Fayne puffed out a cloud of white smoke. “My family lived here in the Jagged Mountains near the Scarovian border, but I am sure you are too young to remember what Scarovia was like before Naneden came to power.”
Trendan smiled and took another puff from his pipe. “Don’t be so sure about that, my lady, I am half-elven. When I was a boy, it was near forty seasons ago.”
“Well, that is just about right then. I was about fourteen seasons that long ago,” Fayne moved her hair aside to reveal slightly pointed ears.
“Half-elven too?” he asked.
“I suppose you could say that. This is a land largely surrounded by the elven folk. I am told that many of the men in Symboria came to this land from Lux Amarou. Did you know that across the ocean there is a vast land where the races of men flourish?’
“I have heard stories of great empires and kingdoms across the sea,” Ganas said.
“So, if you are a half-elf, which parent was elven?” Trendan asked.
Fayne sighed and looked to the ground.
“I am sorry; it is not my business to ask. I have offended you.”
“No, you did not offend me. My mother was a pure elf; I believe you would call her Arillian, and my father was a now extinct race of dwarf called Noanas. They were taller than dwarves but just as hardy. Scarovian raids killed my father and his people. I am the last of my father’s line.”
“I have never heard of an elf and dwarf mating,” Ganas alleged.
“As I have already said, you would not recognize my father and his people as dwarves. That is as close of a description I could come up with. My father’s people were more like shorter, stockier versions of men. In fact, that is why I look less like an elf. My father’s stock is strong within me. Of course, my mother doesn’t appear to look Elvish either, especially for a pure bred Elf.”
Trendan sat back against a rock. “I am curious, Fayne, why do you travel through Symboria?”
“I was sent to meet someone called Vesperin from your village.”
Trendan perked up. “Why were you sent to see him?”
“I am to marry him.”
Trendan coughed and almost dropped his pipe. “You are to marry Vesperin? Who gives you this charge?”
“Do you know Vesperin?” she asked curiously.
“He is my best friend, and he has never mentioned you. I would have remembered.”
“I have been dreaming of Vesperin all my life. Last spring my dream told me it was time to seek him out and marry him.”
“You are here because of a dream?” Ganas asked.
“In my culture, dreams are very important messages from the gods. Are they not in your culture?”
“Not exactly, our culture is fearful of such things,” Trendan explained.
“And Vesperin is from such a culture?” she asked with concern.
“Well, Aye, he is.” Trendan shifted his weight. “He may not be as receptive of you as you are of him, especially if you approach him with a marriage proposal.”
Fayne was disappointed. “I see. I was hoping he had been receiving the same dreams I have been.”
“That is possible. Vesperin doesn’t tell us much about his dreams.”
“True, he claims not to remember any of them,” Ganas said, puffing on his pipe. “Come to think of it, neither does Dorenn.”
Fayne’s expression lightened. “So he could be dreaming of me.”
“If he does dream of you, he will likely go pale when you show up in the flesh,” Trendan said.
“Please make sure I am around when you appear to him then,” Ganas said. “I would dearly love to see his face.”
Fayne smiled and puffed on her pipe.
A gust of wind blew down the mountain and whipped around the cave’s mouth. The horses began to get restless and move closer together against the damp cave wall. At first, Trendan thought the horses were spooked by the sound of the wind whistling through the cave’s mouth, but when the wind stopped, the horses still reacted. Trendan sat up abruptly.
“Something spooks the horses.”
“Quick, extinguish the fire,” Ganas said. “There are voices outside the cave.”
Fayne threw handfuls of dirt from the entrance onto the fire, extinguishing it down to embers. Trendan directed the spooked horses farther into the cave and then rejoined Ganas and Fayne at the cave’s entrance. The three crouched down and listened. The voices did not sound as if they were speaking in common tongue. The language was low and guttural. Trendan could hear the distinctive sound of armor and troops marching in the distance. Fayne’s expression told him that she heard it too. Trendan moved in close to Ganas. “The Scarovian army marches.”
Ganas gasped. “That means Captain Argore’s troops in the Southern Pass have been defeated or routed.”
