by Mark Tyson
“Aye, why not?”
Morgoran grumbled. “Because . . . well, if I did . . . um, it’s just not wise.”
“Why isn’t it wise?”
“Will you go bother someone else? I am trying to make some bittering tea, and as soon as I pour a cup down me, I will answer all your impetuous questions.” He turned back to the fire and poked at it again. As soon as Dorenn moved away to go speak to Melias, he heard the fire suddenly roar to life. Dorenn gazed back, and Morgoran hastily poked the fire with the stick, but Dorenn knew what he had done, and he snickered to himself.
“What are you so cheerful about?” Melias asked him as Dorenn approached.
“Oh, nothing. Just smelling your fine cooking.”
“Hungry, are you? Well, get you some pork while it’s still hot. The biscuits are coming. Get one of those plates.” He pointed to a stack of wooden plates sitting on a tree stump nearby. Dorenn grabbed one of them. “Morgoran should have some bittering tea brewed.”
“Aye, he’s working on it,” Dorenn said as he picked up a couple of links with his fingers.
“Careful, they’re still hot.”
Dorenn put his fingers in his mouth to cool them after dropping the sausages on the wooden plate.
Vesperin appeared out of a dense copse of trees behind Melias. “Something smells delicious. I could barely finish my morning prayers.”
“Have some,” Melias said as he pulled the biscuits from the skillet. “Get a plate.”
Vesperin took a plate from the stack, grabbed a link, and experienced the same finger-burning incident that Dorenn did.
“Here are the biscuits,” Melias said, giving them a golden-brown biscuit each.
Tatrice and Bren, unable to ignore the smell of breakfast any longer, put away their swords and joined Dorenn, Melias, and Vesperin.
Dorenn eyed the dragon knight suspiciously before he could catch himself.
The knight nervously struck up some small talk. “Tatrice is coming right along with her dragon fang and claw,” Bren said, referring to the two swords of a dragon knight.
Dorenn cocked an eyebrow. “I knew she would. You should see her wield kitchen knives.”
Tatrice beamed at Dorenn and then playfully poked him on the shoulder.
Morgoran, still grumbling, brought the pot of boiling bittering tea from the campfire and set it on top of the hot rocks. He poured the hot tea into six mugs and helped himself to breakfast. “Enjoy the hot meals while you can, boys. As soon as we leave Tyre for Draegodor, meals will be nothing but hard bread and dried meat.”
Dorenn groaned. “Why? Except for the boat ride to Seabrey, we have had hot meals all the way from Calanbrough, and I am enjoying having them for a change.”
“Is that what Ianthill taught you, boy? Whining? I think I have heard enough of that out of you.” Morgoran took a bite of biscuit. “For one thing, the road to Tyre is well traveled, and these campsites along this forest are plentiful.” Tiny bits of biscuit ejected out of his mouth as he talked. “If anyone is trying to track us, our campsite is not all that different from any other along this road. After Tyre, we will be heading up into the mountains. Not a lot of trails or roads leading up to Mount Urieus. We would do well to cover our tracks.”
“What is on Mount Urieus?” Tatrice asked. “Do we have to go there to get to Draegodor?”
“Aye, Mount Urieus is where the sentinels guard the gateway to Draegodor,” Bren answered. “They guard the Amalease stone. The stone is how we will gain entrance to Draegodor.”
“So is Mount Urieus near Draegodor?” Vesperin asked.
“Nay, Mount Urieus is the first highest western peak. The Amalease stone is a type of Lora Daine; it won’t send us to Draegodor like a regular Lora Daine, but it will alert Draegodor that we wish to enter. If the dragons accept, they will send for us. Otherwise, without Mount Urieus, we would spend weeks slowly traveling through the Jagged Mountains to get there. Draegodor is only reachable by air or Lora Daine.
Dorenn drank some of his bittering tea and placed the cup on his half-empty plate. “I am almost afraid to ask, but what do you mean by ‘sending for us’?”
“If the dragons invite you into Draegodor, you will find out. If they do not, it shall remain a secret.”
“I thought you might say that,” Dorenn said. “I do look forward to seeing the home of the dragons—if they let us in, I mean.”
