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

by Mark E. Tyson

  Drakkius took his pipe stem out of his mouth. “No, not at all.” He smirked and put the stem of his pipe back between his lips. “I assume you have discovered how to capture the Silver Drake then?” He said while still clinching the pipe in his teeth.

  “I have gazed into the black pool of my fathers and I have foreseen it. Brightonhold Keep is the key. I have already taken steps to fulfill my destiny, but I cannot go there myself. You must go.” Naneden stopped to gaze into the dead, mummified face of the late highlord. “Your lands come under attack, my liege, whatever will you do? Now that I have sent my underlings to take what you have left, what will you do?”

  Drakkius rolled his eyes up into his head. “Naneden, do try to focus on the task at hand. I grow wary of your unnatural obsession with the dead highlord’s remains,” Drakkius coughed with disgust, a lick of flame came with the cough.

  Naneden glared at the lord of Abaddonia for a moment before speaking. “ Careful of your disguise; men do not regularly cough up flames.” He put his hand on the lid of the highlord’s jar. “You will go to the Sacred Land. Take with you whomever you wish.”

  Drakkius narrowed his eyes. “I have seen a path of my own. I will go alone.”

  Naneden raised an eyebrow. “Do you think you are ready?” He smiled maliciously. “Do you think they are ready? Dragons are very difficult to control.”

  “They do serve us now, do they not? Or has your magic grown weak and your contempt soft?”

  Naneden pointed a skeletal finger at Drakkius. “Humorous, my contempt is strong and my magic potent.” He turned his back to Drakkius and waved him away with his hand. “Use them; they will serve you well, if you can control them.” Naneden opened a tome with red runes on his desk. “Here, use the travel spell. They have already gone to the Sacred Land to meet with Kimala. I am sure they have arrived by now,” Naneden said.

  “Surely you realize by now I will have no trouble with the dragons.” Drakkius began. “You just commented on my disguise after all.”

  Naneden grinned. “Go on. What do I realize?”

  “Never mind.” Drakkius rounded Naneden’s desk and began reading the spell.

  Kimala shivered at the chill of the night as Bhavare, her Scarov escort, fanned the flame of their fledgling campfire. Braful, her other Scarov companion, dressed two hares for cooking. “Have you any skill at lighting campfires or do we need to wait for a bolt of lightning?” she said to Bhavare.

  Bhavare growled as the flames he fanned slowly caught wood and burned higher. “Are you not supposed to meet with the Enforcers?”

  “That is my business, not yours.”

  “Well, the fire is burning now,” Bhavare said.

  Kimala scowled. “It’s about time.”

  Braful set the hares on a stick, spit style, and turned them over the fire. The fire hissed and crackled as the juices from the meat dripped down onto it. Soon the aroma of fresh roasted meat filled the air around the campsite.

  “Did you hear something?” Braful asked Bhavare.

  “Like what?” Bhavare replied.

  Braful looked upward into the night sky. “Like the faint beating of wings.”

  Bhavare listened intently, and soon he could hear the sound in the distance as well. “Aye, I hear it. It sounds as if it’s coming nearer.”

  “Nearer!” Braful exclaimed. “Run!”

  Kimala was amused. “You will do no such thing, Scarov. Stay where you are and nothing will harm you.” They both stopped in mid stride.

  A few moments, the ground beneath their feet shook as the weight of a huge black dragon unsettled the camp. Its huge beating wings almost extinguished the fire. It stood above the spit for a moment before it swooped down its maw and gulped up the rabbits, spit and all. Braful tried to protest, but the dragon did not seem satisfied with such a small meal, so in two large bites the Scarov servant was gone as well.

  “I suppose I was wrong,” Kimala stated coldly. “He should have run.”

  Bhavare backed slowly away from the creature, but the dragon turned on him in an instant, breathing hot smoke on him. He froze.

  “Dragon, are you not yet full?” Kimala asked. “Because if you are planning to eat my other servant, I will have no one to help me on my task and my purpose will fail.”

