by Tyson, Mark
“Why not pack me a pipe like that, Dorenn? I could use a good smoke,” Gondrial said, holding out his pipe to Dorenn.
“Gondrial!” Dorenn said excitedly. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, but not good. I will survive though. Believe me, I have had much worse.”
Dorenn noted that Gondrial seemed pale and his hands, still wrapped in bandages, shook tremendously as he fumbled with his cloak. He stood with the aid of a makeshift crutch.
Dorenn took Gondrial’s pipe, packed it with his own tabac, and handed it back.
Gondrial stood with the pipe to his lips for a few moments, staring at Dorenn anxiously. “Well, light it then.”
Dorenn put his finger over Gondrial’s pipe and drew in essence. He imagined the pipe lighting and he released the essence. Gondrial puffed to help the fire along.
Dorenn returned to his somber mood. “I thought you were lost. I am glad to see you up and about.”
Gondrial remained silent for a few awkward moments before speaking. “In some ways I am lost. I can’t seem to draw essence at the moment. Vesperin says it may be temporary, but he didn’t sound too convincing.”
“I am sorry, Gondrial.”
“No, no, my boy,” Gondrial said, slapping Dorenn on the back. “It isn’t any of your concern. I may not be able to draw essence at the moment, but I have a feeling I will with time. Besides, you shouldn’t worry about me.”
Dorenn became visibly shaken by Gondrial’s words.
“What is it?” Gondrial asked, seeing Dorenn’s distress.
“I am no king or highlord; I’m not even of noble birth. The Silver Drake chose me for something. She was created to choose the highlord of the land, right? Is that what she meant? If so, how am I supposed to stop Naneden’s army?”
Gondrial smiled. “Give or take a generation. There is noble blood in your veins, Dorenn.”
Dorenn stood stunned. “What are you talking about?”
Gondrial shifted his weight onto his good leg. “I don’t know how much I should tell you just yet, but you do descend from noblemen of long ago. I am not sure what the Silver Drake has in mind, so I will leave the journey of discovering your lineage to you. Unfolding your line will guide you to your ability to lead.”
“What am I to do now?” Dorenn asked.
Gondrial put his pipe to his lips. “That’s a good question, but a better one would be what can you do?” Gondrial took a puff from his pipe and blew white smoke into the air.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Dorenn asked with agitation.
“It means I am not here to make decisions for you. You have to make up your own mind.”
Tatrice walked onto the battlement. “Ah, there you are, Dorenn. I was beginning to worry about you.” She moved close to Dorenn and smiled at Gondrial. “It is good to see you up and about, Gondrial.”
“My lady,” he said, “it is good to be up and about. I will leave you two to speak alone. I must return to my bed before Vesperin discovers I have wandered off. ”
“Good health to you, Gondrial,” Tatrice said, bowing her head.
Gondrial balanced on his crutch and moved away.
Tatrice rounded on Dorenn. “What are you two up to?”
“Up to?” Dorenn’s mood took a downward turn once more. “The man nearly died yesterday, Tat, we were just talking about what had happened to him and what our next move might be.”
“And what did you decide?” she asked.
“We didn’t exactly decide anything.”
Tatrice kissed him on the cheek and his anger melted away. “Come inside and I will see what I can find for you to eat from the kitchen.”
Dorenn tapped the bowl of his pipe on the stone edge of the battlement, and his spent ashes scattered in the night breeze. “Aye, I could use a bite to eat.”
Dorenn found himself on the wooden platform, looking into the branches of the huge tree again. Green leaves obscured the way ahead, and he could see the familiar figure beyond moving closer. The branches moved aside, revealing the young woman with dark hair; the branches caressed her lovingly as she passed through them. Her large, brown eyes sparkled with delight as she recognized him. Dorenn felt a sudden pang of love as he stood awestruck at her beauty. She wore a green frock that outlined her figure and was slightly see-through while illuminated from the light behind her. “It is you again,” she said.
“Who are you?” Dorenn asked.
“I told you, I am Seandara.”
“I remember your name, but who are you?” He looked around at the towering trees. “And where is this place?”
