Exiles From The Sacred Land (Book 2)

by Mark Tyson

  “Actually, she is never in my dreams. Only Seandara.”

  “Don’t address her by the familiar. You may refer to her as ‘Your Grace.’ If Seandara is with her, then refer to her as ‘my lady.’”

  A side door opened, and the four immediately bowed. The introductions Dorenn was accustomed to were not given, just a few guards followed by a tall woman in a blue dress. Dorenn was not prepared for the legendary beauty of Queen Sildariel. Her dark hair poured over pale shoulders. There was a slight sharpness to her features. Her ears, as delicate as they were, came to a smooth point. Dorenn’s heart fluttered as he recognized the girl in the doorway behind the queen. With a solemn radiance that could not be fully explained stood Seandara, princess of Endil. As she emerged from the vine-wrapped doors, the smaller branches of the trees, still out of reach, bent down to greet her. The vines around the doors, and even in the decorum, shifted to reach out to her, caressing her silky skin as she passed through them, like adoring children might cling to a parent. Her dress was white with purple accents. Garland adorned her dark hair, which was pinned up and to the side of her head in a beautiful, yet formal, pattern. Dorenn lowered his head when Sildariel, who looked to be Seandara’s sister rather than her mother, caught his gaze.

  “Morgoran of Symboria, I greet you and welcome you to Endil, even if your visit is ill -conceived and ill-timed.”

  “My apologies, my lady, it was not by my choice, rather, it was King Amarantus,” Morgoran said as he bowed.

  Dorenn could feel Sildariel’s stare burning into his skull. “The king of dragonkind has forced you here?”

  “Not forced,” Morgoran lied, “suggested. The boy is ill, and we could use your help.”

  Sildariel motioned for them to follow her through a wooden door to a more private chamber. As soon as they entered, a guard shut the door behind them. A large banquet table took up a majority of the room. “Sit and we will discuss the matter.”

  “Before we sit, Your Grace,” Morgoran began, “I would appreciate it if you would take a look at the boy. King Amarantus and I believe he suffers from essence sickness.”

  “Draegodor could heal such a malady.” Sildariel moved to Dorenn and lifted his head so she could look him in the eye. “No, not essence sickness. This is something else, something far worse than recklessly drawing essence could cause. Another affliction dwells within this boy.”

  Dorenn frowned at Morgoran as soon as Sildariel let his chin go. “Great, just great. Now what?”

  Morgoran shook his head for Dorenn to stop talking. Dorenn reluctantly complied and took a seat at the table. An antsy feeling rose within him. He felt like he needed to make Sildariel and Morgoran understand that he was fine. There was nothing to worry about.

  “You must do as you, no doubt, have already concluded. You must take him to Rugania,” Sildariel instructed as she rounded Morgoran and sat at the head of the table.

  Morgoran sat just to her right. “Aye, but what do you see?”

  Sildariel addressed Seandara, who sat down at the table opposite Dorenn. “Is he the one?”

  “Aye, Mother, it is he.” Seandara’s voice made Dorenn’s heart flutter again.

  “Morgoran, you are to leave Endil immediately. There will be no quarters here for you.”

  “I don’t understand. What is it?” Morgoran asked.

  “Seandara has been dreaming of this boy for some time now. The dreams never end well for him.”

  “I dream of her too,” Dorenn blurted out and immediately regretted it. Morgoran turned on him like a scolding father, his eyes filled with fury.

  “They cannot be in Endil together.”

  “This is ridiculous, my lady. They are just dreams. I dreamed once of choking on rabbit stew, but I still eat it whenever I am able, and to no ill affect.”

  “It isn’t the content of the dreams that worry me. It is the fact that they have never met until now. Familiar dreams are a sign of something manipulative taking control.”

  “It is a mistake, Your Grace. How can they be so familiar with each other from the vagueness of dreams? They just think they have been dreaming of one another.”

  Seandara took the initiative and reached out her hand to Dorenn. Instinctively he reached out to her in return. “This is how,” Seandara said as she touched Dorenn’s fingertips with hers.

