Defenders of The Sacred Land: Book One of The Sacred Land Saga

by Tyson, Mark

  Chapter 20: Brightonhold

  The first light of day crawled over the northern wall of Brightonhold Keep, and the young lieutenant was glad for the warmth. The nighttime hours in the Sacred Land had grown colder as winter progressed. The lieutenant set his poleax aside and rubbed the numbness from his hands over a brazier.

  “Stiff morning,” another soldier said as he handed the lieutenant a steaming cup of bittering tea.

  “Aye,” the lieutenant replied, taking the tea. “Thank you.” The lieutenant held the cup in both hands and sipped the black liquid. “What news?”

  “I hear the young woman from the Vale is being kept here. What news from the night watch?” the soldier asked.

  “Well, the woman you speak of is to be beheaded today. Commandant Yarbrille has ruled her as a heretic and worse, as a wielder.”

  “When?”

  “At midday. The executioner is sharpening his axe as we speak.” The lieutenant shook his head and took another sip of the tea. “Filthy wielders, and she is so beautiful, I never would have named her a wielder if I hadn’t seen her try and use her vile skills.”

  “Oh, what did you see?” the soldier asked.

  “She burned off her chains and tried to run when we threw her in the dungeon. Commandant Yarbrille has an adept on guard duty now to curb her activities.”

  “The Sacred Land is changing. I remember a time when even the simplest wielder enchantment was impossible, but now the essence returns,” the soldier said.

  “It is still that way in the heart of the Sacred Land. The change is only here on the outskirts.”

  “Tragic really, isn’t it?” the soldier said, shaking his head.

  “Quite tragic. The Enforcers are gaining the upper hand in the struggle against magic. Rest assured, young soldier. We will see this through yet.”

  “Is the woman still in the dungeon then?”

  The lieutenant almost spit out his tea. “The dungeon? Where have you been, soldier? The lady resides in chains in the council chamber. It seems Yarbrille has taken a liking to her.” The lieutenant nudged the soldier. “If you asked me, he has been smitten with her.”

  “Indeed, you cannot mean…”

  “Aye, my friend, it is said he has made use of the situation and…” A bewildered expression suddenly appeared on the lieutenant’s face and his eyes narrowed. “Do I know you, soldier?”

  The soldier’s eyes narrowed mischievously. “Aye, but I cannot allow that to dissuade my purpose.”

  The lieutenant dropped his bittering tea and reached for his poleax but to no avail, he fell to the ground just short of his goal as the soldier made a flicking motion with his fingers. “Hmm, it seems the essence does return to the fringes of the Sacred Land.” The soldier looked down at the lieutenant. “Thank you for the information, my good man. Now sleep the sleep of the ages. You will awake without knowledge of me, and you will be rested. Dream a pleasant dream.” The soldier then stepped over the lieutenant and removed his tabard. “A deserved promotion.” The soldier laughed to himself.

  The courtyard of Brightonhold Keep was largely unguarded, and no one suspected a lieutenant strolling across it as odd since the watch had just changed. The lieutenant entered the main chamber of the keep without incident, finding his way to the council chamber. It had been three hundred seasons since he had been in the halls of the keep. After a short time, his memory returned and he made his way into the chamber. The council chamber was a massive room with a long table at the far wall. Benches lined the rest of the room against the walls, and five massive columns in two rows supported a high, glass-domed ceiling on each side directly in front of the benches. An iron-bared cage stood to the front right of the council table. In the cage, on a bed, was the figure of a woman. One guard in robes stood watch.

  The new lieutenant made his way toward the cage, cautiously looking for a way to subdue the guard. The lieutenant muttered something under his breath and without warning, the guard dropped to the floor unconscious. “Shey, Shey, can you hear me?” The lady slowly lifted her head.

  “Nay, do not try to rescue me. I am doomed, and you are entering a trap!”

  The lieutenant’s form began to shimmer and fade out. Instead, Ianthill dressed in his usual dark red robes materialized. He discarded the lieutenant’s tabard. “Can you stand up?”

  The woman stirred to her feet, but she had to hunch over in the cage. Ianthill took the lieutenant’s halberd and pried off the lock with it. “Come now, quickly.”

  As the woman stepped out of the cage, Ianthill realized she was not Lady Shey. Her features were sharper, and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told him magic was in use. He tossed the halberd aside, and his staff appeared in his hand. He pointed it at the woman. “Who are you?” he asked between clenched teeth.