“Aye, the red city of Draegodor is something to see,” Bren stated.
After breakfast, they packed up camp. Bren and Morgoran led the way through the forest to Tyre. Although they traveled near the road, Morgoran made it a point not to actually travel on the road, and as a result, the trip to Tyre took much longer. At least the weather in northern Symboria is unusually warm for mid-winter, which makes travel more agreeable, Dorenn thought.
After the midday meal, Vesperin approached Dorenn just before the party geared up to move out again. “Dorenn, I have been thinking about what happened in the woods with the Dramyds.”
“You mean, when you were wounded?”
Vesperin nodded. “I don’t remember much about the trip to the Vale of Morgoran, but I know that after we arrived, something happened to me.”
“When Kerad healed you?”
“Kerad didn’t heal me. You heard what he said back in Signal Hill. It was Loracia.”
“I don’t mean to belittle your faith, Ves, but how is that possible?”
“Our power of will comes from our faith in Loracia. She allows us to heal others, among other things.” Vesperin looked down at his feet as if he were trying to think of how to formulate his words. “Dorenn, I think I might have died before Loracia—”
“Get moving, you two,” Morgoran commanded.
“We’re coming!” Dorenn shouted back, almost angrily. He turned back to Vesperin. “What were you saying?”
Vesperin smiled sheepishly. “Nothing that won’t keep. We had better get moving.” He hoisted his leather backpack over his shoulder and put his free hand on Dorenn’s shoulder before he walked in the direction of Morgoran. Dorenn swung his backpack over his shoulder and caught up to Tatrice.
“Where’s Bren, Tat?” he asked.
“He went to scout ahead. We are coming up on Tyre, and he doesn’t want any surprises.”
“You have been spending a lot of time with him of late.” Dorenn said the words before his brain could stop him, and he instantly regretted it.
Tatrice stopped cold. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me you are going to start getting jealous.”
“No, I-, it’s just that—”
“Dorenn, I met Amadace once by using the Lora Daine on my shield. So now, I am a dragon knight, and I don’t even know what that is. In a few days, we will be in Draegodor. When we enter the city, I will stand before Amadace to be officially welcomed as the first female dragon knight, and I don’t need my betrothed acting like a fool. Bren is the only person that can instruct me right now, that’s all.”
Morgoran had stopped up ahead on the trail. “Dorenn, what in Fawlbane’s name are you doing? Keep up or at least quit bothering those trying to keep up!”
“We’re following!” Dorenn barked back. He whispered in Tatrice’s ear, “I liked him better when he was cursed.”
“I heard that! You whisper about as well as you follow!”
“How in the . . . ?” Dorenn smirked at Tatrice.
Tatrice giggled in spite of herself. “By the way, how are your lessons going?”
Dorenn took her hand, and they started moving down the trail after Morgoran. “Painfully slow. He tries to show me how to use essence, and then he gets grumpy when I don’t immediately understand it.”
“Well, all this is happening so fast. A season ago, when I was working in the kitchen, I never dreamed I would end up going to Draegodor.”
“Do you think I am doing the right thing? Becoming a wielder, I mean. This essence sickness business is a bit scary.”
“You have to protect yourself now, a
nd I can’t imagine a better way. Morgoran will find you a cure for the sickness. So you will not be yourself for a while. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”
“Aye, but you have to know I am not a highlord. There has to be another way, and as soon as I can find it, I will take it.”
“What do you mean? You still think you were chosen to be highlord? Is this the sickness?”
“No, I feel fine,” he assured her. “I am just saying that whatever Sylvalora had in mind . . . well . . . it doesn’t feel right.”
Neither Dorenn nor Tatrice noticed that Morgoran had stopped as they talked, and he now stood directly in front of them. “Sylvalora chose you for what?” he asked.
“You eavesdrop too, Master?”
“Never mind that. What did she choose you for?”
“She said she chooses me, and then she became the Silver Drake and attacked.”
“At Brightonhold?”
“Aye.”
Morgoran busted out with laughter. “You assumed she named you highlord, did you? You think it’s that easy. The Silver Drake just flies around and suddenly names a highlord on a whim.”
