Dawn of the Sacred Land

by Mark E. Tyson

  “The village reeve received a report from the Defenders that the boy was dead. It was enchanted. I suspect it was the cause of the dead rising up in this village and the other nefarious goings on here. I dispelled it. I am willing to wager the boy is alive and he has company.”

  “Company of the worst kind.”

  “Do you still remember how to detect them?”

  “Drasmyd Duil? Aye, they smell horrible. It’s unmistakable.”

  “It will probably be disguised as a Defender.”

  Sylvalora agreed. “If it killed the other Defender guards, the boy will likely not know about it.” She put her hand to her forehead. “If the seer boy is this important, the Drasmyd Duil may be preparing to take him to Naneden. We should hang back and follow them.”

  “How would we do that? You are the only one who could follow them undetected. I think we need to get the boy, let you cast an enchantment over him where he is undetectable, and keep him with us.”

  “You don’t think that would be asking for trouble?”

  “Not as long as they don’t know where to find him. If he is a seer, he may be useful to us.”

  “Ah, you hope to gain insight. I don’t know, Shey. Even with my enchantments, we shouldn’t keep him in our company long. What if his gifts come from the Oracle? What if the Oracle is awakening with the Sacred Land? You will have a piece of him traveling around with us.”

  “We can’t let him fall into the enemies’ hands regardless. I agree he might be troublesome, but until we find a place to secure him, our best course of defense is to keep him close.” She bit her lower lip. “You know, I think the best place for him would be the Vale of Morgoran. We will keep him with us, under our watchful eyes, until we can make the arrangements.”

  “Assuming we do find him,” Sylvalora said.

  The coach came to a stop, and Rodraq tapped on the door. “We are at the hot springs.” He pointed to a wooden building surrounded by trees. A flowing stream ran underneath it.

  “I suppose we should make use of the hot springs ourselves,” Shey suggested.

  “What of the boy?”

  “How long of a bath do you plan to take?” Shey asked.

  “I usually soak for a while, dear. You know this.”

  Shey took out a kit with various soaps and bathing products from the storage space underneath her seat. “Just get cleaned up and we will be on our way. This is not a time for soaking.”

  Sylvalora nodded. “Very well. Do you have any more of that lilac soap I like so much?”

  “Of course I do,” Lady Shey said as she stepped down from the coach.

  Chapter 8: Beneath the White Tower

  The cabin was nestled in a small copse of trees, which were dead and devoid of essence, just off the main road to Old Symbor. Lady Shey wished she had one of the essence-imbued jade statuettes from which to draw in essence to cast with. She was good with her daggers but felt naked without being able to use magic as well. On a whim, she tried to draw in essence. To her amazement, essence did come, but it was shallow, like trying to breathe in an overtight corset. It was not enough to cast the better attack spells. She might be able to cast a small protective shield.

  When the coach came to a stop, Sylvalora was the first to exit. She whispered a few words, and a quarter staff appeared. Lady Shey looked jealously on. “How can you conjure that without essence?”

  “It doesn’t require essence. It’s an entirely different magic. I can teach you later, if you wish.”

  “What is it, dragon magic?”

  “Aye, and extremely easy to cast.” She spun the staff in the air, making it whizz and hum. She stopped with it tucked under her armpit.

  “I would like to learn that spell,” Shey said.

  Rodraq, sword in hand, approached. “Plan?”

  Lady Shey squinted at the cabin. “It’s difficult to see this far away, but it appears no one guards the outside. I say the direct approach.”

  “Direct it is!” Rodraq said. He held his sword out and marched up to the door of the cabin. In one mighty kick, he obliterated the front door. Shey and Sylvalora were close on his heels. As suspected, a stench assaulted their senses and two Drasmyd Duil, wings wrapped around their lithe bodies, stood perched over a boy of about ten or eleven seasons. They snarled and attacked. Lady Shey didn’t think; she just launched into her trained dagger attacks. First was spinning eagle talon. She whirled in a circle, bringing both daggers, one after the other, to bear on the first Drasmyd Duil as it unfurled its wings. It screamed as she sliced through the thin, leathery right wing before it could get its arm free to claw at her. She dodged its deadly acidic spit. Rodraq was at her side, running his sword through the creature and slicing up and out. The Drasmyd Duil split in two and collapsed, convulsing on the floor. Both Shey and Rodraq turned to the other creature, but Sylvalora was already pulling her ethereal staff from its eye socket. Her staff morphed into a double-bladed staff, a blade on each end, as she swung it over her head and came down on the creature’s shoulder. Its head landed somewhere in the corner. Its body buckled, with black blood shooting from its exposed neck as it fell.

