by Tyson, Mark
“Shadow Lurkers?” Dorenn whispered to Rennon, and Rennon shook his head.
”I don’t think so. They look like small Dramyds, maybe half the size.”
The creatures stood inside the house talking in dark, guttural speech intermixed with hissing noises. They were short, black, and covered with thorny scales. They wore as much dirt and grime as they did clothing, and they carried black, curved swords.
A snapping noise from behind him sent Rennon’s wrist in motion, and a dagger whizzed by Dorenn’s face, striking a sneaking creature between the eyes. Rennon looked down at his hand and was surprised to see the dagger he had just thrown was still in his possession.
Dorenn drew Dranmalin slowly as not to make sound. “We have to warn the others,” he whispered to Rennon.
“What are they and what are they doing here? I thought the Defenders kept such creatures out of the Sacred Land,” Rennon whispered.
Dorenn shook his head. “I don’t know, it isn’t important. Back away slowly. If we can make it back to the temple undetected, we can warn the others and find out.”
As the two were backing away from the house, Dorenn saw a hearth fire burning in the temple, and the whole place was lit up with soft glowing light. Dicarion had already begun preparing for the night, apparently not at all worried about an attack in the Sacred Land. Dorenn realized the small Dramyds must know of their presence and were preparing to attack. Frantically he searched the dark edges of the temple with his sharp eyes for movement. Concentrating on the darkness, he let his consciousness search out the areas around the temple, and when he opened his eyes, he could see in the dark as if it were day. The temple was surrounded. Dorenn grabbed Rennon’s arm and stopped him from moving. “The creatures are all around the temple. I see them crouched there.”
“In the darkness you see them?” Rennon asked skeptically.
“Aye, trust me, they are there.”
“What do we do now?” Rennon asked.
Dorenn felt the pouch with the three stones and closed his eyes for a moment.
“Dorenn, what now?”
Dorenn slowly opened his eyes. “Rennon, forgive me, but I—”
“No, Dorenn, please don’t do it.”
“I have no choice, my friend. I must.”
“If you go running out there, they will swarm you like a colony of honey bees.”
Dorenn put his hand on Rennon’s shoulder. “We need a diversion. I know what decision the three stones I bought in Cedar Falls will help me make. It is the decision to draw essence.” He touched the pouch containing the stones in his vest. “We both have made our decision already, but we just have not wanted to admit it.”
Rennon looked down, his daggers drawn. He took a deep breath and removed Dorenn’s hand from his shoulder. “I cannot be friends with a wielder.”
Dorenn nodded. “I shall always call you friend.” He took out the stones and turned them in his free hand. A moment of concentration and the stones were gone, their purpose was now clear. A surge of energy took his body and his mind cleared. It was all so simple now. He felt the trees, the grass, the buildings, and he sensed the dead of the land and the life of the creatures all around him. Even without the ability to draw essence from the land, he felt himself draw in the very essence of all else that would allow him to do so. Rennon backed away from him, and the pang of Dorenn’s own sacrifice surged the energy to his fingertips. “Shield your eyes, Rennon,” Dorenn said as he let loose the energy on the diminutive Dramyds in a devastating bolt of pure lightning. High-pitched screams came from the surprised creatures as they burned in intense light.
The remaining Dramyds in the house bolted out into the courtyard. Dorenn turned to meet them with another blast of intense light. Whatever survived ran away into the darkness. Dorenn fell to his knees with his hands covering his face. Rennon scoffed and ran toward the temple as Dicarion, Gondrial, Ianthill, and Vesperin ran out to see what all the commotion was.
“What in Toborne’s name happened out here?” Dicarion shouted to Rennon as he ran up.
“I hope your cause is worth it, Ianthill. Dorenn is one of you now. He has gone against everything we were ever taught to live the life of a criminal.” Rennon’s eyes flashed with anger and contempt. “See to it that your cause was worth it.” He entered the temple, sheathing his daggers as he walked.
“Shocking words from one who wields the wild magic, is it not?” Gondrial said with a sarcastic smirk.
