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

by Tyson, Mark

  The Silver Drake flew directly into the dragon flames. She sent her body up with a mighty thrust of her silvery wings. Her eyes flashed ruby red as she cast a luminous spell, and Drakkius tried to rein in his dragon. He abruptly turned on her. “There she is, the Silver Drake! She has come as I predicted.” Drakkius reached inside a bag at his side and pulled out the green statuette. The Silver Drake shrieked and spit blue fire at Drakkius and his dragon, but Drakkius fended off the flames and managed to cast his spell. The Silver Drake shrank into a small silver statue that Drakkius immediately summoned to him with his free hand. A silvery blue light from the Silver Drake entered the statuette. He put the figurine into a bag he carried at his side and clasped the Silver Drake in his hands, laughing shrilly. He reined in his dragon and retreated into the sky.

  The remaining black dragon fixed its eyes on the still vulnerable Ianthill as he lay moaning on the chamber floor. There was a moment when the dragon met Ianthill’s gaze, eye to eye, and then it dove.

  Dorenn clenched his fists, trying to draw essence, but he could not summon enough. He caught the glimpse of a blue robe out of the corner of his eye. He looked to see a man with a hood over his face, standing over Ianthill. Concerned, Dorenn ran out into the open. He had to do something. The robed man turned to meet his gaze, and Dorenn stopped short when he saw the man’s face. Two ice blue eyes stared fixed on him, and he froze in disbelief. The man in blue put his hand on Ianthill’s shoulder. “I am here, brother.”

  “Morgoran!” Ianthill said. “It cannot be.”

  “Aye, Ianthill, I am here,” Morgoran repeated as he held up his dark wood staff with his right hand to the dragon and removed his hood with his left. His blue eyes sparkled with life as the light from his staff struck the dragon. It flew down low and then it climbed higher into the sky. Morgoran lifted his left hand high and let loose a terrible thunder that drove the dragon away, and it flew off into the distance.

  Morgoran reached down to Ianthill and pulled him to his feet. Ianthill embraced his old friend and stared into his familiar blue eyes. “Your eyes!” Ianthill marveled.

  “The curse has been lifted. The Silver Drake lifted it when she last came to the vale. It took me some time to recover.”

  “I am pleased to see you, my brother,” Ianthill said.

  “Naturally you are, old fool, I just saved your skin. You have grown careless. You waited too long to join the fight. We have some work to do.”

  Ianthill’s expression soured. “Brother, I think I know what Drakkius released from that green statuette.”

  “Toborne!” Morgoran said. “I already know.” He scanned the chamber. “Where is Sylvalora?”

  “With Drakkius. He captured her.”

  Morgoran turned red with anger. “He has captured her again.”

  “Again?” Dorenn asked baffled.

  Morgoran looked at him with contempt.

  Dorenn shrank back; he had not expected Morgoran to be so grumpy.

  Ianthill put his hand on Morgoran’s shoulder. “It’s all right. The danger has passed.”

  Morgoran stared at Dorenn. “I hope you live up to your destiny, boy, we can’t have you go weak on us now. Toborne has taken the Silver Drake, which means he will take the Sacred Land.”

  “Toborne? I thought he was dead,” Dorenn said.

  “Nay, you have been carrying him around with you ever since you left Cedar Falls.” Dorenn looked at Tatrice, who was busy helping with wounded. “He dwells within the shell of Drakkius now. Drakkius is no more; he has sacrificed himself to Toborne.”

  Ianthill could see Dorenn still did not fully understand. “The elven statuette now carries the captured essence of the Silver Drake. Toborne will use the magic of the Silver Drake against us.”

  Dorenn groaned. “Then Symboria and the Sacred Land are lost.”

  Morgoran helped Ianthill sit on one of the benches against a portion of the wall that had not crumbled as a cleric came to his aid. “We are not defeated yet, my boy, we just need a new strategy. Naneden will take the Sacred Land for Toborne, but it does not mean we must give up. I still have a few memories of what I saw when I was cursed. We can still prevail, but it will not be easy. ”

  Enowene found her way to Morgoran and embraced him. “It does my heart good to see you are back with us, Morgoran.”