  Lady Shey put away her daggers and went to the boy. He looked up at her and smiled. “You have come for me?”

  “Aye. Can you tell me your name?”

  “My name is Geron. Do you know my mother and father?”

  “I don’t know. Where are they?”

  The boy looked distressed. “I think those black creatures killed them.”

  Shey felt a jolt of sympathy. “You are safe now. We won’t let the bad creatures hurt you anymore.” The boy reached up and hugged Shey’s neck. Her heart instantly melted. “Come with us. We will protect you.”

  Geron’s blue eyes seemed to sparkle. He nodded and took Shey’s hand.

  When they got to the coach, Sylvalora began her protection spell to shield Geron from any prying eyes. As the coach pulled away, Geron curled up beside Lady Shey and went to sleep.

  Sylvalora tapped her forehead. Shey put her hand over Geron’s exposed ear.

  “He has taken to you,” Sylvalora whispered.

  “He has. I must admit, I had not expected him to so quickly. I guess I expected him to be somewhat traumatized.”

  “He may yet be. We both need to keep our eyes on him.”

  “Can you make sure he sleeps the rest of the way to Old Symbor?”

  “I will,” Sylvalora said. “I imagine he needs it.”

  Lady Shey sat beside Rodraq in the driver’s seat as the first glimpse of Old Symbor appeared in the distance. She had moved to the top of the coach to allow Geron to stretch out over the entire length of the coach seat while he slept. The White Tower still stood as the tallest building in Old Symbor. It loomed over the city like a forgotten sentinel, guarding a dead city. Once the Sacred Land had engulfed the city and its surroundings, nothing would grow in the fields or gardens. Not even flowers could survive the blight and died soon after they were planted in the soil. They would not even grow in separate house pots. The city survived on imports for a time before the king of Symboria finally declared that the capital be moved out of the Sacred Land. He declared the southern port city of Paladine would be the new capital, and he renamed it Symbor, after the family name of the king.

  Shey felt overwhelming sadness as they passed through the debris-choked streets. Buildings crumbled and decayed everywhere she looked. She felt a tear roll down her cheek as they passed the ruins of the Sleeping Hound Inn where she had once begged for food from the inn’s cook, Ignacio. Her heavy heart did not lighten when they reached the yard of the White Tower of Enowene. The outer wall, where she had taken refuge at one time, had crumbled completely away. Enowene, the headmistress of the academy within the tower, had long ago moved to the Vale of Morgoran.

  “I wonder what we will find within those walls,” Shey said to Rodraq.

  “Is it even safe to go in there? Judging by the state of the rest of the city, I wouldn’t think so,” he repl
ied.

  “It’s safe. Enowene has enchantments in place, at least above ground level. She sometimes returns here from what I understand.” She pointed to a tiny window at the base of the tower. “It’s beneath the tower, where we need to go, that I’m concerned about.”

  Rodraq brought the coach to a stop. “How long will we be here, my lady?”

  “At least overnight. There are stables around back for the horses. Enowene has it taken care of by the caretaker of the city. It is likely we will see him sooner or later. I knew him once, long ago in this very city. His name is Dicarion. He can be difficult, so if you see him, be sure to mention that you are here with me.” She thought for a moment. “In fact, if you see him and I’m not around, tell him you are here with Sheyna Namear rather than Lady Shey.”

  Sylvalora climbed out of the coach. “The boy still sleeps.”

  “We need to go ahead and wake him. Rodraq is about to stable the horses and put the coach away.”

  Sylvalora went back to the coach to wake Geron, but he came stumbling out, rubbing his eyes before she got too far. “How did you sleep, dear?”