The young woman opened her mouth to speak, but no words come out. Dorenn saw a look of terror cross her face. Her eyes were fixed on some point behind him. He turned to see a shadow crossing the platform. His eyes strained at the darkness as a black figure approached. It was tall and thin with dripping fangs from a twisted, black mouth. Its eyes were dark and menacing, and two bat-like wings were draped over its back. At first Dorenn thought it was a Dramyd, but it was taller and looked more like a thin man than a scaled lizard. It carried a thin sword and hissed his name. It swung its sword, and Dorenn felt the sharp pain of the blade striking him.
Startled awake, Dorenn found that his arm was bleeding from a sword wound. Confused, he jumped from his bed to find Rennon standing on the opposite side with sword in hand. “Rennon, what are you doing?”
“No one will hear you scream, Dorenn, I have seen to that.”
“What are you talking about?” Dorenn said alarmed.
Dorenn remembered Tatrice in the next room and a sharp pang of fear gripped him as he turned to see her door was open and his bedchamber door was still bolted shut. “What have you done?”
“What I was meant to do, what I have to do.”
Anger swelled up in Dorenn, and he searched around for Dranmalin. He spotted the sword shining brightly near a wooden table behind Rennon.
Rennon turned briefly to look at the sword. “You want your sword, do you? You may retrieve it if you wish.”
Dorenn drew in essence and concentrated on the sword. It leaped from its scabbard and turned end over end in the air until it came to rest point first in Rennon’s back. Rennon screamed and he dropped his own sword, trying frantically to get at the sword protruding from between his shoulder blades. His image shimmered, and in the place of Rennon stood the true form of a Drasmyd Duil. Its wings were beating furiously as he tossed and turned to get Dranmalin. Dorenn raced for the door. He had to alert someone and get help, but he was struck down by an unseen force as he grasped the bolt. Dazed, Dorenn stood up. The Drasmyd Duil had removed Dranmalin and tried to wield it, but the sword rebelled, and the Drasmyd Duil discarded it to the far corner and picked up its own sword again.
Dorenn made a mad dash for the window but the Drasmyd Duil intercepted him, cutting a deep gash into his leg. Dorenn tumbled onto the floor, his leg seething with pain. “Help, Drasmyd Duil in my bedchamber!” he screamed.
“Pitiful boy, I told you, no one will hear your cries,” the Drasmyd Duil croaked as it rounded with another sword blow. “Stay still and accept the inevitable.”
Dorenn managed to grasp the edge of a small wooden table and pulled the vase of flowers from it. He chucked the vase at the creature and grasped the table by the edges, swinging the table into the window. The glass smashed into pieces. As shards and pieces of glass fell on top of him, he let the table go and pulled himself up to the window seal. He was on the ground floor of the keep, but the drop would still be far enough to hurt. He pulled himself over and fell into the bushes below. The Drasmyd Duil was close behind. The vase had slowed it but didn’t stop it from attacking, and Dorenn took another slash of the Drasmyd Duil’s sword as he dropped. Reeling in pain, Dorenn tried to pull himself up to run, but his leg wounds were too grave and he ended up crawling along the bushes. Unable to get very far, Dorenn started to draw in essence. Panic had begun to set in, and the essence came sporadically. The Drasmyd Duil
raised its sword, and Dorenn moved just in time to avoid a fatal blow, but the blade did manage to pierce his abdomen.
“Spare me,” Dorenn pleaded.
The Drasmyd Duil leered and raised its sword for the final strike.
How could it end like this? Dorenn thought. Tatrice flashed before his eyes along with his mother and father. I have failed you yet again.
The blade came down and Dorenn closed his eyes, but no blow came. Instead he felt the rush of essence leave him. A flash of light pierced through his eyelids and left him seeing spots, almost blinding him. The Drasmyd Duil screamed in pain as it dropped its dark sword near Dorenn.
“Foul beast, you are no more!” Dorenn heard a familiar voice cry from the darkness. Dorenn opened his eyes to see the light of an ethereal dragon maw clamp down on the creature, cleaving the beast in two, and then the dragon maw dissipated into thin air. Dorenn immediately recognized it as cast by a wielder, the same spells he had witnessed Ianthill and Dicarion cast at Vetell Fex. The Drasmyd Duil burst into flames and began burning in the magical essence cast on it. Dorenn looked up for the source of the spell and blinked in disbelief. Before him stood Morgoran.