  “My dear Enowene, it has been far too long.”

  Dorenn saw Rennon staring at him from near the entrance and then duck out the doorway when Dorenn noticed him. Bren was out in the fields beyond the keep, helping the Defenders route the last few resisters. Dorenn made his way to where Vesperin was treating Gondrial while Morgoran focused on helping the cleric with Ianthill. Melias was busy wrapping Gondrial’s wounds in bandages. “How is he?” Dorenn asked.

  “He will live,” Vesperin replied.

  Tatrice ran to Dorenn, embracing him and giving him a kiss. “I have missed you.”

  Dorenn kissed her back. “And I you.”

  Tatrice beheld his face but saw no joy there. “What is it?”

  Dorenn met her gaze. “I want to go home, Tat.”

  Tatrice pulled him to her.

  The stench of burning bodies rose up into the air as the defenders cleared away the dead. Some were to be buried in the hero’s cemetery nearby at first thaw. Dorenn had tried to be strong, but he found himself near tears most of the time. Gondrial was near death, but Vesperin tended to him inside the walls of Calanbrough Keep. The woman, Kimala, had escaped into the wild, and a party was dispatched to track her, but Dorenn knew they would soon return without finding her. The Enforcers were to stay dissolved for the time being, and Dorenn could not help but to distrust Yarbrille even though it appeared that he was now trying to help them. Dorenn surveyed his surroundings; the land remained scorched as far as he could see. Brightonhold and its surroundings looked much more devastated than the rest of the Sacred Land that he had seen. The keeps were built on untouched lands on the border of Lux Enor, but Dorenn realized they had to be included within the Sacred Land’s borders now. At least, Brightonhold did.

  As soon as he could slip away, Dorenn found a small hill just outside Calanbrough to sit on and smoke his pipe.

  As the sun set, a rider came to the keep. Dorenn did not bother to move from his spot. As soon as the rider dismounted, Rennon embraced him. The bow on the riders back and Rennon’s embrace told Dorenn that the rider must be Trendan.

  After a few moments had passed, Trendan appeared before him. His blond hair was longer and his green tunic was dirty, but it was him.

  “Hail, Dorenn. Rennon told me what happened here today. I am deeply sorry.”

  “I couldn’t stop Drakkius. He got away.” Dorenn said flatly.

  Trendan squinted and scratched the side of his face, deciding to take a different approach. “I have some news. The army of the West has disappeared and the black Scarovian army advances.”

  Dorenn said nothing.

  “Did you hear me, Dorenn? The army is gone, vanished without a trace. These Defenders are the only army to stop Naneden from taking over the Sacred Land.”

  “Then he will take it.”

  “Do you know what you are saying, Dorenn?”

  Dorenn puffed on his pipe and looked at Trendan in the fading light. “Aye, I do, the Sacred Land is lost.” Dorenn puffed on his pipe again. “Did you know the name Sylvalora turns out to mean Silver Drake in dragon tongue, according to Bren, and she has been captured?”

  “No, I did not know that,” Trendan answered.

  “Did you know I am to be a wielder and the weight of this conflict has been put on my shoulders whether I accept it or not?”

  “What are you talking about, Dorenn?”

  “The Silver Drake has choosen me, Trendan. She has some kind of plan.”

  “What exactly does that mean?”

  Dorenn became irritated. “It means I need to come up with a plan to get her back. What say you to that, Trendan? I will hear your thoughts.”

 
; “Not until I speak them you won’t. Even if you are some kind of chosen one, you are still Dorenn Adair to me! I have not sworn any allegiance to you as of yet,” Trendan said angrily.

  Dorenn felt foolish. “Forgive me, Trendan. I am a bit overwhelmed.”

  “I should say so,” Trendan said.

  Dorenn put his pipe back to his mouth and puffed out a cloud of white smoke. “Toborne has escaped, Naneden is strong, and we have no skilled wielders, no army. We are lost Trendan. We failed.”

  “I can’t believe that.”

  Dorenn rose from his spot. “You can’t believe what? How do you propose we prevent it from happening?”

