by Mark Tyson
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter 1: Darkness Falls
Chapter 2: Hidden
Chapter 3: Shadow of the Mountain
Chapter 4: Basillain
Chapter 5: Secrets and Lies
Chapter 6: A Cursed Land
Chapter 7: A Path Revealed
Chapter 8: Draegodor
Chapter 9: The Talon Order
Chapter 10: The Great Forest
Chapter 11: Winterhaven
Chapter 12: The Lost Army
Chapter 13: Rugania: The Isle of Doom
Chapter 14: Dorenn’s Trial
Chapter 15: The Tome of Enlightenment
Chapter 16: Fading Embers
Chapter 17: One Idea Too Far
Chapter 18: Ruins of an Empire
Chapter 19: The Darkest Day
Chapter 20: Friends and Enemies
Chapter 21: The Dead of Winter
Chapter 22: Dragon’s Orb
Appendix
Exiles from the Sacred Land
Book two of The Sacred Land Saga
Mark Tyson
Shadesilver Publishing
Copyright © 2014, Mark E Tyson
Editing by Courtney Umphress www.courtneyumphress.com
Cover Design by Shadesilver Publishing
Additional art (spine and back cover) by Joseph J. Calkins (www.cerberusart.com)
First Shadesilver Publishing electronic publication: July, 2014
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via internet or by any other means, electronic or print, without the author/publisher’s permission.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictionally and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States by Shadesilver Publishing 2014
ISBN 13: 978-1500608514
ISBN 10: 150060851
Dedication and acknowledgements:
This book is dedicated to Michael, Eldon, and Brandie, who have all helped fix the potholes in the road.
I would like to acknowledge the many people who helped me write this book along the way: Most importantly my editor, Courtney Umphress, and book cover artist, Joe Calkins. Also, Kylie, Steve, and Linda.
Prologue
The light from the fire pit danced on the walls like little yellow and red sylphs delighting in the ominous workings of the wielder at the center of the room. Dirty, soot-stained green robes clung haphazardly to an emaciated frame of a man at task. Feverishly, he drew in as much essence from his surroundings as possible and concentrated his mental faculties on a single oblong object sitting on the wooden table before him. Scattered on the floor all around the table lay the remains of brightly-colored egg shells, dragon egg shells, to be exact. As he concentrated his power on the egg, the walls of the room buckled outward and the ceiling groaned from strain. Sweat began to pour from the wielder’s forehead as he concentrated, and just before it seemed the walls would crack open and the ceiling would burst out, he collapsed onto the dirty floor. In delirium, he dreamed about a silver statue of a great dragon with ruby eyes clawing at him. A small green statuette of an elf maiden glowed in his hands, and a young girl of about fifteen seasons with sapphire blue eyes laughed at him.
When he awoke, it was daytime. The only window in the room let in the sunlight. He gathered his strength and stood before the table, searching for the egg. Thankfully it was still intact on the table. All his previous attempts had failed, resulting in the destruction of the egg, but this time he had succeeded. He carefully removed the egg from the table and placed it on a specially-lined stone bowl near the fire pit. The wielder in green robes went about stoking the fire until it roared back into a steady flame. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard the door open behind him but did not turn to see who entered the room.
“Master?”
The man started at the sound of a human voice. “What, who is it?”
“Master, it is I. It is Naneden.”
“Ah yes, Naneden. Come here and gaze upon my work. I have done it. I have moved beyond the creation of Dramyds from dragonkind. I have used the power of the gods and created our greatest ally.”
Naneden looked over his master’s shoulder at the egg. “Master, what have you created inside this egg?”
“My dear apprentice, what I have created will strike fear in the hearts of men and elf-kind alike, for it will have the ability to blend among them undetected. I have taken an egg of the Drasmyd brood and the essence of the Duil brood and combined their magic into a single egg. When it hatches, this new Drasmyd Duil will not only be able to create Dramyd at a far more prolific rate, it will be able to use the magic of the Duil dragons to take the shape of whatever creature it desires.”
A wicked grin formed on Naneden’s thin lips. “You are talking about the creation of your army of Dramyds. You have done it, Master; you can now produce the great army of Toborne.”
“Did you doubt me?”
“No, Master, I have never doubted you.”
“We will need a greater number of dragon eggs from the two broods. Can you manage it?”
“Stealing the eggs is dangerous, my master, but with the help of the Dramyds you have already created, I should be able to take what we need. Of course, the number of egg-producing dragons dwindles as we manipulate them.”
Toborne’s brow furled in concentration. “Yes, ideally we should capture a pair of each for our purposes.”
“Master, even if we could do such a thing, dragons of these two broods do not lay clutches of eggs often. Might we learn how to employ the life-birth broods? An army of Drasmyd Duil would surely destroy the Dramyd and the Duil populations.”
“The Dramyds will comprise the army. These Drasmyd Duil will have a different purpose.”
“We must also take into consideration that the live-birth dragon broods will naturally try to stop us from taking their young and from taking more of their relatives’ dragon eggs.”