  Geron continued to rub his eyes. “Good.”

  Rodraq snapped the reins, and the coach lumbered on.

  Lady Shey approached the heavy wooden door of the tower and produced a key from her pocket. “The enchantments on the tower are weak. The Sacred Land has taken its toll on them since Enowene’s last visit.” She inserted the key and turned the lock twice to the left and once to the right while reciting the counterspell. The door creaked open. Shey turned to Sylvalora and Geron. “Come on in. I need to go open the entrance from the stables for Rodraq.”

  Once inside the tower, memories of times gone by flooded Shey’s mind. The foyer looked exactly as it did when Shey was a girl. Enowene had managed to keep it from decaying and deteriorating like the rest of Old Symbor. The marble floors shined brilliantly, and the wooden staircase was polished to perfection.

  Sylvalora escorted the boy inside. “Enowene’s tower. We will be quite comfortable here.” She stepped into the adjoining parlor and opened the firewood cabinet. “Plenty of firewood. When you let Rodraq in, Shey, have him build a fire and light the sconces of the main living areas.”

  “Oh, Rodraq!” Shey said. “I had almost forgotten about him.”

  “You can reminisce later.”

  “You’re right. Why don’t you go to the kitchens and see about the stores. Enowene should have an enchantment in place to keep the food fresh there as well.”

  Sylvalora bent down to Geron. “Hungry?”

  Geron nodded, and Sylvalora led him off to the kitchens.

  Shey navigated the darkened halls and found the back door. She unlocked it in the same manner as the front door and found Rodraq near the stables talking to someone. The man was too young to be Dicarion. Curious, she went to join them.

  “I wasn’t aware we were to report back to Lux Enor. To whom were we supposed to send such a message? The highlord is dead,” Rodraq was saying.

  “The ward of Lux Enor, Sanforth Throu, is temporarily in charge. You send the reports to him, I suppose.”

  Shey recognized the man when she was close enough. “Lyrrath, the ward of Lux Enor sent you?”

  “Ah, Lady Shey.” He bowed. “There you are. I was just talking to your manservant.”

  “I can see that. What about?”

  “I traveled here soon after you left. I arrived before you.” He looked at her questioningly.

  “We were delayed. Go on with your explanation.”

  “At once, my lady. Aye, it was Ward Throu who sent me to ask you for a report on your progress. Have you discovered the highlord’s assassin?”

  “It’s an ongoing investigation.”

  “I am to join your search and report back regularly.”

  “Welcome, then,” Shey said. “I am sure we will get along fine as long as you let me conduct the investigation and you stay out of my way.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of interfering, my lady,” Lyrrath said. “I am here to observe and report.”

  “I sent Sylvalora to the kitchens. Why don’t we go see what she found to eat.”

  “Shall I bring the food stores from the coach?” Rodraq asked.

  “Why don’t you. Enowene keeps some food stocked here, but you never know.”

  Rodraq went back to the coach while Lyrrath followed Lady Shey into the tower.

  “I look forward to working with you, my lady.”

  “See if you still feel that way in a few days, Lyrrath. I am not fond of Ward Throu, and I am not particularly happy he has sent you to . . . help me.”

  “You think I am a spy for the ward of Lux Enor?”

  “Aye, are you not?”

  “Certainly not!”

  “We shall see.” She led him into the kitchens where Sylvalora was already cooking something. Geron was sitting at a preparation table, drawing with coal and parchment. Rodraq came in with the provisions. Lady Shey began putting out plates and silverware.

  “Where are we going to quarter?” Rodraq asked.

  “I thought we might stay in the guest quarters here on the first floor. I’m not sure if the rooms upstairs are kept up,” Shey answered. “I don’t want any light in the windows up there to attract people to us either. I can’t imagine what manner of people might be lurking about, evading the Defender patrols.”

  “If you don’t mind, my lady, can you show me to my quarters after supper? I plan to go right to sleep after I get a belly full.”

  “I will show us all to our quarters. The only one who has had any good sleep lately is Geron, and I hope he is able to sleep through the night.”