Dorenn was becoming annoyed. “I am thinking no.”
“Of course not. She was choosing you all right. It was a direction spell. She chose you to find her if something happened to her. You hold the key to locating her. After our business in Draegodor, I will show you how to find her.”
“We aren’t going after her now?”
“She will be fine until we can organize.” Morgoran motioned for the rest to keep moving. “Let’s get to Mount Urieus.”
Tatrice grabbed ahold of Dorenn’s arm, and they began to follow Morgoran again. “Do you feel better now?” she asked.
Dorenn shrugged. He abruptly met Tatrice’s gaze. “I don’t want you to be a dragon knight,” he blurted out.
“What? I know this must be the essence sickness!”
Dorenn straightened. “I am not sick. I just think that if you are to be my wife . . .” he hesitated. “Look, I don’t want you to become a dragon knight. I want you to give it up.”
Tatrice’s face reddened. “You don’t know what you are asking of me. I am bound.”
“You are bound to me. Isn’t that enough for you?”
Tatrice did not immediately answer; her expression spoke of the animosity she held.
“Let someone else be the first female dragon knight. Why does there even have to be a female dragon knight anyway?”
Tatrice opened her mouth twice to speak but nothing came out. Finally, she clinched her fists, pushed him away, and stomped down the trail after Morgoran.
“Go ahead and stomp away, but we are not done with this,” Dorenn called after her. Tatrice continued to stomp away, undeterred by his words.
“If I didn’t know he had essence sickness, I would punch him in the face,” Tatrice mumbled to herself.
They reached Tyre about three hours before nightfall. The mountain village reminded Dorenn of Brookhaven; both villages nestled at the base of the Jagged Mountains. The smells, sights, and sounds made Dorenn long for home—if Brookhaven still existed. With one gaze at his cleric friend, he could tell Vesperin felt the same way. Dorenn looked forward to staying in an inn for a change.
“As soon as we resupply, we will head up toward Mount Urieus. We can make it to the base before it gets too dark,” Morgoran said.
“Why don’t we just stay the night here in Tyre?” Dorenn asked.
“Because if we are being watched, that’s what we would be expected to do,” Morgoran replied. “I should think that after the many attacks you have endured, you would want to get to the safety of Draegodor posthaste.”
“Of course I do, Master.” Dorenn decided that he needed to start showing Morgoran some backbone.
“Good,” Morgoran responded.
Melias chuckled and patted Dorenn on the back. “Don’t let him get to you. Believe it or not, he is trying to get you to think on your feet.”
“I won’t,” Dorenn replied. “I guess Ianthill was soft on me in comparison.”
“Ianthill never had the chance to build an apprenticeship with you. I have seen wielders who simply handed over musty old books and vague instructions for the first couple of seasons before instructing. They kept a hands-off approach.”
Dorenn reached into the pack he had slung over the rear of his horse and pulled out a dusty tome.
“Oh, I see.” Melias gave Dorenn a sly grin.
The people of Tyre did not seem overtly friendly as the small party entered the village. People scurried inside their dwellings and slammed shutters closed at the sight of them coming up the cobblestone street. Morgoran was able to talk his way into the bakery and then subsequently into the butcher’s shop. Dorenn noticed that he never saw Morgoran paying for any provisions, and the shopkeepers were falling over themselves to please him. Dorenn wondered if he threatened to use essence on them, but that didn’t seem to be the case or he would see fear in their eyes. They had none. Instead, they seemed elated and helpful, a sharp contrast to the behavior of the townspeople. The butcher kept bowing and taking Morgoran’s hand in adulation.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Dorenn whispered to Vesperin. “Look at how they are treating him.”
“What is it between you two?” Vesperin asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Ever since he took over teaching you, you have been at odds.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Dorenn lied.
“It is obvious to me that Morgoran is a highly respected man. If I were you, I would find out why and go from there.”
Dorenn watched Morgoran trying to insist to pay for the dried meat he was buying and the butcher adamantly refusing to take his money. The butcher believed in him, respected him. “Maybe I should try a little harder.”
“It probably wouldn’t hurt,” Vesperin replied.