  Dorenn felt a rush of emotion pulse through him. A blinding white light issued forth from the touched fingertips. Images flooded his mind of the dream he had of Seandara, and something more. Images of him fighting Morgoran with essence and striking him down, followed by an image of hundreds of dragons flying directly toward him, black dragons calling to him. He also saw the image of a man dressed in all black sitting on a throne of gold. He pulled away from Seandara and the images stopped.

  Morgoran gasped. “I have not seen this since before the War of the Oracle.”

  “What is it, Morgoran?” Dorenn asked.

  Sildariel answered, “You are Solicanths, two sides of one. Somewhere in the past, our families have touched. Historically every pair of Solicanths ever known to stay together has caused great destruction and death. The best course of action is to separate you.”

  “What?” Dorenn was confused.

  “Solicanths and destruction are a bit of an extreme, Your Grace,” Morgoran said. “In the old days, I knew a few Solicanths that lived in harmony.”

  “True, perfect balance is achieved through careful training. Seandara might be able to handle the training and discipline needed to achieve balance, but let me be honest. This boy is a mess.”

  Dorenn was glad to see that Morgoran seemed to take offense. “Your Grace, this boy is under my tutelage. I will do whatever is necessary to train him.”

  Sildariel put her hand on Morgoran’s shoulder. “Being a Solicanth is but a small fragment of his illness. Something else dwells within him, and I fear only a trip to Rugania will help him.”

  “If it isn’t essence sickness and it isn’t the Solicanth curse, then what else could it be, Your Grace?” Morgoran almost sounded sarcastic.

  Sildariel stared at Morgoran for a long while, and Dorenn thought she might be contemplating how best to throw him out of Endil. “I do suspect the boy has a form of essence sickness—he has most of the symptoms—and it’s also true that he lacks discipline to endure being a Solicanth, but there is something else, something more.”

  “Oh? Do tell.”

  She spoke softly. “His mind is on the brink of madness. I can see him becoming a great man or a terrible enemy, and both visions have equal possibility. I am sorry, Morgoran.” Her tone changed from soft to stern. “I will supply you with horses from our private stables. You have to get him to Rugania. I have several contacts in Ormond’s Arch, and they will return our horses to us. I can also send a request with you for the passage on the old ferry. The ferry master will not take anyone out to the island without a good reason.”

  “I am certain he will remember me,” Morgoran said. “But still, it couldn’t hurt for you to send word. I assume Ianthill’s family still resides there?”

  “Aye, Erinthill and Brynna still keep the grounds of the old citadel, with a little help from others, of course.”

  “Good, I would like to see Ianthill’s sister and niece. It has been far too long.”

  “Can’t we use the Lora Daine to get there?” Dorenn asked.

  “No, the Lora Daine will not work in Rugania. In fact, I hope I remember the spell to prepare you to enter the island.”

  “Why do you have to be prepared?” Dorenn asked.

  “Rugania is also called the Isle of Doom, because if you are not prepared properly, the enchantments of the island will kill you instantly when you set foot on its soil. It’s a defensive measure that became necessary prior to the War of the Oracle. Some unsavory folk saw it fit to try to assassinate wielders in those days. No one bothered to remove the enchantments after the war. Come to think of it, I am not entirely certain the enchantments should ever be
removed; they fulfill a purpose.”

  A knock at the wooden door interrupted the conversation. A servant entered. “Forgive my intrusion, Your Grace, but we have more guests arriving.”

  Sildariel gave Morgoran an inquisitive gaze. He nodded, “Aye, I was expecting more quests, “He said. “I assume the king has sent on the rest of our party, two dragon knights.”

  Sildariel nodded her head at the servant, and he showed in Tatrice, Bren, and a woman dressed in white. Sildariel immediately stood, prompting the rest to also stand.

  The woman in white bowed to Sildariel, and Tatrice and Bren followed suit. “Your Grace,” the woman in white said with a wonderful, musical voice.

  “My lady,” Sildariel said in return.