  The boy smiled and nodded that he could.

  “Good.” She sniffed the air. “That smells divine, Sylvalora. What is it?”

  “Pork chops and mashed potatoes.”

  “There were pork chops?” Shey was surprised they kept.

  Sylvalora looked at her as if her answer was obvious. “Magical stores tend to be stocked the best. There is also eggs and bacon for breakfast.”

  The moon loomed high in the midnight sky when Geron ventured out of his room. Lyrrath watched as the boy moved silently in the shadows. He was about to ask what the boy was doing out of bed when the moonlight, falling through the windows, illuminated the boy’s face as he passed from shadow to light and then back into shadow. Instead of a young boy, the face was contorted into the countenance of a stunted dragon’s maw. Red eyes reflected the moonlight like a house cat. A set of bat-like wings appeared, and the boy wrapped them around his body as he passed through the light of another window and back into shadow. Lyrrath sniffed the air. There was no repulsive odor detectable. Lyrrath knew the boy had not seen him, so he took the opportunity to follow him. From his pocket he produced a small jade statuette and drew some essence from it, enough to cloak himself in darkness and make himself undetectable as well as give himself vision to see through the darkness. He followed the shadow-lurking creature down stone stairs into the dungeon.

  After dodging some potentially dangerous crumbling stone walls, Lyrrath emerged into a chamber of glass tubes, cauldrons, and rows of old parchment and books. He could detect magic emanating from some of the parchments and shelves, so he avoided them. The creature he knew as Geron rummaged through some of the contents on a table and produced a stone. He held it up to examine it in the small amount of moonlight that streamed through the small window Geron surmised was at the base of the tower. The creature cackled and wrapped its wings around itself again. Lyrrath moved to get out of its way and inadvertently kicked some of the crumbling stone wall he was standing next to. The Shadow Lurker didn’t hesitate. It was on him in one leap, wings extended again. The spell Lyrrath had cast dropped.

  “You are the one called Lyrrath.” The creature spoke with a low, raspy voice.

  Lyrrath reached for the statuette in his pocket, but the Shadow Lurker caught his hand. “Aye, I am he. Who are you?”

  “I c
an’t kill you. It would draw suspicion.” He moved Lyrrath’s hand aside. “What are you trying to get at?” He found the statuette. “Ah, you have magic.”

  Lyrrath felt the creature draw essence. “What are you doing?”

  “Something you will not remember,” the creature said.

  Lyrrath tried to struggle free when he felt the creature in his mind.

  Lady Shey awoke to the smell of bacon, eggs, and bittering tea. After she tied her hair back and got dressed, she hurried to the kitchen. Geron was there, drawing with coal and parchment again. Sylvalora prepared breakfast over the cooking hearth, and Lyrrath, looking tired with bags under his eyes, sipped on some bittering tea.

  “Top of the morning to you all,” she said. Geron bolted for her and embraced her in a hug. “Careful you don’t get black coal all over me, child.”

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “That’s all right. Why don’t you go wash up for breakfast.”

  He nodded and ran off. Shey thought she saw Lyrrath cringe when the boy ran past him. “What is the story with you this morning?”

  “I didn’t sleep well. It’s this Sacred Land—I kept dreaming of black creatures in the night and all manners of horrible things.”

  “This place can get to you, especially if you are a wielder. The lack of essence around takes some getting used to.”

  “That must be it. I don’t like it.”

  Rodraq entered the room. He was dressed in leather and linen. Shey was not used to seeing him out of his armor. “I found a way down into the dungeon. We can go there after breakfast.”

  “Not me,” Lyrrath said. “If you don’t mind, I think I would rather stay up here. In fact, I may go back to bed and see if I can catch up on sleep.”

  “I think that would be fine,” Shey said.

  After breakfast, Rodraq led Shey, Geron, and Sylvalora down a maze of crumbling stone corridors into the dungeon. Shey remembered where to go, and soon they were in the private laboratory and workshop of Toborne.

  “What is it we are searching for?” Rodraq asked while looking over some blank parchment, which appeared almost new, on a work table. “This parchment can’t be that old.”