  The woman began to laugh. “Ianthill, you are an old fool.” The woman stood close to face him. “Did you really believe we would make it so easy for you?” He did not recognize the woman before him. “Who are you?” he asked again.

  “Let me answer that,” a voice from behind said. “Her name is Kimala, and she works for me.”

  “Drakkius,” Ianthill spat the name.

  Drakkius entered the chamber and raised his hand. The room filled with Enforcers, surrounding Ianthill on all sides. At the table, the council of the Enforcers entered and sat at their places. “Where is the rest of your party, Ianthill? I know you are not stupid enough to come into Brightonhold alone.”

  “What are you trying to accomplish, Drakkius? Even if you and Naneden take the Sacred Land, your madness will prevent you from using it.”

  “Indeed, then why do you try so fervently to rid me from it?” Drakkius walked behind the council table. “It is my time, Ianthill; I have the power, and I intend to use it.”

  “You speak only of yourself, Drakkius, what of Naneden?”

  Drakkius walked around to Kimala, and put his arm around her shoulders, holding her in front of him, and then he sniffed her hair absently. “Naneden is around. Closer than you might think, but he is of no consequence. Do not worry yourself of him, Ianthill.”

  Ianthill’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the table. “Yarbrille, are you foolish enough not to realize what and who this man is?” Yarbrille squirmed uncomfortably but said nothing.

  “They are all in my service now, Ianthill, your cause has been abandoned.”

  “Save your windy speeches for someone who might actually succumb to your insanity,” Ianthill said venomously.

  Drakkius dropped his smug smile. “Chain him up,” he said flatly. Two Enforcers moved in and began to shackle Ianthill.

  “Drakkius, I cannot allow you to move your army closer to Lux Enor.”

  “You have no choice,” Drakkius said with a wave of his hand.

  Ianthill raised his head and whistled. A battalion of Defenders burst into the chamber holding pikes against the surprised Enforcers. Gondrial walked through the chamber doors and stood ready beside Ianthill. Sylvalora also appeared behind him wearing her armored robes from Signal Hill. She waved the shackles off Ianthill with a gesture.

  “Where have you been?” Ianthill whispered to her. “What are you doing here? Do you have any idea what you are doing?”

  “I have come for a reason, Ianthill.”

  Ianthill scowled at her. “It is foolish for you to be here.”

  General Trayore, the supreme commander of the Defenders, marched in. “The Enforcers are no longer a force for the good of the people and are hereby dissolved by order of the Warden of Lux Enor. The Defenders will now take up their duties.” The general glared at the Enforcers near him. “Any man wishing absolution may now leave the chamber or be bound to their fate.” There was a pause as if no one knew what to do, and then slowly one Enforcer broke ranks and exited. Afterward, a flurry of several more Enforcers broke away, and Drakkius’s furious expression became evident as he thrust his hands forward, striking down one of the men in mid stride with a bolt of fire.r />
  “Seize him!” General Trayore said, pointing at Drakkius. “This madness must come to an end.” Two Defenders moved toward Drakkius, but both fell before they took two steps. Drakkius twisted his hand, and with a sharp, quick thrust, he sent a dagger hurling at the general. The dagger entered blade first into his chest, and General Trayore’s face contorted horribly as he fell to the floor. Two of the Defenders moved to help him but were intercepted by two Enforcers. The room erupted in a frenzy of swords and pikes. Drakkius took a defensive posture, and Ianthill was pleased to see Yarbrille was trying to get at the maniac. More Enforcers entered the chamber from the corridors, and the Defenders fought them off.

  Ianthill immediately went to Trayore’s aid and, seeing his wound, turned to Gondrial. “Where have you left the cleric and his friends?”

  “Outside. I doubt they can hear what is happening inside these thick walls.”

  Ianthill closed his eyes briefly and called out to Dorenn with his mind. “He should hear that!” Ianthill exclaimed as he dodged an Enforcer blade. “Go for Drakkius, if you can, Gondrial.”

  Gondrial nodded and cut his way through attacking men to get at Drakkius. Gondrial was surprised to see Yarbrille locked in combat with Drakkius and appear to be winning.

  Ianthill put his hand on Trayore’s wound and said a light incantation: “Tay ori noe uncanta.” The wound closed up but was still bruised. “That should hold you until you receive cleric healing, old friend.”