  Dorenn suddenly felt uncomfortable being in the same room with Tatrice and Seandara at the same time. He worried that Tatrice might catch wind that this was the girl he had been dreaming about—the same girl that had made her so jealous on more than one occasion. Morgoran began talking to Sildariel about arrangements to travel to Ormond’s Arch, and Dorenn tuned him out. Trying to avoid her direct gaze, he looked at Tatrice and was caught by surprise by the magnificence of her new white armor. His eyes lingered too long, and Tatrice met his gaze with a wide smile. She cut her eyes twice to the woman in white next to her, so Dorenn scrutinized what she was trying to draw his attention to. Tatrice then pointed to her armor. Comprehension came to Dorenn in a flash. “She’s a dragon!” Dorenn blurted out.

  Morgoran stopped talking to Sildariel and focused on Dorenn. “What are you doing? You are in polite company.”

  Dorenn was horrified. He awkwardly bowed his head and lurched forward toward Shadesilver. “Forgive me, mistress,” he spluttered. She stepped back. Horrified for a second time, he tried to grab for Shadesilver’s hand, and she yanked it back, obviously unsure of what he was trying to do. Dorenn could see the frightened expression on her face, and for a reason he could not explain, it angered him. Tatrice, with sympathy, tried to step in. He looked at her and at Bren, who was shaking his head. “That is Seandara over there.” He pointed to the elf maiden. “The one I dream about.” In his mind, he was trying to take advantage of the situation and change the subject. Seandara bolted from the room, clearly embarrassed by the dismayed expression on Tatrice’s face. “You have frightened her away with your mean-spirited gaze!” Dorenn felt himself fall backward as Tatrice pushed him away from her. Bren grabbed Tatrice by the arms and held her back. A strange sense of relief washed over Dorenn as he fell. There was pain coming from the back of his head briefly before the darkness.

  “That should do it for now,” Dorenn heard Sildariel say. “He should be coming around soon.” She cleared her throat as if what she was about to say was difficult. “I must apologize, Morgoran. I should not have been so dismissive before. I knew he was ill, but I never expected it to surface like that.”

  “Don’t regret trying to protect your people and your daughter, Your Grace, I am thankful you have placed your healing hands on him.”

  Dorenn opened his eyes. “I am cured then?”

  “There he is,” Morgoran said. “No, son, not cured, but in much better shape than before. Queen Sildariel has used her healing magic on you to help you cope long enough for us to get you to Rugania.”

  “Thank you.” Dorenn addressed the queen. She graciously nodded her acknowledgement.

  “There should be no more outbursts or arrogant, misguided banter from you for the duration,” Morgoran said as he put a reassuring hand on Dorenn’s forehead.

  “What about Tatrice? Is she all right?” Dorenn asked.

  Morgoran took a breath. “She understands that you were not yourself, but it is difficult for her to handle seeing you like this. I thought it best that I send Tatrice, Bren, and Shadesilver on ahead to Ormond’s Arch. That way, Queen Sildariel’s healing would have time to work and you could see her with a clearer head.”

  “You will be more like yourself,” Sildariel interjected.

  “I would like that,” Dorenn said.

  “We should let him get some rest now, Morgoran,” Sildariel said.

  “Aye, you are safe here in these quarters the queen has prepared for you. Rest up and do not venture out.”

  “I won’t,” Dorenn reassured him.

  Morgoran and Sildariel exited the small room, and as the door closed behind them, he could see the guards posted. The back of his head throbbed a little, and he reached up to rub it. It was bandaged. I must have hit the floor pretty hard, he thought. He closed his eyes and was about to fall asleep when the door opened. He expected Tatrice to walk in, but instead it was Seandara. Her hair was down now around her shoulders. She glowed with an ethereal radiance. The informal green dress she wore hugged her feminine form. Dorenn tried to sit up in her presence.

  “No, no, don’t move.” She put her hands flat out in a motion for him to lie still. “You have hit your head against the hard wooden floors.”

  “Princess, I am sorry for before. I was not myself.”

  “Obviously not. I am aware.”

  “What are you here for? Does Morgoran and your mother know you are here?”

  “As I said, you hit your head. I am here to keep an eye on you. People who hit their heads cannot be left alone.”

