Exiles From The Sacred Land (Book 2)

by Mark Tyson

  “Rennon! What are you doing? You are not helping,” Ganas said, trying to diffuse the situation.

  “I don’t care, Ganas. This fool is of no help to us.”

  “Boy, you go too far.”

  Rennon clenched his teeth. “No, sir, I do not go far enough.”

  Theosus raised his hand to chest level. “You are in need of manners.” He made a hand gesture, and Rennon felt his legs stiffen. His chair came out from under him, and he stood up, ridged.

  He was not sure what Theosus had in mind, but he was not about to let him do it. He strengthened his will and thought of Theosus flying bodily against the back wall of the room. He released his thought, and Theosus tumbled backward. Bottles on the shelves shook and fell to the floor as Theosus met with the wall. Immediately Rennon’s fear took him. Theosus picked himself off the floor and leveled his red eyes at Rennon. Ganas took two steps back. Rennon braced for the worse.

  Theosus cracked his neck left and then right. With a gesture from Theosus Fiderea’s hand, Rennon froze. The white-haired man limped to the wall on the left side of the room and took down a wooden box. He opened the box and removed a glowing blue stone. Rennon cringed.

  “This is a Lora Daine,” Theosus said in a low voice. “Do you know what a Lora Daine does?” Rennon shook his head. “It’s a dragon stone.” Theosus whispered something to the stone. Rennon thought he heard the word Brendlewyre. “Here, boy.” He tossed the stone carelessly to Ganas, whose involuntary action was to catch it. As soon as the stone touched Ganas’ hands, he vanished in a haze of azure. Rennon began to conjure up thoughts to defend himself, but his mind was a jumble, and nothing tangent came to thought.

  “If you are trying to mindwield on me again, boy, save your strength. I only sent him away. Morgoran told you that I knew what to do, so trust that he was correct.” He looked at Rennon with contempt. “He also said that if he did not face me in person, look for a mindwielder. His eyes were clear at the time, and I dismissed his prediction like so many of his others, but here you stand. I must say, I would not have believed a mindwielder would be so bold as to face me here. I thought your kind was all but wiped out in the War of the Oracle.” He turned to another shelf. “But what must be done will be done. Morgoran asked me to give the mindwielder this tin of leaves.” He blew the dust off a small tin box. “The contents are magically sealed. I prepared them many seasons ago at Morgoran’s request. When you brew a tea, any kind of tea, mix in a pinch of this, but mind that you use only a pinch. It’s powerful.”

  “What is it?”

  “Poison.”

  “Poison!”

  “Aye, poison if you take too much. Just a pinch will alter your mind. Two pinches will have you seeing monsters in the dark, and three pinches will put you in the grave. Less than a pinch will probably cure a headache. Morgoran instructed me to give it to you when the time came.”

  “Oh, that’s comforting. You said his eyes were already clear. When did he tell you this?”

  “Well, about nine hundred seasons ago, if I remember. It was just after he started spouting out prophecy.”

  “That tin was prepared nine hundred seasons ago?”

  “Aye, he was very convincing that I prepare them. By the way, throw that overpriced potion you bought away. I can smell it on you from here.”

  Rennon took the tin. “What potion?”

  Theosus made a slight motion with his hand, and Rennon stopped breathing. He felt like he had been punched in the stomach. “No more games, boy, I have already brought out your abilities.” He released him. “Now you are calm, tranquil.”

  Rennon gasped a moment for breath; his anger and apprehension flowed out of him. As soon as he was able, he opened the tin. “What is in this, then? I mean, I know what you said about it being poison if abused, but what is it exactly?”

  “If you are so worried about the contents of that tin, remember that I am old enough to have known a few mindwielders in person. That concoction is what they came up with to help control their power when they started losing the ability to do it themselves. I know of no other apothecary in Trigothia that can still concoct it.”

  “What if I run out of this?”

  “I guess you are out of luck, unless you can find an apothecary elsewhere that can duplicate it. The apothecaries in Endil might still be able to make it. Now go on. I have done my part.”

  “Endil? That’s in the middle of the Great Sythian Forest. I can’t go there to get it.”