  “Go on, Ianthill, stop that madman,” Trayore said, spitting blood.

  Ianthill nodded as he stood up, pulling Elanadil, sword of fire, from midair. He pointed the blade and a burst of reddish-orange flame shot from it, engulfing Drakkius as he dove to avoid the blast. At the same moment, Yarbrille’s blade cut between Drakkius’s crimson breastplate and his armpit. Gondrial thrust forward as well but was knocked clear by the blade of an Enforcer. Unflinching from his obvious pain, Drakkius jumped to his feet and cleft Yarbrille’s blade in two with one terrible blow. Stunned, Yarbrille awkwardly thrust his shard forward, and Drakkius disarmed him, thrusting his own blade and just missing Yarbrille’s side. Gondrial recovered his footing and lunged forward, slicing Drakkius’s forearm. Drakkius retaliated with a fist square into Gondrial’s face. Ianthill again used Elanadil, and a bolt of flame encompassed the blade. He thrust the fire at Drakkius, who absorbed it and sent it back at him. Ianthill dove for cover, and the flames engulfed a nearby Enforcer. Cleared of his attackers, Drakkius held his sword high and uttered a speech as dark as the night sky. The building rumbled and shook, causing the glass dome to shatter. Massive slabs of stone ceiling crumbed down to the chamber floor.

  More Enforcers entered the fray from the bowels of the keep, and Gondrial moaned. “Not more of them.” Gondrial heard some commotion toward the rear of the chamber, and when he looked, his spirits perked up some. Bren and Tatrice had entered the rear of the chamber, swinging their dragon fangs. Bodies were dropping left and right in their path.

  “Attack all those wearing black robes. As far as I am concerned, they are all enemies,” Ianthill shouted. Bren cut down two or three black-robed men at a time with his deadly dragon fang. Tatrice wielded her dragon fang and claw with some skill, but it was evident she was a novice. Bren would kill her foe in between his own swings, which tended to anger her.

  After she had seen Bren and Tatrice arrive, Kimala sneaked to where she had seen Bren, Enowene, and Tatrice leave their packs. She frantically searched them, and after a moment, she found what she was looking for: the green statuette. She shrieked with glee before she made her way through the tangle of bodies back to where Drakkius was fighting. “The statuette!” she shouted, throwing it to Drakkius. He caught it, and Ianthill watched in horror as Drakkius focused his mind on it. Ianthill used Elanadil, but Drakkius avoided the blast. The green statuette burst with light at Drakkius’s incantation. The light from the statuette entered him. He sneered wickedly at Ianthill and lifted his fist into the air. He let out a shriek of triumph.

  “What was that all about?” Gondrial asked Ianthill as he avoided the blade of an Enforcer.

  “I think he just released essence trapped in the statuette,” Ianthill responded.

  Outside of Calanbrough, and oblivious to the battle going on two hundred yards away in Brightonhold Keep, Dorenn sat on a bench with Vesperin. Rennon was sitting on a bench three yards opposite them, keeping his distance.

  Since Dorenn had made his decision to become a wielder, Vesperin was the only friend around from Brookhaven who would still speak to him, but he rarely had much more to say except for polite conversation. A nagging whisper flooded Dorenn’s mind and he felt dizzy for a moment, but the feeling passed.

  “Oh, what is it?” Vesperin asked Dorenn. “You keep fidgeting and shaking your head. It’s annoying.”

  “Sorry, I’m hearing someone call my name. My imagination is playing tricks on me.”

  Vesperin took out his long clay pipe and began to pack it. “Well, it’s annoying at any rate.” He looked to the entrance to Brightonhold Keep across the way. “What is keeping Gondrial and the Defenders? It should have been easy for them to go in, get her, and exit. The Defenders outnumber the Enforcers here two to one.”

  “You think we should go in and find out? They might have run into unexpected trouble.”

  “You heard Gondrial. He said under no circumstances are we to leave this spot.”

  At that moment Rennon bolted for Brightonhold Keep in full sprint. Vesperin and Dorenn looked at each other with puzzlement until they heard the sound of tremendous wings beating behind them. Vesperin’s pipe fell from his lips as he rose to see what the noise was, and he stumbled backward. Two enormous black dragons flew directly toward them.

  “Run,” Dorenn yelled, “to the keep!”

  Rennon managed to get the doors open and was beginning to shut them again when Vesperin and Dorenn reached them. Inside the keep, the three were surprised to hear the sounds of battle.