“They will try. Of course, they will send their precious dragon knights out before they will come for us themselves. It is their folly that they put so much faith into their knights. It will buy us time to amass an army large enough to defeat even them.”
Naneden thought for a long moment. “Master, if we could somehow control the population of egg-laying broods, we could hatch them to fight against those who would seek to stop us. The drakes could be a powerful ally.”
“Naneden, you are wise beyond your many seasons. I was right to apprentice you.” Toborne gazed lovingly at his egg by the fire. “There is a way to take control over them. I have tried to do it before, but I failed.”
“How, Master?”
“It requires taking control over the Silver Drake. With the power the gods have bestowed in her, we could insure our victory in the war to come. It will not be easy. The Silver Drake is a force to be reckoned with, and she is heavily guarded.”
Naneden’s eyes twinkled with delight. “Master, if you will permit me, I will find a way.”
Chapter 1: Darkness Falls
Naneden opened the silver-runed tome before him and began to recite the ancient words written within. Madness flashed in his eyes as his face contor
ted in maniacal glee. A dark, silky smoke rose all around him. His body pulled and stretched as he laughed at the pain the incantation caused him. His study melted around him, replaced with a vast field of yellowed prairie grass covered with dark-clad soldiers. Naneden appeared at once from the darkness, hunched over; usually the incantation rendered its caster unconscious, but not Naneden. He quickly righted himself to inspect, by the light of the full moon, the army crawling over the field. He gasped for breath and addressed the nearest soldier. “You.” He pointed a thin finger at the startled soldier. “Where is your commander?”
“There.” The soldier pointed to a small bluff formed by two overturned boulders.
Naneden made his way to the bluff, his cloak blowing eerily in the low wind. His eyes narrowed at the sting of cold air as he scowled at the commander on the boulder. He approached the ethereal being, who was hovering above the battlefield.
“Rodraq,” Naneden snarled, “what are you waiting for? Attack! Attack Soldier’s Bluff there in the distance.”
Rodraq turned and rushed toward Naneden, knocking him flat on his back. He put his face as close to Naneden’s as possible and spoke in a raspy, low voice. “Do not disturb me, madman. I no longer take orders from you. Why should I not kill you?”
Naneden smirked, unfazed by the Spectre’s threat. “Because it was I who saved you.”
“Saved me?” Rodraq sputtered. “You think you have saved me? I should kill you.”
“Aye, we have already covered that, have we not? Your threat grows tiresome.”
Rodraq focused harshly on Naneden’s ashen face. “You no longer have any use here.” He raised his sword hand to strike a blow.
Naneden laughed until he coughed. “What are you talking about?” he inquired after his coughing fit ended. “I still possess the tome, and it was I who eliminated the army of the West by removing them from your path. You most certainly do take orders from me. Who else would you take them from?”
Rodraq backed off Naneden and turned his ghostly-white face back to the village. “I will not destroy any village that does not offer resistance. We will travel around.”
Naneden became enraged. “What? I ordered you to destroy all the villages in your path to Lux Enor whether they offered resistance or not. If you leave men behind, they will organize a new army and reclaim Symboria and the Sacred Land.”
“We still have yet to take Lux Enor, madman. I will not deplete the army on every village along the way. We will need every soldier to take and hold the highlord’s stronghold. If you plan to become highlord, you must not allow the destruction of any of your army on small village raids.” He turned his eerie gaze once more upon Naneden. “They will attempt to organize another army anyway, as I would. So, do you wish me to waste soldiers on villages?”
Naneden kicked at the dirt, looked into the night sky, and tapped his finger on his chin. “Yes, I think I do. Kill them all. Yes, I want all those who would oppose me dead.”
Rodraq resumed his posture on the boulder. “You are mad. We go around the village. If you insist we attack, you can take it up with him.” Rodraq pointed to the sky.
Naneden looked skyward and noticed a black speck outlined by the silvery moon. As it came nearer, he realized from its fiery breath that it was a dragon. “What is that drake doing here?”
“He will be upon us soon.”
“To whom do you refer? The dragon?”
“You don’t know, do you?”
“Why don’t you tell me, and we will both know.”
“That dragon carries a rider. Can’t you feel his presence?”
Naneden squinted. The moonlight illuminated a figure on the dragon’s neck just above the head. “So it does. I didn’t think dragons allowed riders.”
“They will allow this rider.”
The dragon swooped down and landed not far from the bluff where Rodraq and Naneden stood. The rider dismounted, and the dragon eagerly took flight again, heading north. The rider strolled into view.
“Drakkius,” Naneden said. “I am pleased to see you. Did you eliminate Ianthill and his pathetic cohorts?”
The rider walked deliberately to Naneden but said nothing; instead, he held up a silver statue of a drake. Naneden’s eyes gleamed. “You did it. You captured the Silver Drake. Give it to me, and I will—” Naneden glared at the rider as the man held the Silver Drake up in his palm.