  “Then you better use it sparingly and not run out. Go now.”

  “Not until you tell me what you did with Ganas.”

  Theosus appeared annoyed. “If you will leave me in peace, I will tell you. He is with the dragons in Draegodor. Morgoran foresaw that they are to help him.”

  “How is it you can remember everything Morgoran said to you nine hundred seasons ago?” Rennon asked.

  “You should be more impressed that I was able to send your friend all the way to Draegodor with such a small Lora Daine.”

  “What is that supposed to mean? I have never even heard of a Lora Daine before today.”

  Theosus looked disappointed. “Here, you will need this.” He handed him a small pouch with something hard inside.

  “What is it?”

  “Your salvation. Now, go find the girl.” Theosus’ eyes flared with a strange twinkle, and Rennon felt lightheaded.

  Rennon scoffed. His mind reeled as he exited the shop.

  What am I doing? he thought. I am losing what little control I had.

  Don’t dawdle, boy, you have to find her now. Use your thoughts.

  Theosus, what are you doing to me? How are you in my thoughts?

  He staggered down the street. Patrons parted out of his way as if he were diseased or drunk. He stopped near an alleyway and slumped up against the wall. I need to brew up some of this, he thought as he looked at the plain tin in his hands.

  Don’t brew it yet. Call to her, Theosus’ voice echoed in his head.

  Deylia! He thought to the image of Deylia in his mind. Where are you? Deylia, can you hear my thoughts? There was no answer. Then it occurred to him that he was going about this all wrong. He let his mind picture the cloaked Enforcers. He called out with his mind.

  He dropped to the ground and waited. After a time, he heard footsteps approaching.

  “Excuse me?” a voice behind him said. Rennon turned to see an Enforcer. “I need to have a word with you.”

  Relief filled Rennon, but he suppressed it. “What do you want with me, filth?”

  “Just come along,” the Enforcer said. Rennon obeyed but feigned resistance.

  The Enforcer forced Rennon through a maze of streets until they came to a wagon with a cage waiting at the entrance to a great stone building. Rennon again resisted when two other Enforcers moved in to help shove him into the cage with two other prisoners. Immediately he recognized Deylia as one of them. She was huddled in a corner. The male prisoner took this opportunity to escape. Rennon felt a rush in his mind and a sickening buzz as the prisoner attacked one of the Enforcers with his mind. The escaping man leaped from the back of the wagon as the Enforcer reeled from the attack, and ran. He got about four or five strides before he was felled by an arrow to the neck. He lay writhing on the ground until another Enforcer ran him through with his sword.

  “Let that be a lesson to you two if you try to escape,” the Enforcer said, making a deliberate gesture with his finger across his neck. He closed the cage door.

  “Deylia, Deylia.” Rennon shook her, but she seemed to be in shock. Her brown hair was unkempt and partially covered her eyes, but he could still see them and the redness around them. She had been crying. “Deylia, it’s me, Rennon.”

  Deylia blinked and looked into his face. She spoke in a weakened voice. “You fool! What have you done?”

  “I am here to save you.”

  “Save me? What are you talking about? You are as good as dead now.”

  “Wait, I will tell the
m that I killed the Enforcers. You had nothing to do with it. I will tell them so they will let you go.”

  “You did just come off the boat. They don’t care about your testimony. They will kill us both now. Do you know where this wagon goes? It takes those afflicted with the malady to the gallows to be hanged and then burned.”

  Rennon smiled at the boat comment.

  “I am glad you can laugh in the face of death.”

  “No, I will tell them. They will have to let you go.”

  “Go on, tell them, but it will do no good. Whether we killed Enforcers or not, we are afflicted. Did you even consider that?”

  Rennon moved to the back of the wagon. “You there. Enforcer.”

  “Quiet, you, or I will kill you myself.”

  “The girl—she is innocent. I killed the men last night.”

  “I said quiet. We already know what you did, and the wench too.”

  “No, you don’t. She had nothing to do with it.”

  The Enforcer took out his sword and poked it in between the bars of the cage, forcing Rennon to move back or be stabbed.