  Drawing their weapons, they ran to the source of the noise. The floor shook, and the reverberation of crumbling stone knocked Dorenn into a nearby wall. Vesperin pushed his way through the two mammoth wooden doors into the chamber. Dorenn saw the roof had been torn away and bodies were covering the stone floor. The two dragons had flown in and were burning the room while the men left alive were scrambling for cover. A man in red armor and a tattered red cloak jumped from a balcony onto the back of one of the dragons. Ianthill and Gondrial were behind a stone pillar on the left of the immense chamber. Vesperin made his way to nearby wounded despite the flames, and Rennon took cover behind the nearest stone pillar to the door. Dorenn faltered as he realized a third dragon had joined in the fight; its scales were greenish black. One of the black dragons had seen Dorenn in the doorway and was heading for him. Dorenn stood paralyzed. He tried but could not shake the fear of the strafing dragon bearing down on him.

  The second black dragon circled around near Gondrial’s position.

  “Gondrial, watch out, the dragon is circling!” Ianthill shouted. The second dragon also spotted Dorenn standing in the doorway, and it flashed its long sharp fangs in satisfaction as it dived for him. “Get out of the way, boy!” Ianthill shouted at Dorenn, but Dorenn could not bring himself to move. Ianthill stepped out from behind the pillar, even though Gondrial was trying to hold him back, and he positioned his staff at the dragon. “Get back!” he shouted as streaks of lightning charged the air. The dragon reeled just before it loosed its fire breath. It wavered in midair and then crashed into the doorway, just missing Dorenn. It stood upright, shook its head, and immediately took flight again.

  In a booming voice the dragon with the rider spoke, “Get the wielder! Destroy him.”

  Ianthill twisted around to face the other two dragons before he realized he was too far from the pillars to run to safety. Gondrial leaped out from behind the protection of the stone, trying to aid his master, but it was too late; all three dragons let loose their fiery b
reath. Ianthill held up his staff and blocked the first two, but the third burned him. Dorenn stared horrified, trying to think of what to do. He watched helplessly as Ianthill rolled out from under the flames with his crimson robes on fire. The dragons increased their combined efforts and sprayed intense blue, orange, and red flames onto Ianthill as he rolled. Dorenn’s eyes widened as the wizard stood pushing back the flames. Casting the staff aside, Ianthill held his hands up high and black flames leaped from his fingertips. One of the dragons burst into a horrible, deafening scream as its charred remains crashed to the floor in a smoldering heap. The keep groaned and crumbled, and Dorenn shrank away, remembering the terrible cost of using blackfire. In an instant of revelation, Dorenn swiftly sprang from his crouched position to grasp the staff Ianthill had cast aside, intending to help him with it. Ianthill looked visibly shaken by his experience, and he and Dorenn exchanged a long glance, which Dorenn knew was only seconds. Ianthill was vulnerable to the attacking dragons. The old wielder’s expression went dark, and Dorenn knew what was about to happen. Ianthill held up his hand, and Dorenn felt a strange sensation as he was pushed back by an unseen force to the safety of a nearby pillar. Dorenn recovered quickly and was about to charge back to Ianthill’s aid when he realized Sylvalora was standing next to him, holding him back. She smiled. “I choose you, Dorenn. You must live.”

  Dorenn stared at her, confused for a moment. “You choose me for what?” he asked, but she did not answer.

  Infuriated, the two remaining dragons focused on Ianthill.

  Dorenn watched in awe as Sylvalora began to shimmer and transform. Silver wings sprang from her shoulder blades, and her face elongated into a maw. Her emerald green eyes flashed as her great silver wings stirred the air, and she took flight, knocking Dorenn to the ground. The two remaining dragons swooped down on Ianthill, striking him, flames burning him relentlessly.

  “NO!” Gondrial screamed as he leapt onto one of the dragon’s path. He held out his hands and more of the damaged ceiling fell and crumbled as blackfire engulfed the green dragon with deadly lightless flame. Some of the black flame recoiled and smote Gondrial. Pieces of stone from the ceiling of the keep exploded downward as the dragon’s tail smashed a supporting stone pillar, and pieces of it crashed into the already weakened wall. Unlike Ianthill, Gondrial’s blackfire had failed to stop the dragon completely. Gondrial lay motionless on the floor of the trembling chamber.