Defenders of the Sacred Land: Expanded and Re-Issued (The Sacred Land Legacy Book 1)

by Mark E. Tyson

  Fadral’s expression changed to uneasy apprehension. “Of course, please accept my apologies, my lady. I did not mean to offend.”

  “Nonsense, my good peddler.” Her tone became warm again. “No offense taken as long as you mind how you refer to me in the future.”

  He bowed his head. “Certainly, my lady, it will never happen again.”

  “Very well,” she said, removing her gloves and turning her attention to Dorenn. “Come down from there, lad. I won’t bite you.”

  “Me?” Dorenn asked as a sharp pang of fear gripped him.

  “You are the only lad sitting on that wagon, are you not? Come down here and let me get a good look at you.”

  Dorenn stepped down from the wagon. He stood face-to-face with Lady Shey. She took his chin in her hand, turning his face from the left to the right. “Oh yes, I believe you to be Dorenn Adair, are you not?”

  Dorenn froze, swallowing hard. He desperately wanted to ask her how she knew his name, but he could not speak.

  “Well, lad?”

  “Aye, my lady, I am he.” Dorenn was thankful his voice had returned to him.

  “Splendid.” Her blue eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “But I shouldn’t call you lad, should I? You look as strong as a bull.” She boldly squeezed his arm. “I assume you train with a sword, being from Symboria?”

  “Aye, my lady, I train with Swordsman Grint five days a week, sometimes more.”

  “I thought so.” She looked intently into his eyes, and after a long moment, Dorenn wanted to bolt away from her. Surely she had no business with him. Her gaze seemed to enter into his soul, and he started to feel a bit lightheaded, like he might faint. Still, he got a vague feeling of familiarity, as if he had seen her somewhere before. He dismissed the notion.

  “Have you a master, then?” she asked pointedly.

  “A master?” Dorenn repeated. “What do you mean, my lady? I do not serve anyone but the king of Symboria and his kinsmen.” He paused for a moment. “And my mother and father, of course.”

  Lady Shey laughed. “No, not that sort of master. I mean are you apprenticed?”

  “I do not officially apprentice to a trade, but I mean to be an innkeeper like my father—”

  “Oh, by Fawlsbane’s beard, I know you are not this dense,” Lady Shey interrupted. “I mean, do you apprentice to a wielder? Have you any training?”

  Dorenn flushed immediately, first with shock and then with abject anger. “NO! Certainly not!” He spat the words.

  “Take care, boy,” Rodraq cautioned as he gripped his sword hilt. “You address a lady.”

  Dorenn lowered his eyes. “Forgive my outburst, my lady, but in these parts, wielding is outlawed. You had better look out for yourself while you are visiting. I mean no disrespect, but I know my countrymen.”

  Lady Shey grinned, and Dorenn was unsure of the source of her amusement, only that it infuriated him. She was flippant with the danger he warned.

  “Forgive me, young Dorenn, but where I come from a wielder is a person of great power, responsibility, and honor. I suppose the War of the Oracle, fought on your soil so long ago, has somewhat spoiled that notion.”

  “Oh? Where do you come from?” Dorenn blurted out without thinking the question through.

  Lady Shey glared at him for a moment and then smiled pleasantly. “I come from a vale not far from here. In Symboria, I might add.” Dorenn ignored Rodraq as he gripped his sword again.

  “The Vale of Morgoran?” Tatrice asked.

  Lady Shey’s amused demeanor momentarily abated. “It isn’t polite to ask so bluntly, my dear, but you are correct.”

  Rodraq drew his sword.

  “For the love of the kings, put that away!” Lady Shey commanded. Rodraq sheathed his sword. “And go wait up by the front of the coach; I am quite safe, I assure you.” Rodraq reluctantly turned and stormed toward the front of the coach.

  Tatrice sank back. “I apologize, my lady.”

  “Aye, young lady, I come from the Vale of Morgoran. What do you know of it?”

  “Only that Morgoran Cleareyes is said to live there, doomed to predict the future forever.”

  “It is true Morgoran Cleareyes lives there and that people believe the mad ramblings from his lips are visions of the future; however, nothing he has said has ever been known to come to pass.”