“Sorry I’m late, boy, I had almost forgotten about this blasted attack. It was one of the last visions I saw before the curse was lifted,” he said. “Here, give me your hand and I will get you to the clerics.” Dorenn reached out his hand, and then everything went dark.
Dorenn woke to see Vesperin hovering above him. “Am I…”
“You are fine. Morgoran got to you in time,” Vesperin said.
“Morgoran!” Dorenn said startled. “It is true then? I didn’t dream him?”
“Aye, it’s true, boy,” Morgoran said. “What did you expect?”
Ianthill walked up behind Morgoran and put his hand on Dorenn’s leg. “I was right behind him. I am just sorry we didn’t get to you before that thing got some good whacks in on you.”
Rennon stood in the corner and Dorenn caught him smile at Ianthill’s words, but he quickly returned to his sour expression when he realized Dorenn was looking at him.
Morgoran raised from the wooden chair he was sitting on next to Dorenn’s bed. “Rennon, Vesperin, Trendan, Tatrice, Enowene, Gondrial, and Bren may stay, the rest of you clear the room please,” Morgoran said, pointing at each person in turn. After the servants and onlookers left the room, Morgoran put his hands, palms down, on the backrest of the wooden chair. “We have business to discuss. I am told this is the second attack on Dorenn by a Drasmyd Duil. Yarbrille is the only person missing from the keep that we can ascertain. It doesn’t take a leap of intelligence to single him out as the imposter. From this day forth, we will take turns staying with Dorenn. He is now more dangerous than ever to our enemies.” He circled around the wooden chair. “Ganas Nashe is riding here as we speak with news of the advance of Naneden’s army across Symboria, if I remember my visions clearly, and some of his news may split you all apart.” He hammered his fist on the backrest. “We must all remain loyal to each other in order to see this through. Resist the temptations.”
Ianthill cleared his throat. “Morgoran and I have decided that we will divide into two groups. Gondrial and I will ride after Lady Shey, Morgoran will take over training Dorenn and they will continue on to Draegodor—”
“Wait,” Dorenn interrupted. “Draegodor? The red city? Home of the dragons? Are you both mad?”
Bren stood up from his chair. “On the contrary, I advised them to take you to Draegodor,” Bren said. “Although I can’t explain my reasons at this time, I believe that taking you to Draegodor is a vital part of my quest.”
Rennon huffed. “Convenient. You want to take Tatrice to Draegodor, don’t you? I see the way you look at her. You don’t even care about Dorenn, do you?”
Bren drew his dragon fang and pointed it at Rennon. “You go too far, sir. Do you now claim that you care for him when you have so openly shunned him?”
Rennon’s face turned red. “You want Tatrice for yourself, and I will not stand for it.”
“Enough you two,” Morgoran said. “This is exactly the kind of nonsense that will defeat us.”
“Bren, put that sword away,” Ianthill commanded.
Bren re-sheathed his dragon fang and sat back down.
Dorenn gazed intently at Rennon; he knew his friend was out of the herb Sanmir had given him. He wondered if his outburst was due to that fact.
“Do you think Lady Shey is all right?” Tatrice asked, trying to divert the subject away from Bren’s intentions.
Ianthill eyed Rennon and then turned to Tatrice. “Aye, I do. Lady Shey knows how to use the jade statuette and the enemy knew that. She is a strong wielder; they won’t contain her for long.”
“I am confused then. If Lady Shey can take care of herself, then she will eventually meet up with us, so why go after her at all?” Dorenn asked.
Gondrial spoke up. “Because if Lady Shey escapes her captives, it is likely she will be hunted almost as fiercely as you will be.” Dorenn winced and Morgoran looked irritated. “Morgoran is the only other wielder we know of that can unlock the statuette, and he will be with you. Shey will most likely need our help.”
Dorenn nodded. He tried not to think about being hunted.
Melias entered the room with Ganas.
“Ganas,” Trendan said.
Ganas nodded to Trendan and smiled. “I bring news of the invading army.”