  “We need to get help from Trigothia and the knights of Lux Enor. These men here at the keep depend on Ianthill, Morgoran, and Gondrial to do their job, and now that task will fall on you as well.”

  Dorenn laughed. “On me? I can barely use enough essence to light a fire, while Ianthill felled a dragon. What can I do?” Dorenn emptied his pipe into his palm and tossed the spent ashes to the wind. “Why does the fate of the land rest on my shoulders? I am just a simple innkeeper’s son. Face it, Trendan, the cause is lost.”

  “Don’t be a fool. If the Silver Drake chose you for something important, we can send word to the Jagged Mountains and enlist the aid of the dwarves and dragon knights.”

  “How can I be sure it’s for something important? She chose me in the heat of the moment. Besides, both of the races you mentioned take a strong stance against such action as war, you know that, Trendan.”

  “This war will affect them too; they will have to fight sooner or later.”

  “I am supposed to convince them?” Dorenn asked.

  “With Morgoran’s help,” Trendan answered.

  Vesperin joined his two friends on the hill. “Dorenn, I believe Gondrial will live and be well. Gondrial may waken in the morning, but he will not be himself for quite some time.”

  “I am very tired, and I need to rest.” Dorenn whispered.

  “What was that?” Vesperin inquired.

  “Thank you, Vesperin. Why don’t you go and get some rest now,” Dorenn said, patting the cleric on the back.

  Vesperin took a long look at his half-elven friend. “Trendan, it is good to see you.”

  “And you, Vesperin,” Trendan said as he embraced the cleric. Trendan released Vesperin but could not help to stare and smile at him.

  “What are you smirking at?” he asked.

  Trendan’s smile became a playful grin. “We will speak in the morning. Go and get some rest.” Vesperin looked at Trendan with puzzlement and then rubbed his nose as he turned to Dorenn. “Is there something on my face?” Dorenn shook his head. Vesperin eyed Trendan suspiciously and then walked away, gazing back at Trendan every few minutes until he was out of sight.

  “You need some rest too, my friend,” Trendan said to Dorenn. “Come to the keep.”

  “You go ahead, Trendan. I will come down in a few moments.”

  “Perhaps everything will look different in the light of morning,” Trendan said consolingly as he turned to return to the keep.

  “Perhaps,” Dorenn whispered as soon as Trendan had walked far enough away. “But don’t count on it.”

  Trendan winced; his half-elven ears heard the words as clear as if Dorenn had said them to his face.

  “Dorenn,” a familiar voice said behind him.

  Dorenn grinned in spite himself. “Tatrice.” He had almost forgotten she was around.

  Tatrice strolled in front of him, and a look of sympathy crossed her face.

  Dorenn stared at the magnificence of her blue dragon scale armor. “I see you found a way to adapt your armor. Did you have a blacksmith do it?”

  “You didn’t notice it earlier?”

  “I was not paying attention then. I had other things on my mind.”

  Tatrice blushed and Dorenn became puzzled. “It’s a long story,” she said. “I did have help adapting it, but I doubt you would believe it if I told you.”

  Dorenn feigned a weak smile. He was suddenly uninterested in knowing the truth. “You will have to tell me the story someday then.”

  “I will, I promise,” she said as she reached up to take Dorenn’s face in her hands. Dorenn flinched and moved away at first, but she tried again and he let her cup her hands under his chin. She placed her forehead against his. “Are you going to be all right?”

  A lump formed in Dorenn’s throat. For the first time in a long while he felt tears welling up. “No,” he whispered. Tatrice lowered her head, pressing her lips to his.

  “Yes,” Tatrice whispered after the kiss.

  Dorenn was perplexed. “Yes?”

  “Yes, I will marry you, Dorenn Adair,” she said beaming.

  Dorenn managed a smile as he drew Tatrice in for another kiss.

  Chapter 21: Destiny

  Lady Shey finally managed to unhinge her shackles. Four long days and nights had passed while she picked at the lock with a sewing needle she kept fastened inside the hem of her dress. Except for a meal at midday and one at evening, she saw no one. Her attempts to discover who was bringing her food had always failed. Faint light came from a window high on the inner wall, but she had never been able to look out it since her feet were chained to the floor. Her fingertips were bloodied and dirty from her toil, and she could not draw essence enough to break the seal, so she had surmised that she must be in the Sacred Land.