  The dragon turned his huge, scaled head to her and in a booming voice said, “I shall eat him if I wish, witch.” It snorted hot ash onto her.

  Kimala’s indifference turned to pure anger as she tried in vain to wipe the black ash from her clothes and hair. “Well then, eat him if you must and be done with it you giant, overgrown lizard!”

  Bhavare gasped as the dragon turned to him once more. Fear welled up in him, and the servant fainted dead away.

  The dragon folded his wings onto his back and rested the bulk of his body on the ground like a giant house cat on a comfortable divan. “I am full for the moment; perhaps I will save him for later.”

  “Where is Drakkius?” she asked.

  “How should I know? I left Scarovia before he arrived. You had better be in position when he arrives though, or I may get to eat you as well.” Kimala could have sworn she saw the semblance of a smile form on the dragon’s scaled mouth.

  “Don’t bet your hide on it, broodling,” She retorted and the dragon scoffed. “How much farther to the Sacred Land anyway?”

  “What does it matter to you? I will get you close enough in the morning to walk the distance in a few hours,” the dragon scoffed.

  “And what will you do then, fly around until Drakkius calls you? I thought you dragons were done with the likes of men anyway.”

  “Ah,” the dragon laughed, “you speak of the Draegodor dragons; my brood does not care for their kind. They exiled us long ago from the red city in the mountains and stole our treasures, treasures we are now replacing on our own. Besides, Drakkius is no man, or didn’t you surmise that by now.”

  “What is he then?”

  “The one who pays me well.”

  “So you are in this for the money,” Kimala said.

  “Of course we are. You have nothing more to offer us than wealth.”

  “Why not just take it then if you are powerful enough. Why work for it at all?”

  “Because we are sporting dragons, my brood. Where is the fun in wealth if you didn’t kill filthy, question asking, power mad creatures like yourself for?”

  “Indeed, Dragon, and I thought you were doing it for revenge.”

  The dragon reared its head. “What do you know of revenge?”

  “Not much, but it was rumored the army of the West stumbled onto one of your lairs and destroyed hundreds of your eggs. How many times a decade do your females spawn eggs again?”

  The dragon’s eyes burned with fury. “Be careful of your tongue, witch, I may eat you yet.”

  “Sorry, I hadn’t realized dragons were so touchy.”

  The dragon huffed out a cloud of smoke from its maw. “Once every one hundred seasons.”

  “What was that?” Kimala asked, pretending not to hear.

  “Our females, they spawn eggs once every one hundred seasons, not that you are actually concerned.”

  Bhavare woke up from his faint, feeling his chest with his hands. “I am not eaten?” he said surprised. “Was it a bad dream?” He stood laughing and dancing a little jig until he danced face to face with the dragon. The dragon puffed out a cloud of hot smoke on the servant, and he fainted dead away again.

  “Stop that, you are going to kill him from fright, and since you have already eaten one of my servants, I would like to have him in tact physically and mentally.”

  The dragon laughed. “No promises, witch.”

  Kimala smiled in spite of herself. “Are all dragons as incorrigible as you?”

  “I can’t speak for every brood, but mine generally is.” He thought for a moment. “Why do you not fear me like the rest?”

  Kimala glared at the dragon as if the answer to his question was obvious. “Because fea
r was driven from me long ago. Nothing can frighten me now; I have been through too much to care for fear.” She turned away from the dragon. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have to catch something else for supper since you ate the hares and the cook.” She started to leave the camp then stopped. “I expect Bhavare to be alive when I return.”

  “Don’t worry, witch, I think the other one is giving me a stomach ache.”

  “It serves you right,” she said.

  “All right, witch, go on. He will come to no harm.” The dragon said, “And my name is Dravenclaw.”

  “Thank you, Dravenclaw,” she said and then she disappeared into the darkness.

  Bhavare slept until morning and when he finally awakened, Dravenclaw kept his word and did no harm; although he did frighten the servant once more. The sun had barely topped the horizon when Kimala climbed onto the dragon’s back. It took her some time and effort to get Bhavare to join her, but he did not wish to be left behind, so he capitulated and also climbed onto the dragon’s back. The Sacred Land was vast, but the dragon flew over the dead terrain with ease and speed. Before the sun had reached midday, the dragon had put them within a league of Brightonhold Keep and bid them farewell. To get any closer to the keep would put the dragon in danger, even though it would take the whole of the Enforcers to down the beast.