  “Oh, and your mother sent you to watch over me?”

  Seandara blushed. “Not exactly. She sent my cousin Jindara. I asked her if I could take her place for a little while.”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to talk with you in private. I have been dreaming of you for so long, and here you are now in person.”

  “I know what you mean. It’s like I have known you all my life.”

  “We have.” She looked down with nervous apprehension. “I mean, in a way we have.” She sat down on the edge of his bed.

  “We can at least talk about the dreams now and figure out what we must do.”

  She nodded.

  “I have always wondered if what I dreamed about would come true.”

  “Me too. I mean, I have wondered too.”

  “When I was holding your hand and you were slipping from my grasp, I—”

  Seandara lunged forward and pressed her lips hard against his. White light blinded him and his head started throbbing again. He felt a tremor like the shock he sometimes got in the winter when he pulled his woolen blankets apart. Seandara slowly retracted from him, her eyes still closed. After a moment, she opened them. “It was just like the dream.”

  “What? That was your dream?” Dorenn asked.

  She blushed. “It wasn’t yours too?”

  “No, I think I like yours better though.”

  “Oh, no!” She stood immediately up from his bed. “Oh, no, I shouldn’t have come.”

  “No, wait. It was the knock on my head. Yes, now I remember. I did dream about a kiss,” he lied. “Come back. I will tell you the rest of my dream.”

  Seandara eyed him suspiciously. “Are you certain?”

  “Aye, come back.”

  Seandara sat back on the edge of his bed. “Tell me more.”

  “My dream was also of you falling out of the trees and Dramyds or some other creatures pulling you down through the branches. You slipped from my fingers, and I couldn’t save you.”

  “What? How dreadful.”

  “You didn’t dream about that too?”

  “No, nothing like that. My dream was about us in harmony.” She swallowed hard. “We get married in my dream.”

  “Hmm, really.”

  “Wait a moment,” Sildariel stood up again, “you never dreamed of a kiss. You are tricking me.”

  “We kissed before you fell. Come on, sit back down.” He patted the edge of the bed.

  She sat back down and put her hand on his forehead.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Are you still ill?”

  “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

  “I am not some silly girl.”

  “N
o, of course not.” He reached up and pulled her head down to kiss her. It was the only way he could think of to abate her suspicion. White light flashed and the same shock tingled through his body. About halfway through the kiss, he realized that he was not feeling guilty for kissing Seandara. “I know what you mean,” he said as soon as the kiss ended.

  She gazed into his eyes. “What?”

  “It does feel like I have known you all my life.”

  Chapter 11: Winterhaven

  Bren helped Tatrice off her horse, and the stableman took the white mare away. Tatrice dusted herself off and surveyed her surroundings. Busy people, some of them elves, rushed about, making preparations for the festival of Winterhaven. The festival was also celebrated in Brookhaven, so some of the decorations Tatrice recognized, but these villagers took them much more seriously. Garlands and autumn flowers were everywhere. Pumpkins, gourds, nuts, and autumn berries adorned every shop and booth, along with various other foods. “They certainly take Winterhaven seriously here, don’t they?” Tatrice observed.

  Shadesilver nodded. “The people of Ormond’s Arch claim to have invented the holiday. They prepare for the Winterhaven celebration as soon as the last harvest day ends in late autumn before the chill of winter. The holiday signifies a bountiful harvest, which insures the safety or haven of the people through winter. If the harvest is slim, the celebrations change into the form of prayers for an abundance of game or fish.”

  “Is it true? Did they invent the holiday?” Tatrice asked.

  “No one knows for sure. Winterhaven is celebrated on a monumental scale here due to the fact that the village is incredibly prosperous, being nestled between the great forest, which provides abundant game, and the ocean, where fishermen thrive. The surrounding farmland is also rich and vibrant due to the abundant rains and the rich soil that the people of the village take great care of with the help of their closest neighbors, the Sylvan Elves of Endil. Let’s just say that the peoples of Ormond’s Arch never go without.

  Tatrice turned her attention to Bren. “Look at this place, Bren. It is wonderful here, isn’t it?”