“Pack your things; as soon as we can get clear of the army, we ride for Brookhaven. We have to warn the general.” Trendan looked at Fayne. “I thought you said they were several days behind you.”
“They were. No army can move that fast,” she said.
“We will have to ride hard to get ahead of them. You will have to ride with us now, Fayne, I’ll not leave you behind.”
“Where you go, I will follow.”
“Gather up what you want to take from here. If they discover your wagon, they will send scouts.” Fayne gathered her pack as Trendan retrieved the horses. Ganas re-saddled his horse and secured the packs. As the army marched below, they slipped out of the cave down to the east-west trail and turned west.
The waxing moon above lit the way through the trees toward Ashonda’s Peak where Trendan knew there was a mountain road that would take them directly into the village. With luck, he would meet a patrol on that road. The cold air stung his face, but he did not waver. Fayne and Ganas followed close behind. They rode for what felt like hours until Trendan could see the lights of Brookhaven and smell the hearth fires burning. The Western army had a camp less than a mile to the north of the village, and Trendan headed directly for it.
As they got closer, Trendan realized the camp was already stirring.
“The Scarovian army marches,” Trendan shouted to the captain’s tent. A man fully dressed in black armor exited, still buckling his sword, to meet him.
“A patrol group from the mountains arrived just before you did, lad,” he said. “Take your position, the army is preparing to intercept them.” He motioned to a man leading horses. “Stableman, give these lads fresh horses.” He focused his attention back to Trendan. “I need you to alert the east and west flanks.”
“I will do what I can,” Trendan said as he dismounted to accept the fresh horse. Fayne watched him dismount intently. “Fayne,” he said, “go to Brookhaven, to the Tiger’s Head Inn, and ask for Lourn or Dellah Adair and tell them I sent you.” He slapped her mare’s hindquarter, and the horse lunged forward. Fayne tried to protest, but Trendan motioned her on. Reluctantly, she seized the reins and rode toward the village.
“I stand ready, Captain,” Trendan said. The captain handed Trendan and Ganas each a parchment. “Good luck, lads,” he said.
Trendan mounted his horse and headed west, while Ganas headed east.
Chapter 33: Betrayal
Captain Felladan stood at the helm of The Sea Goddess behind his helmsman and first mate, Edifor, when Ianthill and Gondrial arrived.
“Going somewhere, Captain?” Ianthill asked.
The captain’s expression was that of irritation and puzzlement. “What in the thunder are you talking about, old man? The Sea Goddess remains docked.”
Ianthill stood close to Captain Felladan’s face. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “When a ship clears its moorings but doesn’t retract its gangplank, I start to get suspicious.”
The captain tried to step back, but Ianthill stayed with him. “I did conduct several tests with the rudder as I do frequently; it is no concern of yours how I run this ship, wielder. Besides, the helm reports that she has been sluggish in her response.”
“I did,” he said, not offering any more in the way of an explanation. “Now if you do not mind, I have work to do if I want this ship to sail in the morrow. Be gone with the lot of you.” The captain gestured with his hand for them to leave and then turned back to the helm. The first mate smiled a toothless grin at Ianthill, and the captain slapped the back of his head. “Face forward, Edifor.”
“Aye, Captain,” Edifor said, still smiling but looking straight ahead.
“Sorry to presume, captain,” Ianthill apologized bowing. The captain just nodded.
After they had moved out of earshot, Gondrial spoke. “Do you believe him, Ianthill?”
“Not a blasted word. He lies like Toborne himself.”
“What are we going to do about it?”
“Nothing at the moment. We are going to play this out and see where it leads us.”
“That can be a dangerous game, Ianthill, especially out at sea,” Gondrial warned.
“We live in a dangerous time, and danger is always with us. What’s a little more?” he said. Ianthill eyed Gondrial appraisingly. “Now, let us plan a little mutiny shall we?” Ianthill did not wait for Gondrial to reply before he began a brisk walk to the stern of the ship.
Gondrial rubbed his hands together. “Sounds like fun.”
Dorenn had barely slept; he tossed and turned all night worrying. His dreams were plagued with visions of desperation and madness. He finally gave up on sleep and got up out of bed. “Are we underway yet?” Dorenn asked Rennon, who shared his cabin.
