man pulled back his hand as if something had bitten him, and then the burning sensation began. Gondolar turned back to his drink and drained the glass.

  “What did you do?” the man yelped. “It burns!” He grabbed his forearm and stumbled backward.

  Gondolar gave the barkeep a stoic glance, and he quickly backed away, trying desperately to get out of Gondolar’s reach.

  “Smart man,” Gondolar said. He cracked his knuckles on his right hand just by flexing his hand, and moved away from his stool by pushing away from the bar with his left. He tried not to see the startled faces of the men as he passed them for the door; they cleared a path for him. The thief he had touched was engulfed completely in flames when Gondolar reached the door and exited the tavern. He caught sight of several men rushing to the burning man’s aid as soon as they thought he was out of sight.

  Gondolar knew he really had to hurry now. He also knew that Ianthill had a tower in Paladine, up near the royal quarter gates. He had to cross into the more affluent parts of the city as soon as possible so that anyone brave enough to follow him or go after him for burning the patron would be out of place. He didn’t like to think about it, but Veric might have decided to come after him as well. He had to get to Ianthill or Morgoran. He preferred Ianthill, given how close Morgoran was to Toborne. Ianthill would know what to do about Veric.

  He wended his way down the cobblestone streets, careful to avoid patrols just in case. He navigated by affluence. As he progressed, the city became cleaner and the people about town became cleaner and better dressed. Before long, he could see the tower of Ianthill towering over a gathering of small shops and buildings. When he arrived and knocked on the sturdy, red-hued wooden door, a man of advanced seasons answered it.

  “Aye, can I help you? What is your business here, stranger?”

  “My name is Gondolar. I am a very old friend of Ianthill. I have been here before, but unfortunately, I do not know you.”

  “I am Olin, one of Ianthill’s groundskeepers.”

  “Fine, fine. I will be blunt instead of courteous. Forgive me in advance. Is Ianthill in?”

  The man looked Gondolar up and down. “You look to me to be Arillian, and I have never known an Arillian elf to be dishonest. I don’t see any harm in telling you where the master is. He is in Symbor seeing to the apprenticeship of several students of Enowene, along with both Morgoran and Toborne.”

  Gondolar winced at the news. “Are there any dragon knights staying in his castle?” He knew it was a long shot, but dragon knights did sometimes stay in Ianthill’s tower, and one might have a Lora Daine.

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Thank you, Olin. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise. Shall I tell the master of your visit upon his return?”

  “Aye, please do. My name again is Gondolar.”

  “Gondolar, I got it.” He closed the red door behind him.

  Gondolar looked around the shops and buildings as if he might see Ianthill or a dragon knight there in spite of knowing none were around. His next thought would be to travel to the Vale of Morgoran to the north if Olin had not already told him that Morgoran was also not at home. The only way he could go now would be to Symbor to the west, a long journey across the river Trenan, or he could ferry across Lake Trenan. After a few moments’ thought, he decided to send a message to Ianthill and then go home to make sure his family was safe. If he sent the message as urgent, Ianthill would come to Westercliff. The old wizard had means of travel unavailable to him. Ianthill could get to Westercliff easier and faster than Gondolar could get to Symbor.

  He straightened his pack and clothes and started out for the docks. From there he could send his message and buy a ticket for a ship home. He nervously kept an eye on the street behind him as he hurried along.

  Gondolar’s newfound paranoia paid off when he arrived at the docks and spotted Brell loitering near the boat master’s office. The big man was dressed differently and Tolin was nowhere to be seen, but that was Brell; he was certain of it. He tried to think back; had he divulged where he was headed in the conversations before he realized who they were? He must have told them something, of course. It was logical to think Gondolar would be heading for Paladine. Most of the ships leaving Northport made a stop at Paladine before sailing on.

  Knowing what he did about Veric made him suspect the two men probably worked for Kambor. The gold dragon must have known that Kymlie found out it was he who sent the monster to kidnap Veric’s daughter. They probably followed Kymlie to my home and then followed me here in hopes that they could intercept me, and maybe even Kymlie, before we could tell Veric. They probably have no idea about Veric, but I wonder. Do they know he left Venifyre? he thought. I have to get a message off to Ianthill. Now more than ever.

  “I wish I had learned that dragon knight spell now. Veric tried to teach it to me, but no, I would never need to send a message magically,” he said aloud. “The conventional way was good enough, I told him. What is everyone in such a hurry for, I told him. I am a fool.”

  He decided to look for an alternative route where Brell couldn’t see him. He briefly wondered if Brell and Tolin were Kambor’s dragon knights with Lora Daines, but he quickly dismissed the thought. If they were, they wouldn’t have bothered to come across the strait by ship. They could have just used their dragon stones to intercept him.

  He took a few steps around a corner building when he spotted a true dragon knight walking up the street toward him in full dragon knight armor. He thought about trying to pick his pocket and get his dragon stone until he noticed the Lora Daine was fixed on his shield, which he was curiously holding to his side rather than on his back like dragon knights usually did in town. Perhaps Gondolar might be able to get the knight to send the message. He took out a piece of parchment from his pack and scrawled out that he urgently needed Ianthill to meet him in Westercliff. He also wrote a brief, cryptic message about Veric. Ianthill would get his meaning. If the old elf was with Sylvalora, he would have already known about Veric being in Venifyre.
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  When the dragon knight was in range, Gondolar waved him over. The big man in blue dragon armor had nothing to fear and complied. “What is it, friend?” he asked. “How may I help?”

  “My name is Gondolar. I am a friend of Sylvalora, the silver drake. I urgently need to get a message to a member of the First Trine, Ianthill.”

  “You? You know the matron of dragons.” The dragon knight chuckled. “And the First Trine too, no doubt.”

  “I do, sir. This is no joke, and I am in serious peril. I know I look like a common traveler from Arillia at the moment, but I am telling you the truth. I am an Arillian elf; you know I wouldn’t lie to you. In fact, the message I carry is about Sylvalora’s husband, Veric.”

  “You know, Ianthill has a tower here in Paladine. You could just give the message to his people and he would get it.” The dragon knight was somewhat dismissive.

  “I’ve already been there, and I talked to his servant. Ianthill is in Symbor. If I left this message at his tower, he would not get it until he returned, and it’s urgent. He must get it as soon as possible.”

  “There you are, Gondolar.” Gondolar’s heart sunk as he recognized the voice of Tolin coming from somewhere behind him. “What are you trying to tell this fine dragon knight? Your fanciful stories again?”

  Gondolar tried to look the dragon knight sternly in the eyes. “I don’t know him. I just met him on the road. He knows nothing about me. In fact, he tried to poison me.” He regretted saying that as soon as it came out of his mouth.

  “Oh, he tried to poison you, did he?” the dragon knight said with sarcasm.

  “Forgive my friend. He is not well,” Tolin began. “Everyone’s out to get him or poison him or bludgeon him to death. We were trying to take him to the clerics when he slipped away from us. He goes on and on about knowing Golvashala, the Oracle, and the First Trine. He is delusional.”

  “Aye, he was just telling me he knew Ianthill and the bleedin’ matron of dragons, of all things.”