“Not now, Gondrial, this is not an easy time for any of these boys,” Ianthill said.
Dicarion leaned down to one of the dead creatures. “Draalings, nasty little creatures, quite poisonous if they bite you.”
Vesperin ran to where Dorenn wept and knelt down beside him. “Are you all right, Dorenn?”
“Will you abandon me too, Vesperin?”
“Why would I do that? We have known each other since childhood.”
“Rennon has.”
“Rennon will recover, he always does. I am surprised at you for worrying about it.”
“Not this time. I think he is serious. What have I done, Vesperin? What have I done?”
Vesperin took Dorenn’s hands and Dorenn pulled back. His hands were charred and burnt. “Let me heal you.” Dorenn slowly gave in and lifted his hands to Vesperin, who said a short prayer. Dorenn’s hands returned to normal.
Vesperin smiled warmly. “Come on now, Dicarion has a stew on the fire. You will be hungry after the shock subsides.”
Dorenn was already feeling the hunger pangs. “Am I a wielder now, Vesperin?”
Vesperin looked at the charred remains of the Draalings. “It appears that way.”
As soon as the boys left earshot, Dicarion turned to Ianthill.
“How in Fawlsbane’s beard did the boy do that, Ianthill? I have never seen a neophyte wield like that before.”
“He is more than he seems. The Silver Drake may yet choose him.”
“The Silver Drake? When will this happen?” Dicarion asked.
“All will be revealed in time, my friend.”
“I thought this land was dead. Where did he get the essence to wield?” asked Gondrial.
“He summoned it from himself somehow,” Ianthill said. “I suspect an essence stone.”
Dicarion winced. “Where would he get his hands on one of those?”
“He bought three stones in the shop where he bought the jade statuette. One was probably an essence stone. He will need instruction with great care now. The situation is delicate.”
“Indeed, he has been taught all his life to fear and loath wielders; to suddenly become one could lead him to madness,” Dicarion said as he peered into one of the abandoned houses.
Gondrial shuttered. “I remember getting essence sickness when I was an apprentice. I hope we can teach Dorenn without giving him that experience.”
“I doubt he will be able to draw on that power for a good long time now. He may have even burnt out the ability altogether. If he used a stone, it probably lent him some protection,” Ianthill said.
Dicarion was about to reply when an errant sound interrupted him.
“Halt! Who enters the Sacred Land?” a voice shouted from behind a nearby building.
“Ianthill of the isle. I travel with Dicarion of the docks,” Ianthill replied.
A man on horseback followed by six or seven more men appeared from the darkness. “Dicarion? I thought you would have more sense than to bring strangers this deep into the Sacred Land.”
“Parlane, is that you? I thought you to be dead,” Dicarion said. “What business do you have here?”
“Dicarion, you foolish old man, Palanon will have your head for bringing this wielder back into the Sacred Land. The last time he was here it took us a season to recover.”
Dicarion ignored the insult. “Palanon wanted to lead him here himself. Ianthill comes to the land peaceful enough.”
“Peaceful! I saw the lightning. What are you up to? The Defenders have a need t
o know your purpose.”
“If you want to know our purpose then I will tell you, but then you will offer us your services. We need you to lead us onward to Vetell Fex.”
“The only place I will lead you is out of these lands, old man.”
“Exactly what I wish for you to do if you’d listen. Vetell Fex is just outside the eastern border,” Dicarion said, but his words fell on deaf ears.
Ianthill smiled wickedly. “You can at least help us clear off the clan of Draalings we killed near the old temple.”
“Draalings?” Parlane’s attention was captured.
“Aye, near the old temple.” Dicarion said. “I am to report to the commandant this month. Perhaps I should let him know your patrol failed to detect a clan of draalings in the Sacred Land. I will even take a few items from the dead buggers to show him I speak the truth. I understand, of course, that you will be reprimanded, but that is all part of your job.”
“All right, old man, you have me at a disadvantage.” Parlane’s face remained stolid. “We will help you, but do not think you have made a new friend here; the Defenders are not taken to such tactics.”