  She had eaten the wretched food brought to her as best she could to keep her strength up, but she knew if she did not break free soon she would grow weak and sick from the rot of it. She flicked the sewing needle, and the shackles finally gave way. She climbed to her feet and stretched the cramps from her legs. Trying to pull herself up to the window, she realized she had not remained strong enough to pull herself up to the bars. She tore off the bottom of her dress and tied a knot in it. Wrapping the dress around an iron bar on the window for leverage, she pushed with her legs until she could see out the window.

  In the darkness she could make out trees and grass. Curious, she summoned essence and felt it flow into her body. The chains had dulled her abilities. Letting go of the dress and falling back to the floor, she concentrated on the bars and released essence. The bars disintegrated. She strained for the edge of the window and her fingers found purchase. She pulled herself over the windows edge and sighed; below was a high drop and a moat. Desperate to escape, she took a deep breath and dove into the murky waters below. She fought for every stroke until she pulled herself out of the moat and onto soft, long grass. Lady Shey forced herself to her feet and surveyed her surroundings. Nothing was recognizable, but it did not matter, she was free.

  Hours passed as she made her way through the dense forest, and Lady Shey was confident that no one knew of her escape. In the back of her mind, she worried about the midday meal. Would they discover her gone if her plate was still full? She pressed on, trying not to think about it. Distance was the key. She had to get as far away as she could before anyone discovered she was gone.

  At first light, Shey saw a cabin nestled in some brush. As she approached she realized the front of the structure was made of wood and was protruding from the cliffside. She tapped on the door, but no one answered. She tapped again, and this time the door came open. Inside the doorway stood a dwarven woman dressed in a green apron and blue dress.

  “Oh my, you look terrible. Come in and sit by the fire,” said the woman.

  “Thank you. Where am I?” Lady Shey asked.

  “You are on the outskirts of Tyr Raganough in the Jagged Mountains, dear.” The little woman helped Lady Shey sit in a small cushioned chair. “You are no dwarf. What are you doing so far away from your people?”

  “I don’t know. I was captured by something or someone and held prisoner.”

  “We are not far from the city of Gothenwyre on the Scarovian border. The Scarovians must hate you if they took you there,” she smiled, “which means you are a friend to this house.”
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br />   “How would you know that I came from Gothenwyre?”

  “Because it’s the only place near enough to here. No dwarf would imprison you. Now, sit back and rest by the fire.”

  “Thank you…um…?”

  “Shila Hornbuckle of the stone crafters, and you are?”

  “Shey Namear of the Vale of Morgoran.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Shey. Now let me warm you some tea and make you a bite to eat.”

  “I would be most grateful of your hospitality, Lady Shila.”

  “Oh, just call me Shila, dear,” the little woman replied, “and be welcome in my house. I will get the tea.”

  Grateful to be out of the dank prison, Lady Shey leaned back in the small, yet comfortable, chair and dosed off.

  Dorenn stood peering over one of the ancient battlements of Calanbrough Keep at the ruins of Brightonhold and the dark devastation of the land surrounding the destroyed keep. His mood somber, Dorenn reached inside his coat and produced his clay smoking pipe. He turned it over in his hand once before absently packing it with tabac, tamping down the damp, shredded leaves into the bowl of the pipe with his finger. Dorenn searched his coat and cloak for something he could burn to light it. Failing to find anything, he searched the nearest brazier for a loose twig but found none. Suddenly, he became curious and started to draw in essence. At first it seemed he could draw very little and he considered letting go, but a sudden surge of essence filled him and he continued on. He put his packed pipe to his lips, concentrating his essence on the bowl. He puffed his checks lightly as the tabac caught fire and lit evenly. Dorenn smiled as the rich white smoke rose into the air.

  Dorenn puffed on his pipe and pulled his cloak up tighter around him. The sun was beginning to set and the night air had begun to settle in, but he did not want to return to the inside of the keep just yet.