  “My lady,” Rodraq shouted from the front of the coach, “night will fall by the time we travel to Brookhaven. We must go.” Lady Shey’s eyes turned skyward, and she squinted before looking back at Dorenn. “How far is Brookhaven from here?”

  “About a quarter day’s ride, my lady,” Dorenn answered. “It will not be dark, but it will be close to twilight.”

  “Very well, Rodraq,” she answered back. “Make ready to move out.”

  “Aye, my lady,” he responded.

  “You say your father has an inn?” Lady Shey asked Dorenn.

  If only Fadral had not spoken of his father’s inn, he could send Lady Shey to the Grinning Goose instead. “My father owns the finest inn in Brookhaven, my lady, if not in all of Symboria.”

  “Excellent!” Lady Shey said. She straightened her shoulders and tossed her long dark hair aside. “Master Peddler, you will move out ahead and lead my coach to the inn . . .” Lady Shey stopped and looked at Dorenn searchingly. She leaned in close to his ear. “Go with the peddler. You are right to be suspicious of him, but you are safe for now. We do not want to alert him. Do you understand me?” Dorenn nodded. Lady Shey raised her voice so everyone near could hear her. “What is the name of your father’s inn?”

  “The Tiger’s Head Inn, my lady,” Dorenn replied.

  “To the Tiger’s Head Inn, then,” she said, moving back toward her coach.

  “Aye, my lady, I’ll lead you there,” Fadral said.

  As soon as Lady Shey was safely aboard her coach, Fadral motioned for Dorenn to climb back onto the wagon. “This is troubling.”

  “What?” Tatrice asked.

  “She means to stir up trouble in Brookhaven, and I think she will start first with Master Dorenn here.” Fadral pointed a crooked finger at Dorenn.

  “I hope not,” Dorenn whispered as he climbed into the wagon. Fadral released the rear brake and locked the handle into place with a small leather strap. He snapped the reins, and the wagon slowly labored forward. “She tried to name you a wielder, she did. You heard her, and I don’t think she’ll stop at that.” He paused as they passed the coach. “If she is investigating the highlord’s death, she may be pressured to bring back someone to pay for the crime. Just be careful of what you say to her, or you may find yourself in harm’s way.”

  Tatrice gasped. “Do you think she is here to blame Dorenn for the death of the highlord? That doesn’t make any sense; he never ventures any farther than Symbor.”

  “It would not surprise me,” Fadral warned.

  “Well, I’m not going to jump to conclusions, at least not until we find out what she really wants,” Dorenn said.

  The three remained silent for the rest of the trip into Brookhaven. As they approached the village, evening had begun to fade into twilight. Dorenn wondered how his mother and father were going to react. He had no memory of a noble, if she was even considered nobility, ever stopping over in Brookhaven before. Tatrice clutched his arm as if reading his thoughts.

  Lady Shey shifted in her cushioned seat, glancing at the woman seated opposite her in the coach. “The peddler is definitely hiding something,” she said. “You were right; I think he was trying to make off with them.”

  “Aye, he’s not who he pretends to be.”

  “What should we do about it? When we arrive, I should take him aside for interrogation.”

  “No, not yet. I don’t sense he is a threat; besides, if he grows too suspicious, he will slip out of town during the night. You know what he is.”

  “How can you be so sure, Sylvalora? I shudder to think of where he might have taken them if we had not come along. I think I’l
l put him under guard just as well.”

  “Nonsense, don’t waste your time. If I am right, I am sure he will be gone by morning.”

  “And what if he sends word that we have come to Brookhaven, what then?”

  Sylvalora smirked. “You worry far too much, my lady. There is nothing for him to report that is not already known.”

  Lady Shey nodded. “You are right. I just hope I can convince the town elders to let me take Dorenn with us.”

  Sylvalora’s face softened. “The opportunity will arise. All you have to do is recognize it.”