  “We will wait until nightfall to enter the fortress, Bhavare; I do not wish to be seen.”

  “As you wish, my lady, but where will we hide?”

  Kimala scanned the area until she saw a dense group of dead trees in the distance. “In those trees,” she said. “Let’s make for them before the Defenders catch us.”

  “The Defenders? Do they not patrol the woods as well?” Bhavare asked.

  “The Sacred Land is vast. I’m sure we will be gone by the time they patrol this area; besides, we are too close to the Enforcers’ keep for them to even worry about us.”

  “I hope you are right. I do not wish to be captured and thrown into a dungeon any more than I want to be eaten by that dragon.”

  “Bhavare, after I talk to our contact it is likely I will be taken away from you. I think you should find a hiding place and wait for me to contact you. We will need to get away from the Sacred Land very quickly if our plans do not go as we foresee them.”

  “It may help if I know what the plan is, mistress,” Bhavare said.

  Kimala wrinkled her nose at the statement. “Help who, certainly not you. If you knew the plan and were captured, you would have knowledge that could get you killed.”

  “Good point, forget I asked.”

  “All is forgotten.” She knew Bhavare did not quite believe her explanation.

  The remainder of the day the two travelers sat under cover of the trees but did not talk to each other much. Kimala revisited her plans in her mind, and Bhavare entertained himself by scratching patterns in the dirt with a stick. At last, Kimala deemed it dark enough to proceed, and Bhavare began to search out a suitable hiding place. Kimala approached the keep at a full run once she cleared the trees. Two startled guards stopped her as she tried to run through the gates.

  “Halt, woman, what is your business here?” the left guard said.

  Kimala spoke in her most serious, desperate tone. “You presume to hinder me? I am Kimala, mistress of Naneden. He has gone mad, and I am here with a warning for Sir Yarbrille.”

  “What sort of warning?” the first guard asked.

  “Of an attack on the keep and on the Sacred Land,” she said pleadingly. “Let me go to him. You are all in grave danger.”

  The two guards looked at each other for a long moment and then the second guard spoke. “I will take her and send Fanteen to replace my watch.” The first guard nodded. “This way, mistress,” the guard said, leading Kimala into the keep.

  The entranceway to the keep was a wide foyer with tapestries and implements of war lined along both sides. It led to an enter-chamber, which in turn entered into a large council room. At the rear of the council room was a long table with five men sitting behind it. The guard stopped and stood before the men. Kimala looked around the chamber; several columns supported the domed ceiling and in between each column stood a marble statue of people Kimala did not recognize.

  “What is your purpose here?” the man seated in the middle asked the guard.

  “I have brought you a messenger from Scarovia. She claims to be Naneden’s mistress bearing an advance warning of an imminent invasion.”

  “I never said invasion,” Kimala spoke up. “I said attack.”

  The guard became irritated. “All right then, she has news of an attack.”

  “What kind of attack?” one of the council members asked.

  “I will show you,” she said, taking a tome from her pack. “I have the plans right here.” She held up the book. “May I approach?”

  The council member seated at the middle of the table dismissed the guard and motioned for Kimala to approach the table. Kimala handed the tome over to the council member.

  “This tome appears to be a grimoire, mistress. Is it your intent to cast a spell over the Enforcer council?” The other council members gasped in shock at the tome.

  “How dare you bring items relating to the outlawed magic arts into this chamber,” another council member said. “Arrest her, Yarbrille, and throw her in the dungeon.”

  Kimala’s eyes narrowed with contempt at the belligerent council member.

  “Quiet, Jacum,” Yarbrille said in a raised voice.

  Kimala opened the book to a middle page that did indeed seem to be plans for attack by Dramyds. “You see, I tell you the truth; now read the caption there.” She pointed to some small writing at the bottom of the page. A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead as she realized Yarbrille was reading it silently.