“No, of course not,” Dicarion said as he winked at Gondrial.
Chapter 17: Foundations
Fayne entered what she perceived to be the border to the Sacred Land. Dead grass and a dead tree here and there told her she was correct. She had been riding for several days, and the rations Dellah had given her were depleting rapidly, but her charge spurred her onward. As an afterthought, Fayne wondered if Naneden’s army had taken Brookhaven and whether or not Lourn and Dellah were safe. “You cannot think about such things, Fayne,” she said aloud, “or your very thoughts will drive you mad.” She closed her eyes for a moment and pictured the image of Vesperin in her mind. The image of the blond cleric comforted her.
Fayne patted her horse’s neck. She was careful not to push the animal too far. The horse responded to her touch and perked up a bit. Fayne meticulously scanned the ground beneath her, her sharp eyes picking out signs of hoof prints and travel. Trendan was swift and he left a few clues to follow, but Fayne could find them with some skill. She scanned the sky and the horizon ahead. “I sense oppressive gloom in this land, pretty horse,” she said. The horse whinnied in response. “There are some ruins up ahead. I am sure you would like to stop for a while. Get us there, horse, and we will rest.” The horse moved onward a little faster toward the ruins as Fayne revisited the image of Vesperin once again in her mind.
The Sea Goddess cut through the crashing waves easily as the churning sea spit and spat in the forefront of the approaching storm. Captain Edifor had ordered her to sail toward Arillia to get away from the storm. The winds were beginning to increase, tossing the ship over waves and white caps. Bren noticed the captain’s concerned expression, and so did his designated first mate.
“What troubles you, my lord?” asked First Mate Toben.
“The winds are unnatural. Something stirs in the air, and it does not bode well.”
“Sir?”
Captain Edifor put his hand on his first mate’s shoulder. “Turn the ship back to the Sacred Land, Toben, I fear we are driven from its shores. My bones ache with dread.”
“Aye, Captain,” Toben replied as he turned the ship hard about.
Bren took the captain aside. “What is it, Edifor?”
The captain turned white. “Look at the skies. They darken with the storm, but if you look in between the clouds when the lightning strikes you will see them.” He watched until a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. “There, did you see them?” Two huge figures with enormous wingspans dipped below a cloud, and with a mighty thrust of wing, they soared back into the air. A third one appeared at the next bolt of lightning.
“Dragons,” Bren said, “headed for the Sacred Land.”
“You are the broodlord, what sort of dragon rides a storm?” Captain Edifor asked.
“Not a dragon I would call upon as a friend. No dragons from Draegodor to be sure.”
“Exiles then,” Captain Edifor said.
“Aye,” Bren answered.
Tatrice appeared behind Bren. He could feel her presence, but he did not dare to look at her face. He could also feel her apprehension. “My lady, perhaps you should go back down below.”
“I will not. What is it you see?” she said defiantly, wiping the rain and sea from her eyes to see what he was looking at in the skies.
Bren nodded to Edifor. “I agree with your course of action, we must return to Old Symbor. Mind our course and speed and notify me as soon as you see land.” He turned to Tatrice. “My lady, it is time we talked. Follow me.”
Tatrice followed the broodlord below to her chamber. He stopped at her cabin door. “You asked me of the armor you keep. It is time to answer.”
“What is it, Bren? What is wrong?”
Bren was silent for an awkward moment as he chose his words very carefully. He looked up to face her at last. “No one comes to armor such as this. The armor comes to you, and now you must wear it.”
“It doesn’t fit me. I can’t wear it.”
“There are two types of dragon knight, the first is as I am. I chose to become a dragon knight. The second kind this armor belonged to; whoever takes possession of the armor is to take the place of its former owner.” He reached into a pouch strapped to his belt and produced a shining red gem. “This is called a Lora Daine, a dragon stone; it was given to me by my master to aid me in my quest before I left Draegodor. I believe the first task of that quest is to give it to you. You must hold it while wearing the dragon scales.”
“What does it do? Why are you telling me this now?”