  Chapter 15: The Tiger’s Head Inn

  As Fadral’s wagon and Lady Shey’s entourage appeared over Watch Hill, directly above the village of Brookhaven, dusk descended, bathing the hamlet with fading light. Dorenn watched the home fires burning as they cast soft amber hues from open-shuddered windows. Tempting aromas of baking bread mingled with the scent of roasted chicken and slow marinated beef tantalized Dorenn’s appetite. He breathed in the sweet smell of burning mountain pine as it wafted into the crisp evening air. Near the center square of the village stood the Tiger’s Head Inn, towering above all other nearby rooftops. If he squinted, he could glimpse the dark smoke outlined in the dusky sky as it rose from the inn’s two chimneys. Most of the inn’s windows remained dark except for the common room, indicating to Dorenn that the patrons were feasting and drinking. Somehow, the inn appeared strange to Dorenn from this distance, perhaps because the lack of light created an eerie darkness surrounding the streets of the inn. Attendants would soon light the two braziers at both sides of the front double doors to illuminate the entrance walkway.

  As they approached the village gate, Dorenn saw that old Thaq, the city guard, had fallen asleep again. The guard always insisted on using proper procedure for new arrivals, whether he knew them personally or not, so Dorenn was relieved that he slumbered. The old guard was also extremely hard of hearing, but the village elders let him remain at his post regardless. No danger had actually passed through the gate for hundreds of seasons.

  The temperature dropped sharply after sunset. Tatrice snuggled closer to Dorenn for warmth. He pulled her in tight, resting his chin on her head.

  As the wagon made its way along the main cobblestone street toward the village square, the hair on the back of Dorenn’s neck stood up. He nervously glanced about, but, except for a few harmless villagers, the streets were empty. A cold shiver ran up Dorenn’s spine, causing him to flinch.

  “What is it, Dorenn?” Tatrice asked.

  Dorenn suppressed the feeling. “Nothing, I’m just getting a bit chilly.”

  Tatrice settled back under his arm, putting her head on his chest again. “I will hold you tighter then.”

  Many of the villagers tended to their evening meals within their warm homes. Dorenn was thankful it was suppertime. The village occupants were too busy to notice Lady Shey’s coach on the cobblestone streets. She would draw a crowd soon enough, he knew, once word spread around the village of her arrival.

  When they reached the inn, the left wagon wheel of Fadral’s wagon made a jolting screech as he pulled the wooden lever at his left and applied the rear break. Durn, the inn’s stable master, hurried beside the wagon to take the reins.

  Fadral handed over the reins to the able stable master. “Now, be careful, Durn. Remember how Tulip bit you the last time you stabled her.”

  “Aye, I plan to be a bit gentler with her this time,” Durn stated. Fadral nodded and winked at the same time.

  Lady Shey’s coach came to a stop outside the front walkway to the inn. Her driver moved with impressive haste to open the coach door and she stepped out onto the street immediately afterward, followed by a young woman dressed in a plain stitched, dull grey dress. Dorenn did not realize anyone else had been in the coach. The young woman had middle-back length brown hair, fair skin, and a beautiful but sharp-featured face. Her eyes shined with life, especially in the light of the two, now roaring, braziers. She dropped something on the ground and bent over to pick it up. As she rose, her hair fanned out over of her ears, revealing they came to a point. Dorenn blinked with mild surprise. Although he was no stranger to elven kind, other than the village apothecary and his half-elf friend Trendan, Dorenn did not see them often in Brookhaven.

  “Tatrice, did you see that? The woman in grey is elvish,” Dorenn whispered.

  Even though she was more than two wagon lengths away, the elven woman abruptly looked up at Dorenn as if she heard him speak.

  “What, Dorenn?” Tatrice asked.

  “I will tell you later,” he said. The elf maiden beamed at him. He nodded back courteously before she followed closely behind Lady Shey and out of view. Lady Shey stopped short of entering the inn and waited for Dorenn to join them at the front doors.

  Dorenn jumped down and assisted Fadral secure the wagon, before he went to help Tatrice down from the high seat.

  A few moments later, he joined the lady and escorted her into the inn. “I apologize, my lady, but how do I introduce you? Is there anything I should know or say?”

  “No,” she stated, “I want you to remain silent in the common room. Introduce me to your parents only.” She stopped to allow Rodraq to pass. “I do not wish to draw too much attention to myself yet. There is time for pleasantries later.” Rodraq entered the common room, surveyed it from top to bottom, and deemed it safe enough for his charge. Despite their caution, everyone in the common room fell silent as one by one the patrons noticed the battle-scarred stranger standing at the entrance. Rodraq drew his sword and planted it hard into the wooden floor in a gesture to discourage riff raff. A startled whisper filled the room. He motioned and Lady Shey entered, followed by the elf maiden and Tatrice.