  “I told you. You might have stood a chance if you had not let yourself get caught. Now we both hang,” Deylia lamented.

  The wagon jolted forward and lumbered up the street. Rennon tried to concentrate on the bars, but his mind was still in the same foggy, uncontrollable state from when he left Theosus. He was helpless except for his brawn, and he was not nearly strong enough to break through the bars.

  The wagon took them out of the city Trigoth and to an overlooking hill. Rennon saw the gallows a short distance ahead. Panic had begun to set in, and his heart raced. There had to be a way out of this.

  “Can you use your mind?” Rennon asked Deylia. She shook her head.

  “Even if I could, I cannot do what you do. I have never seen anyone control it like that.”

  The wagon lurched to a stop, and three Enforcers extracted them from the cage. Rennon tried to fight them off, this time for real, but they overpowered him and tied his hands behind his back. They did the same to Deylia and then led them both to the platform. The stench of something horrible assaulted his nostrils. He almost wretched knowing it was probably burned human flesh he smelled.

  “We bear witness to these two afflicted souls today that they may be condemned before these Enforcers for their crimes.” An Enforcer dressed in black robes read from a scroll. Someone tied a black cloth over Rennon’s eyes.

  “Rennon, I am scared,” Deylia whispered.

  “Be strong,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

  He felt the rope as it slipped over his head and around his neck.

  He tried in vain to concentrate on the rope in hopes that he could weaken it somehow. Then, on a whim, he concentrated on the pouch Theosus had given him.

  “Let those who break the laws of Trigothia be warned. Draw the line!” the Enforcer shouted. Rennon felt the floor drop out from below his feet and the rope draw tight as he fell.

  Lady Shey rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The smell of sizzling salted meat heavy in the air quickly roused her. She wrapped the small quilt covering her around her shoulders and followed the heavenly smell. Shila was humming a little tune as she cooked the meat on a cast iron stove.

  Lady Shey sniffed the air. “Bacon and bittering tea?”

  Shila turned with a start. “Oh, my lady, you sure gave me a scare. I wasn’t expecting you to be up and about yet.” She turned the meat in the skillet. “Aye, that is the bittering tea there.” She motioned with the spatula to a tin pot. “I put an empty cup out for you on the table next to the honey.”

  “Thank you, Shila. Oh, and if it pleases you, why not simply call me Shey? No need to be so formal when it is I imposing on you.”

  “Ah, mistress, you are no bother. When I referred to you by name when we met, I had not yet learned of your linage. My lady is the proper address.”

  “I didn’t tell you that so you would curtsy and carry on so. Please, I want us to be friends.”

  Shila grinned and picked up a bowl from the table. “I have something special here. Eggs! I’d wager you haven’t had fresh eggs in a stretch. I collected them right before sunup.”

  Lady Shey donned a thick mitt from the table and took ahold of the pot of bittering tea. “No, I haven’t in a while for sure. It all smells so wonderful. You shouldn’t bother.” She poured herself some of the bittering tea and then glanced back to Shila. “Want a cup?”

  Shila nodded. “My empty cup is on the table if you don’t mind pouring me some.”

  “Not at all,” Shey said and then filled Shila’s cup.

  Shila cracked an egg and dropped it in the same skillet she had just cooked the bacon in. “Don’t worry, my lady, I am glad to cook for us.”

  “Shila, call me Shey.”

  Shila nodded. “Sorry, mistress. It takes me a few times to get it through my thick skull.”

  Lady Shey chuckled and blew on her bittering tea. She took a sip and wrinkled her nose. “Too bitter. I forgot to put in the honey.”

  “Well, mistress, they don’t call it bittering tea for nothing.”

  “It’s just a bit stronger than I am used to is all.”

  “It’s dwarven. Grown in the mountains and freshly ground at the table. It is meant to be strong.” She set out a plate of food for Lady Shey, and then she put one down for herself. “Here we go. Let’s eat.”

  Lady Shey picked up a slice of bacon and bit it in half. “Shila, thank you. This is wonderful.”

  “I am glad you like it,” she said, digging into her eggs.

  “How far is it to Basillain?” Lady Shey inquired.