Morgoran nodded once. “Go on.”
“The army still moves largely unopposed through Symboria and quicker than we would like. They are perhaps two days from here. A small militia of farmers has amassed about a day’s ride from here. They plan to lie in wait until the army passes, and then they will attack the dark armies’ supply line. They hope to slow it down.”
Morgoran addressed the assembly. “Dorenn and I will go by way of Seabrey to Draegodor. Bren will lead us there. The rest of you must decide which party you would like to travel with or if it is time for you to return home. No one will fault you to return to your village if that is your wish.” Morgoran stiffened and motioned toward Trendan. “I have a special task for you, Trendan. I need your tracking skills.”
Trendan nodded.
“I need you to take a couple of Defenders and go after the wench, Kimala. I believe she is trying to escape on foot, which means she hasn’t gotten far. It’s a dangerous task I set before you, and I cannot spare anyone you see here to travel with you.”
“I will travel with him,” Ganas spoke up. “Two trackers are better than one.”
“Nay, Ganas. I have another purpose for you.”
“Why do I get the feeling you remember more about your visions than you have led us to believe?” Gondrial said, eyeing Morgoran suspiciously.
Morgoran ignored him. “Ganas, I want you to go on to Trigoth as my envoy. There is a man by the name of Theosus Fiderea, an apothecary, whose shop is nestled in a quiet corner of the foreign quarter. Seek him out and tell him I have returned. Once you have convinced him I sent you, he will know what to do next.”
“I shall travel with Ganas then,” Rennon burst out. Dorenn’s heart sank. His friend was trying to put distance between them.
“I should think you would have gone with Ianthill and Gondrial the way you have been carrying on about home,” Enowene stated flatly.
Dorenn knew why Rennon wanted to go with Ganas. He wanted to meet with the apothecary, and Trigoth was closer than Brookhaven from Calanbrough.
“I have never been to Trigoth, and I think it might be the right time to go.”
“Where Dorenn goes, I will follow,” Melias interjected. “I have had dealings with Draegodor before. I may be useful.”
Morgoran nodded. “I think that would be a wise idea.”
“I will go with Ianthill and Gondrial,” Enowene spoke up.
Ianthill took out his pipe and began stuffing it with tabac. “We should try to find where Naneden sent the armies of the West and see if we can get them b
ack in the fight. We will not be able to prevent him taking the Sacred Land, and we will need every last soldier to regain it.”
“How do you propose we do that?” Gondrial asked.
Ianthill turned to Trendan. “That task will be up to you, my boy. When you find her, try to bring back Kimala alive; she may know something.”
Trendan nodded. “I will.”
Vesperin gave Rennon a pained look and then stood up. “I stand by Dorenn and will follow him as my goddess commands.” Rennon shook his head and looked away.
Morgoran clapped his hands together. “All right then, we will move on to Lux Enor tomorrow before the dark army reaches Calanbrough. Be prepared to leave.”
Trendan cautiously entered Enor’s Forest, a wooded area a few miles north of the gates of Calanbrough and a few miles south of the city of Lux Enor, and made his way through the dense outer underbrush. The scorch of the Sacred Land had not reached the lush woods growing unkempt between the Sacred Land and the highlord’s city. Up above him, the skies churned and dark clouds formed ominously. Lightning occasionally streaked through the sky and, in turn, thunder boomed. Trendan knew where he was going, and he knew there would be shelter when he got there. Scanning the forest floor, he spotted the faint footprints of the one he hunted. The person leaving the footprints tried to hide their trail, but Trendan could still see the signs. Soon he reached a diminutive clearing encased in young oak trees, and he cautiously approached.
A makeshift tent constructed between branches of four large oak trees lay partially hidden from view. The tent flap was not secured, so he slipped silently into the structure just as the rain began to fall. The interior of the tent revealed its inhabitant as female with flowers in a vase on a neat and tidy, collapsible table. Trendan could see the dark-haired woman, dressed in light blue, in meditation, facing an opening out into the forest opposite of him. Her manner of dress was scant and see-through. Trendan averted his eyes even though in his heart he wanted to take in the sight of her. Rain fell straight down outside of the tent, turning what snow had fallen through the trees into slush.