  Lady Shey rolled her eyes. “So much for not drawing attention,” she muttered to Rodraq.

  “It’s good to set a stance, my lady.”

  She stopped and stared at Dorenn, and it took him a moment to realize she expected him to lead her through the inn. He rushed to accommodate her.

  The common room of the Tiger’s Head Inn was designed floor to ceiling by Dorenn’s mother, Dellah. The walls were made of deep polished wood, and the floors consisted of long wooden planks placed tightly together. Rich mosaic tapestries hung on the east and west walls with one above the bar area on the north wall. Coat hooks, hat hooks, and sword notches lined the southern wall around the double-door at the entrance. The ceiling had been painted with the mural of a giant pouncing tiger with an overly large head, mouth open in a silent roar for dramatic effect. Dorenn scanned the common room but found no sign of his mother or father. The patrons remained in a low hush as Dorenn led Lady Shey to the kitchen. Upon entering, Dorenn spotted his mother speaking rather sharply with the main cook. Ladle in hand, she was sampling a sauce and giving the cook pointers on the inclusion of ingredients. The cook looked none too pleased with her advice. Dorenn scanned the kitchen for his father but did not see him. Sensing that Lady Shey was becoming impatient again, Dorenn led her to his mother and waited for her to finish scolding the cook. After a moment or two, Dellah realized the cook was no longer paying attention to her, and she turned to see what he was looking at so intently. At first, she stared anxiously at Dorenn until she noticed Rodraq towering above Lady Shey, his stone-faced expression serious. “Dorenn dear,” she began nervously, “We do not usually entertain guests in our kitchen. Is there anything the matter?

  “No, mother.” Dorenn extended his hand outwardly toward Lady Shey and the elf maiden. “This is Lady Shey from the Vale and her elven servant.” He noticed that the elf maiden winced at the word servant, but he tried to pretend he did not see her. “They would like to have a word with you and secure lodgings for the night.” He turned to Lady Shey. “My lady, this is my mother, Inn Mistress Dellah Adair.”

  Dellah’s worried expression became one of excitement. “Well then, I shall have the chambermaids prepare my best rooms for such honored guests.” Dellah bowed gracefully. “The Tiger’s Hea
d Inn is at your every service, my lady.”

  Lady Shey returned the bow. “Thank you, Mistress Dellah. I shall call on you if the need arises. As for the moment, I invoke your hospitality as I require that you meet with me after we have settled. I have a matter to discuss with you.” Lady Shey’s eyes darted to Dorenn as she leaned in to whisper to Dellah. “Bring along the townswomen elders as well. This is a matter for womankind first and men folk later.” Lady Shey winked and Dorenn saw his mother wink back just as quickly.

  “Tatrice, my dear, may I borrow you for a moment?” Dellah asked. Tatrice nodded, pinched Dorenn’s arm, and quickly moved beside Dellah. Dorenn winced and gave Tatrice a menacing stare as she took her place beside his mother. He mouthed, what was that for, to her. She grinned at him.

  “Tatrice dear, go fetch Fettina and tell her to prepare the master suites.”

  “As you wish, Mistress Dellah,” Tatrice answered, bowing slightly before moving off through the back entrance to the kitchen.

  “You must be exhausted and famished, my lady, I will have the servants prepare the private dining hall immediately.” Dellah pointed to a doorway that led into a long hallway.

  “I would not trouble you, my good inn mistress,” Lady Shey said.

  A young girl with brown hair and wide brown eyes appeared. Dellah took her by her shoulders, moving to stand in behind her. “Nonsense, I shall have Fettina here show you to your lodgings. Assemble back here in an hour and I will serve you a dinner befitting your station, if it pleases you, my lady.” Dellah bowed again.

  Lady Shey returned the bow. “It does, Inn Mistress. You are most gracious.”

  “Grand,” Dellah replied, clasping her hands together as she whirled around back toward the kitchen. She whispered to Dorenn as she passed him. “Oh, this is so exciting, a noble woman here at the Tiger’s Head!”

  Dorenn followed his mother into the kitchen as Fettina led Lady Shey to her accommodations. Dellah began barking orders to the already frantic staff, and they all began bustling around, grabbing down pots and pans and various cooking ingredients.