  “Not far. We will easily make it there by midday tomorrow on foot.” She took a bite of bacon. “It’s all downhill from here to there.” Shila contemplated the journey for a moment and then took a drink of her bittering tea. “Are you certain your friends will find you there?” Shila asked. “Basillain is a rough sort of city.”

  Lady Shey nodded. “Gondrial and I have a system. If one of us is lost in the north, at the foot of the Jagged Mountains, we are to go to Basillain and wait.” She took another bite of bacon. “Specifically, we are to meet at the Eagle Eye Inn.”

  “I have heard of the Eagle Eye. It has a rather colorful reputation.”

  Lady Shey stopped eating for a moment. “Gondrial and I made the pact long ago. It was not such a dangerous place back then. We never bothered to update our agreement for a safer haven.”

  Shila gave Lady Shey an uneasy grin. “It’s of no matter. We will not be in the city long enough to see any trouble, right?”

  Shey nodded. “That’s right. Not to worry, we will meet my friend if he is there and leave for the Vale of Morgoran as soon as possible if he is not.”

  “Back to my original question, how will he know to meet you in Basillain? I mean, how does he know you were taken northeast after you were captured?”

  “Oh, I see what you’re asking. He doesn’t really; it’s an educated guess. If someone wanted to capture a wielder, they wouldn’t stay in Symboria long—it’s too risky. South is Arillia and west is Trigothia; both of those kingdoms would be just as risky as Symboria. North or east would be the only logical choice. Either way, Basillain is a good central location.”

  “Clever. I guess you have it all worked out.”

  Lady Shey swallowed another bite of bacon. “Aye, it is necessary to have a plan when you might be in hostile territory. Gondrial is smart, and he has a way of always finding me. I think he is in Basillain waiting patiently for me right now,” she said confidently.

  “Let’s hope so, my lady, let’s hope so.”

  Chapter 3: Shadow of the Mountain

  Dorenn yawned, stretched his arms above his head, and worked the kink out of his back. Try as he might, he just could not get used to sleeping on the ground. He heard the familiar morning grumblings of Morgoran outside of his tent, which roused him from his uneasy sleep. The old wielder kept the pace of travel
to Draegodor at a near intolerable speed, always mumbling about lost time and the folly of Ianthill’s hesitation. Dorenn was just hoping he would get on with his training and allow concerns for events he couldn’t control to slip from his mind.

  Dorenn put on his trousers, pulled a clean grey tunic over his head, and strapped on Dranmalin. The smell of breakfast reached his tent and made his stomach growl. He wondered why Tatrice had not already greeted him as she usually did at first light. He exited his tent and got his answer. He could see Tatrice practicing swordplay with Bren in the clearing near the campsite. He had to swallow hard to suppress the sickly pang of jealousy that rose within him. After all, she was supposed to be a dragon knight now, and she needed training. Dorenn remembered the fight at Calanbrough and Brightonhold. Tatrice had learned just enough to keep her alive, but not enough to press her advantage. He reasoned that he would rather her train with Bren and be victorious than the alternative.

  Morgoran was sitting by the embers of the dying campfire, apparently trying to rekindle it with new pieces of wood. He had placed a bag of bittering tea beans on a large rock next to him. Just beyond the tents and nestled in the tree line, Melias had set up a fire under a pile of rocks where he cooked biscuits and pork in a skillet.

  “Good morning to you, Morgoran,” Dorenn said.

  “What . . . oh . . . good morning,” he grumbled.

  “Why don’t you just use essence to get the fire going again?”

  Morgoran looked as if he had just swallowed something foul. Dorenn noticed he had shaved his beard close to his face and cut his hair short. “Why don’t I just light you on fire and throw you into it for suggesting such an asinine thing? You would probably burn easier than this wet wood,” he said, tossing the wood down on the dying embers. The old wielder turned away and began to mumble, but Dorenn could still understand him. “Use essence to do such a menial task; solve problems with a trick and a wink.”

  “Why not?” Dorenn asked.

  “Why not what?” Morgoran poked at the fire some more. “You have some big ears on you, boy. What are you asking? Why will I not use essence?”