Bren meet Tatrice’s gaze as squarely as he could. “Listen to me. You are vulnerable. You have donned this particular armor, and it has left a mark upon you. I can sense you as I can sense another dragon knights. This means other dragons can sense you as well. I have reason to believe there are sinister exiles flying about. Without using this stone you are as open to these dreaded exiles as much as decent dragons from Draegodor.”
Bren saw he was frightening her, but he continued anyway. “The Lora Daine induces a dream state that will allow you to reach your dragon master. If this armor has claimed you against your will, the stone will work for you; if not, nothing will happen. It is your choice. Just remember, dragons were created to be guardians of men by the gods before they were given free will, so they are magical creatures.” He opened the door to Tatrice’s cabin and placed the stone on her bed. “Put on the scales, hold the stone and, if it is your destiny, all will be revealed, but know that if you put on the armor, it may take you forever.” He left the cabin and returned to the deck of the ship, ignoring Tatrice’s pleads for him to return and explain further. On deck Bren searched the skies for signs of the exiled dragons. He did not see them but decided not to take chances. He performed a quick spell designed to hide them from the exiles’ senses. “Hurry, Tatrice,” he muttered, “do it.”
Tatrice entered her cabin and closed the door. Fool man, she thought, this is his way to keep me out from underfoot. She looked at the stone. “It is a pretty thing, I wonder…” She opened the trunk she had stowed the armor in and, with a sigh, strapped it on. For a moment she stood staring at the stone on her bunk but did nothing. Then she picked it up in one fluid move, but still nothing happened. She turned the stone over in her hands. “It is as I expected, he tricked me into coming down here.” She started to go back up to the deck, but her feet would not move. The gem glowed warmly in her hand. Her mind wandered, and she felt dizzy. She fainted, falling to the floor with a loud clank of scale and metal.
Tatrice woke in front of a huge castle. It was made of grey stone with vines of green winding their way up above its entrance. The stone reflected a reddish tint, and because the castle was made of this stone, the castle itself gave the appearance of illumination. A stone dragonhead loomed above two enormous wooden doors, and she could hear running water trickling fr
om somewhere unseen.
In the distance she saw other structures carved into a massive canyon wall, all illuminated with the same red tint. After several moments, the doors of the reddish-grey castle began to open, and a great blue dragon’s head peered out at her.
“Who dares come to my castle?” the dragon boomed. “Why do you wear the armor of a broodlord, woman?”
“I…I am sorry. I don’t know how I came to your castle, forgive me.”
“You wear my scales upon your breast,” he eyed her closer, “and you carry a Lora Daine, and you do not know why you are here?”
“I was tricked, Lord Dragon, by a dragon knight named Bren. This must be a dream.”
“So, you blame others for your folly?”
“No, Lord Dragon.” She bent clumsily down on one knee. “I beg you not to hurt me.”
“Hurt you? Do not be a fool! I will not harm you,” he eyed the armor and his great-scaled eyes narrowed, “unless it was you who killed my dragon knight.” Smoke began to pour from his nostrils.
“Oh no, Lord Dragon, the man who gave me this armor said your dragon knight died defending the Sacred Land a thousand seasons ago.”
The dragon moved out into the light away from the doorway, and Tatrice gasped in awe; she had never seen a dragon before. He was a magnificent creature. His blue scales glistened in the light, and his folded wings stretched like a leather cloak over his back.
“I am Amadace the Blue, son of Glibain, and who might you be?”
Tatrice summoned her courage. “I am Tatrice of Brookhaven.”
“Your heart is heavy and your soul is distraught, am I the one to cause this grief?”
“No, Lord Dragon, I worry about my friends in the Sacred Land.”
“And you wish to help your friends?”
“Aye, I do.”
“Never before has a woman worn the scales of a dragon, and never before has a woman become a dragon knight, but it seems the broodlord you speak of believes you to have the strength to wear the armor, for he has sent you here with the Lora Daine. Your heart speaks to me when your mind does not. Love has brought you to me, yet you no longer feel your destiny lies where love has brought you.” Tatrice sniffled. How did the dragon know that?