They left Tyre almost as quickly as they had entered it. Morgoran quickened the rate of travel to a near unbearable pace. Dorenn collapsed onto a dry, rocky area behind a boulder outcropping surrounded by barren winter trees, untouched by snow, when Morgoran announced they were close enough to Mount Urieus to make camp. They had traveled until it was completely dark, and as the darkness fell, so did the temperature, but Morgoran refused to allow a fire. They wrapped themselves in heavy furs to keep warm. To Dorenn’s surprise, Tatrice came to him and snuggled in close for extra warmth. He welcomed her by wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly.
“Tat, does this mean—”
“Don’t talk to me. I am just not going to freeze out here. It doesn’t mean I want to hear you speak or that I want to discuss what happened on the trail with you or that I am not mad at you.”
“But I changed my—”
“Just go to sleep, Dorenn, before I go snuggle with Vesperin.”
Dorenn chuckled. “Vesperin would probably die from the shock.”
Tatrice let out a stifled giggle but recovered it. “Go to sleep, Dorenn.”
Morgoran lit his pipe with a flick of his finger and motioned for Bren and Melias to move to the side of the outcropping, away from where Dorenn slept.
Dorenn heard his name in conversation, so he pretended to be asleep as he strained to listen.
“How fast can we get to the sanctuary, Bren?” Morgoran asked.
“If we keep up a good pace, by nightfall next eve.”
“It could be too late by then. In case you haven’t noticed, Dorenn’s condition is getting worse. He is becoming more aggressive. Soon he will be impossible to control. We need to get him to Draegodor, to the clerics.”
Bren pointed to the peaks ahead. “The distance to Draegodor is not far, but climbing Mount Urieus . . .”
“What about Vesperin?” Melias interjected. “Can’t he cure him?”
“Nay. Vesperin is a powerful cleric, but I’m sure he hasn’t been taught how to handle something like this in Symboria. He is a cleric of Loracia. We nee
d a cleric of old. A cleric of Fawlsbane Vex.”
“I am not sure my brother clerics can heal what ails him either.”
Morgoran seemed irritated, as if the monk had suddenly become unbearably stupid. “I am not referring to your kind of Fawlsbane Vex clerics. I am referring to the dragons—Fawlsbane’s most prized and powerful creations. I would think a monk of Fawlsbane Vex would have picked up on that! I guess I was wrong.”
“Maybe you have essence sickness,” Melias replied acidly.
Morgoran ignored him and puffed his pipe.
“Is it that serious?” Bren asked, his gaze shifting to Melias.
Morgoran puffed again on his pipe. “Worse case I have ever seen. The centuries have not been kind to those who can wield, it seems. In the old days, it only cropped up once or twice, and then it was gone for good. Dorenn’s reoccurs frequently. The clerics among the ancient dragons should be able to remedy it, if not cure it.”
Melias shook his head. “What if it comes back? Is there a definitive cure?”
Morgoran let the white smoke from his pipe roll from his mouth, and then he blew the rest out in one gust. “Aye, there is one way. I could take him to Rugania and force him to go through the trial. Although, that is my last resort.”
“Forgive me, Morgoran, but what is the trial?” Bren asked.
“It’s a rite of passage for a young wielder from the days when master wielders still taught apprentices in the traditional sense. When the masters thought they were ready, they would send their apprentices to the Isle of Rugania and subject them to the trial. I cannot tell you what the trial is in exact terms because no one knows how the trial actually works anymore, you understand, but just know that it can sometimes be fatal, and often is, especially when it is used to cure essence sickness.”
“Rugania is also known as the Isle of Doom, is it not?” Melias said.
Morgoran nodded. “Aye, it has been called by that name before.”
“Well, not that method then!” Melias stated. “Is he even remotely ready for such an ordeal?”
Morgoran scoffed. “Oh, not at all. In fact, he knows less about wielding than a novice, and he is a stubborn learner right now with the sickness. Oh, Melias, Rugania is called the Isle of Doom because one has to be prepared by a wielder to set foot on it, not because of the trial. Anyone who tried to make landfall for nefarious reasons met their doom, you see.”