“Kneel before me,” he said in a hushed tone. Naneden fell to his knees by the power of the Silver Drake.
“What are you doing, fool? If you plan to double-cross me, Drakkius, I swear on Toborne’s legacy I will see you dead.”
The rider tittered at the name Toborne. “Naneden, I do not intend to betray you, my son, but I will have your loyalty or I will have your head. I am your master. Drakkius is no more.”
Naneden’s eyes went narrow and cold. The blood drained from his already ashen face until it was almost as white as Rodraq’s.
“The statuette.” He searched frantically around the rider’s feet as if he might find it on the ground. “Where is the jade statuette?”
“Now you understand; now you see. The statuette is safe. You will not confine me there if that is your wish. I have read the thoughts of the one you knew as Drakkius, and I approve of your plans, my apprentice. I will let you sit on the highlord’s throne. I have just made a few alterations to your plan, that’s all. I am sure you will approve.” The rider’s eyes were hollow and black. “Give me your loyalty.”
Naneden bowed down, touching his forehead to the ground with his arms outstretched. “I pledge my loyalty to you once again, Lord Toborne.”
Toborne lowered the Silver Drake to his side. “Rise, Naneden. We have a land to tame. A sacred land.”
Rennon entered the alleyway fully cloaked and with hood drawn over his head. The foreign quarter of Trigoth was treacherous, and, being a country boy, he quaked at every sound. Ganas had arranged for a meeting with Theosus Fiderea at first light, but he could no longer wait to obtain the herb mixture that settled his mind. He had slipped out into the night in search of another to aid him. He had already deemed Theosus as too risky because the apothecary knew Morgoran, and soon he might be involved with them too closely to know the secret. The only other shop he could find in Trigoth was located in a much seedier part of the foreign quarter than he would normally be inclined to visit.
Rennon gathered up his courage and was about to push onward to the alleyway entrance to the apothecary’s shop when another cloaked figure suddenly appeared from around the corner. Rennon stepped back into the shadows. The cloaked figure was shorter than he and had a slighter frame. The hooded outline suddenly stopped next to the shadowed area where Rennon hid and looked directly at him. In the dim light, he saw the face of a woman not any older than he was. In spite of himself, he gasped at her allure.
“Who’s there?” she said, squinting into the darkness. Rennon shrank back as far as the wall would allow him but said nothing. She took a step closer, and Rennon felt a strange sensation manipulate him, control him. He felt himself about to let loose the wild magic against his will. He clenched his teeth, fighting desperately to control the sensation. Go away! he thought.
Go away? he heard a foreign voice say in his head. You go away! What are you doing hiding in the shadows?
Get out of my head, Rennon thought. I am going mad. I need my herbs.
“What herbs? Come out where I can see you,” the woman said out loud.
No, I don’t want to hurt you. Move along, he thought.
“Hurt me?” The woman drew out a dagger. “You just try it, and I will stick you in the ribs!”
Rennon looked at the woman with astonishment. She can hear my thoughts.
“Of course I can,” she said. “You are projecting them at me, and harshly, I might add. You have the malady in you too. Come out where I can see you.”
Rennon released the wild magic, and the woman fell to her knees, dropping the dagger to the ground. Images flooded
into his head; he saw the woman talking to an old man mixing something in a mortar with a pestle.
“Can you cure me?” she was asking.
“I will give it my best,” the man said.
Rennon felt the images leave his head with force as the woman recoiled.
“Stop that, you fool,” the woman said. “You are an idiot. You will get us caught!”
Rennon stood dumbfounded as the woman retrieved her dagger. “Come out and hurry now. We have to get off the street.”
Rennon exited the shadows, and the woman immediately took his arm, dragging him along beside her. She turned her head his way briefly. Under the hood, he could make out her soft, youthful features. He was particularly drawn to her lips. They were full, red, and kissable. He suppressed a silly urge to go ahead and kiss her.
“In here,” she said, throwing open the door to what appeared at first glance to be the apothecary’s shop. It looked nothing like Sanmir’s shop back home, and it had an oppressive odor hanging thick in the air. Rennon had to hold back his gag reflex by swallowing hard.
“Ugh, what is that horrid smell?” he blurted out.
“It speaks,” the woman said sarcastically.
Rennon glared at her.
He recognized the room as being both storefront and preparation room. It was much smaller and more cramped than Sanmir’s shop. Strange foreign animals in fluidic jars lined rickety shelves, and pelts hung on the walls.
“Who have you brought into my shop this time, Deylia?” said a man partially hidden behind a monstrous cauldron.
“I don’t know. Some idiot.” She turned to Rennon. “What’s your name?”
He wanted to say Dorenn or make up a name, but he was somewhat offended at being called an idiot again, and his mouth and brain could not agree. “Rennon,” he said.
“He has the malady, Hadder.”
“Does he have the required payment?” Rennon felt a sinking feeling in his gut. What was he getting himself into this time? The man behind the caldron was dirty and scruffy-looking. Not the sort he wanted to trade with.