“I just woke up. I have no idea.” The two looked out of the only porthole in the cabin. “Nope, we are still docked,” Rennon observed.
Dorenn used the pitcher of water and bowl on the sea chest in the corner, washed off, and then dressed himself. “Would you like me to go and fetch you some clean water, Rennon?”
“If you would, I would be grateful, especially since that water was brought by the galley master while you were ill last eve.”
“It was still fresh.” Dorenn opened the cabin door. “I’ll return in a moment.”
“Take your time. I will rest my eyes a little bit more while I wait,” Rennon said, closing his eyes.
Dorenn’s head was throbbing as he walked to the galley, and he could not be sure if it was the ale or the lack of sleep. He forced the thought from his mind as he refilled the water pitcher and turned back toward his cabin. Strange, disturbing images began to dance through his thoughts as he passed the cabin of Tatrice. Dorenn grimaced and clutched his head with his free hand, almost spilling the water. After a moment, he continued on to his cabin.
He entered the cabin and roused Rennon once more. “Here’s your water, Rennon, I’m going to check on Tatrice. I’ll see you in a few moments.” Rennon grumbled something that sounded close to all right, and Dorenn returned to Tatrice’s cabin door. He stood outside of her cabin, and the images returned. He could see hazy visions of Tatrice being hauled away by the creatures at Signal Hill, but instead of stopping where Dorenn and the party found her, she was captured by the Enforcer, Row Praf, who had taken her back through the woods. Dorenn knocked on the cabin door.
“Tatrice, are you awake?”
“Of course I am. I have been awake for hours. Come in if you wish.”
Dorenn opened the door and stepped inside. The cabin was identical to his. The ship was not particularly large, so its cabins were no more than a couple of small pallet beds and a sea chest with a flat lid. Tatrice’s armor, piled in an empty corner, looked as if she had been cleaning it. In fact, she was cleaning a vambrace as Dorenn came in. He looked through the one porthole above the bed and realized from the moving water and land that the ship was finally underway.
“It looks like we’re moving,” he said as he motioned to the spot next to her. “May I?”
“Sure, have a seat,” Tatrice said, getting back to rubbing the vambrace with a cloth. Dorenn sat beside her and reached to stroke her sandy golden hair. “What can I do for you, Dorenn?” she asked when he didn’t stop right away.
“Kiss me.”
“What?” Tatrice stopped cleaning and studied him. “Have you lost all your good sense?”
“Not at all. It has been so long since you kissed me like you did near Ashonda’s pond back home. I was hoping you would remind me.”
“As I remember you stole a kiss from me. I told you back then you would have to marry me to kiss me at will.” The vambrace fell onto the floor with a thud as Tatrice reached behind his head and pulled him to her lips, kissing him.
Dorenn breathed heavy in surprise. “But I thought…”
“You did ask me, you know. Consider that kiss a prelude to our wedding night.”
“Does this mean you will marry me?” Dorenn faltered.
Tatrice turned away. “Dorenn, I cannot answer you here like this. You have not asked my father, and, well, a girl wants it all to feel special.”
“Special, how?” he asked. “I don’t think I can make you feel special.” Dorenn winced. His mind was reeling; he had not meant to say that.
Tatrice sighed in disappointment, and it wrenched Dorenn’s heart that he had hurt her, but he didn’t know what to say to fix it. “I’m sorry, Kimala.”
Tatrice looked up abruptly. “What did you say?”
Dorenn was confused. “I said I was sorry, Tatrice.”
“No, you called me Kimala. Who is Kimala?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know any Kimala,” he said defensively.
“Get out! Get out of here, Dorenn, I don’t want you here!” she said, pushing him toward the door.
“Tatrice,” Dorenn said confused. “I don’t understand.”
“You lie, Dorenn, you lie, and I want you to leave.”
“You are being irrational.”
She drew her dragon fang and pointed it at him. “I will show you irrational.”
Dorenn unpredictably saw a vision flash before him. For one brief moment Tatrice ceased to be Tatrice and looked like someone else. Then, with a shimmer of light, she looked like the creature that had attacked him in Brookhaven. “A Drasmyd Duil,” he said aloud. Tatrice shimmered back to herself again and then to a Drasmyd Duil. The creature stood before him, holding him at the point of a sword. Panic set in.