  “Well, what does it say, Yarbrille?” the far left council member asked.

  “It does not make much sense. It says something about a tree.”

  No one seemed to notice Kimala smile and take a step back.

  “What about a tree?” the council member asked.

  Yarbrille stiffened with irritation at the questioning. Then he read:

  “a tree in the forest is tall and true, chop it down and the army gets through, to see it fall is the doom of the keep, the Enforcers will soon sow what they reap.”

  Kimala jumped backward at the word reap, and Yarbrille realized he had read an incantation a moment too late. He stood to counter it, but again he was too late. In a flash of light, a blue, sparkling swirl, the council members all vanished. Kimala smiled with satisfaction. “I thought that old bugger would never read it aloud.” She walked to the only window in the chamber and opened it outward to a small balcony. A black creature stood there in the darkness. “It is done, Drasmyd Duil, where are the rest of your kind?”

  The creature did not move but in a raspy, guttural voice answered, “I have sent for them. They will soon be here. Your secret is secure.”

  “I have risked much for this; I wish you to realize that.”

  The creature’s voice became louder. “You will get your rewards soon enough, vile witch, now leave my sight and prepare yourself to receive the master.”

  “Naneden comes here?”

  The black creature laughed his unnatural laugh. “No, not Naneden. Drakkius. Drakkius comes to the Enforcers’ keep.”

  Kimala sneered. “Even better.”

  “Did he not instruct you to come here and do this deed?” the Drasmyd Duil asked.

  Kimala cocked an eyebrow. “He did, but he did not say why. I thought Naneden must have been behind it since he involved the tome,” she lied.

  “Step aside now, witch, and let me do my work.”

  Kimala let the Shadow Lurker slither past her, not knowing whether it believed her lie or not, but she expected it did not.

  Chapter 39: Shades in the Dead Forest

  In all directions lay ruin and lifelessness; the Sacred Land had not known life for one thousand seasons. Vast
forests of dead trees and wide patches of lifeless grass on either side of the path made Dorenn feel uncomfortable and, to some degree, sad knowing the land was once vibrant and alive. No birds sang, no crickets chirped, not a creature stirred. Dicarion led the party on until nightfall and then stopped to make camp at the edge of a dead forest. The light of the full moon cast ominous shadows, and Dorenn was glad when Gondrial started a warm fire at the center of camp.

  After a quick supper of dried beef and biscuits, Dorenn watched Ianthill pack his pipe with tabac and light it with a burning twig. Thick puffs of sweet-smelling smoke filled the air around him, and he sat back against a fallen log, relaxing for the first time in a long while.

  “Ah, I wonder if I might borrow some of that fine tabac, Ianthill,” Dicarion asked.

  “Certainly,” Ianthill replied, handing his tabac pouch to the old man.

  “It has been far too long since I enjoyed a good smoke. Not many sailors bring good tabac to the docks of Old Symbor,” Dicarion said as he packed his long curved pipe.

  Vesperin retreated to his prayers, and Rennon stayed near Gondrial.

  “Come, Rennon, we will scout around a bit,” Gondrial said. Rennon nodded, and the two disappeared into the dead woods.

  Being alone with the two old wizards made Dorenn uncomfortable at first until he realized it was what they had intended. He moved to join the two elders, and Ianthill produced an extra pipe from his robes. He packed it and handed it to Dorenn, who sat next to another fallen log closest to Ianthill.

  “I know of your wishes, Dorenn, and of your sacrifice. Your friends will not understand at first, but if they are true friends, they will come around.”

  “I hope what you say is true, Ianthill,” Dorenn answered.

  Dicarion let out a great puff of smoke. “The way of the wielder is often lonely. Make sure you know what your full intent is before you take on that responsibility.”

  “I do understand it. I have always been fascinated by it. I feel a pull to it within my soul.”

  “Morgoran has foreseen this; he spoke of you over one hundred seasons ago. He said you were the blood of the ancient kings,” Ianthill said amusingly between puffs of smoke.