He moved in a flash, knocking the dragon fang aside. He clasped his hands around the black beast’s neck and squeezed as hard as he could. Tatrice’s face turned red as he choked off her air supply. “I will kill you with my own two hands, foul creature,” he rasped. “What have you done with Tatrice? Who are you?” he said, seeing the image of Tatrice appear before him once again. Tatrice’s eyes were beginning to turn red, and Dorenn realized he had made a mistake. He released his grip. Tatrice gulped in air and tried to push Dorenn away.
“What is the matter with you? It’s me, Tatrice.”
“You are not Tatrice. I know the truth; now, I saw the truth.”
“I am, Dorenn, I am Tatrice.”
Rennon, hearing the struggling, burst into the room. “What in Fawlsbane’s beard is going on in here?”
“Do not interfere, Rennon. You do not understand what’s happening,” Dorenn warned.
Rennon did not listen; instead, he grabbed Dorenn and pulled him physically from Tatrice. “Why are you attacking Tatrice?”
“She is not Tatrice. I saw Tatrice kidnapped and taken to the Sacred Land. She is a Drasmyd Duil.”
“What are you taking about?” Rennon pushed him away and held Tatrice. She sobbed into his shoulder. Rennon pointed at her left arm with his free hand. “See, here is the scar she got when I accidentally bumped her out of that tree when we were fourteen seasons, and here is the scar on her hand from where she cut it in the kitchen two seasons ago. This is Tatrice, Dorenn. What has gotten into you?”
Dorenn was taken aback. He fell back to the deck and up against the wall. “I was sure I saw the truth. I…I don’t k
now what to say.” Tatrice held Rennon closer as Dorenn shrank away from them. “I was sure,” Dorenn repeated.
Vesperin knocked on the door and entered, followed closely by Lady Shey. “What is the matter? I heard shouting.” Vesperin asked. He looked at the marks on Tatrice’s neck. “Loracia be praised, what has happened here?”
Dorenn sat in the corner, thinking about the images in his head. Vesperin put his healing hand on the marks on Tatrice’s neck, but Dorenn knew Vesperin could not heal the damage he had caused Tatrice emotionally.
“You will have to be confined to your cabin for the rest of the trip, I think,” Rennon said.
Dorenn nodded in agreement at first, and then he noticed the look on Lady Shey’s face. She was smiling wickedly at him. Why had she not gone to Tatrice’s aid? Unexpectedly, Dorenn’s head began to pound. Thump; Lady Shey’s cabin was the next room over. Thump, Dorenn saw images of Lady Shey struggling with Row Praf instead of Tatrice. Thump, Lady Shey had been dragged down the stairs of the armory in Signal Hill. Thump, he could see her held prisoner in the Sacred Land. Thump, it was all an illusion cast upon him to make him think it was someone else. Lady Shey was the Drasmyd Duil!
In an instant, Dorenn accosted Rennon, pulling one of his daggers from his friend’s tunic. Dorenn turned the dagger as if in slow motion and plunged it directly into Lady Shey’s chest. Rennon, Vesperin, and Tatrice lunged forward to stop him, but Dorenn turned the blade to rend the flesh of Lady Shey’s chest as she looked at him with shock and hurt on her face. Dorenn did not waver, and Lady Shey fell to the floor, dying.
Dorenn immediately removed the dagger and turned on his friends, holding the dagger out to stave them off. “Do not come any closer.”
“Let me help her, Dorenn, you don’t know what you are doing; you are ill. If you don’t let me help her, she will die,” Vesperin pleaded.
“Then she will die,” Dorenn said, still holding them back.
“Look at her, she’s dying, Dorenn,” Tatrice said as tears began to fall down her face.
Dorenn held the dagger at Tatrice. “She tricked me. She made me think it was you, Tatrice; she wanted me to think you were a Drasmyd Duil. She was trying to make me kill you.”
Defenders of the Sacred Land: Expanded and Re-Issued (The Sacred Land Legacy Book 1) Page 30