Exiles From The Sacred Land (Book 2) (7 page)

“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.”

Melias nodded.

“Then what you are saying is that he could die while taking the trial?” Bren repeated.

“Perhaps. Of course, since he is worthy of the Silver Drake’s choosing, he will live if he fulfills his duty and finds her as she wishes. If he has her by his side, his survival rate increases considerably. She will protect him as only she can.”

Bren grimaced. “What if the Silver Drake cannot be found?”

Morgoran grinned. “My dear broodlord, the Silver Drake is never wrong. If she chose Dorenn to find her, he will find her.”

Dorenn broke out in a cold sweat. He looked at the back of Tatrice’s head and hoped she was not disturbed by his nervous squirming. What did they mean about him becoming aggressive? He felt the same as he always had.
I better think about how to find the Silver Drake
, he thought.

“Morgoran, something is moving through the trees below,” Dorenn heard Melias say. “At first I thought it was just the trees swaying in the breeze, but now I can see figures.” Dorenn sat up to watch Morgoran’s reaction.

Morgoran squinted in the low light; the patchy snow semi-illuminated the darkness of the clearings. “I don’t see anything.”

Bren drew his dragon claw. “There, in the trees. I see it too.”

Morgoran put his hand over his pipe and whispered. A wisp of smoke from the bowl snaked out into his hand. He cupped it and blew the smoke out toward the trees, and it traveled extremely quickly into the darkness. “Ignite,” he said. A burst of intense light flashed over the trees, and hundreds of black-winged creatures scattered in all directions, screeching.

“Dramyds! They have followed us. Quickly, strike the camp. I will blind them and keep them away. Go now!” He stopped and put his hand on Melias’ arm. “Now would be a good time, old friend.”

Melias nodded before turning to face Bren, who bowed his head momentarily out of respect.

Dorenn jumped away from Tatrice as Melias and Bren rushed around the camp, gathering up the leather backpacks. “What is happening? What’s down there?” He didn’t want them to think he had been eavesdropping.

“Dramyds in the forest. Get your gear and head up the mountain.” Tatrice started rounding up her things. Dorenn pulled
Dranmalin
from its scabbard. Bren stayed Dorenn’s arm. “We can’t fight them; there are too many. Get up the side of the mountain to the sentinels.”

Dorenn sheathed
Dranmalin
and gathered up his backpack. Frantically he followed Bren and Tatrice as they stumbled up the rocky outcropping. He could hear the horses screaming, and he hoped they had broken loose and run away. The side of the mountain brightened with intermittent flashes of light, reminding him of a lightning storm. He stopped and looked back after he heard something explode. He briefly saw the image of Morgoran with his arms outstretched to the sky. The forest trees below were bursting in giant fiery splinters, impelling Dramyds to the frozen ground.

Dorenn turned back to the mountain ahead and climbed with frenzied speed. His heart skipped a beat when he heard the now familiar beating of leathery wings above him. Dorenn froze as a Drasmyd Duil landed directly in his path, its teeth exposed in a sinister grin. It lurched for him, and he fell backward to the ground, fumbling for
Dranmalin
. The Drasmyd Duil reached for him with its terrible claws, and Dorenn braced for the worse, but it never came; he opened his eyes to the horrific sight of the Drasmyd Duil’s head immersed in a golden light, distorting as the rest of the now headless creature’s body fell to its knees. Vesperin stood behind it with its head between his hands, squeezing, his teeth gnashed in a determined concentration. Dorenn had never seen such hatred from his friend before. The black flesh of the Drasmyd Duil’s head peeled away to reveal its twisted skull. Vesperin let the severed skull fall to the ground, smoldering.

“Come on, Dorenn, run!” he insisted.

Dorenn gathered himself up and ran as fast as he could up the steep incline. He heard more explosions and squealing screams behind and below him, but he dared not look back. He only hoped the squeals were coming from Dramyds and Drasmyd Duil and not from his friends. He stumbled on loose rock and went down on all fours. His backpack broke loose and tumbled behind him. Clawing desperately at the shifting terrain, Dorenn slid down the side of the incline. The sound of beating wings inspired him to claw at the ground faster. Something grabbed the hood of his cloak and pulled him back to sure footing. Dorenn’s heart pounded. He readied himself for a fight, but instead, he stood stunned, looking into the blood-red eyes of Melias. The monk hovered above the ground, two leathery wings outstretched behind him, keeping him aloft. With each flash of Morgoran’s light spell, Melias’ features changed. He began to look like a red Drasmyd Duil. Dorenn saw red-scaled claws in place of Melias’ hands, and he shrank back from him, not comprehending what he was seeing. Melias reached out with his red claws and took Dorenn by his arms. He looked for Tatrice, who was now in the company of Vesperin, heading up the mountain. Dorenn tried to force the claws away in vain. With a powerful lurch, Dorenn felt himself being lifted upward into the night air.

Chapter 4: Basillain

Lady Shey looked down the muddy, filth-laden street to a shabby inn located a few long paces away. “I will confirm that the Eagle Eye, and this city for that matter, was in much better shape the day Gondrial and I made our pact.”

Lady Shey’s short companion sloshed through the mud beside her. “I assume you have this sort of pact in all the kingdoms?”

“Well, yes actually; we decided long ago we would never lose each other.”

Shila stopped in her tracks. “Oh, I get it. You two were—”

“Don’t say it or I swear I will send you straight back home.”

Shila grinned. “Here we are. The Eagle’s Eye Inn.”

“That’s Eagle Eye, dear,” Lady Shey corrected.

“That’s what I said.”

“You said Eagle’s Eye.”

“Whatever you say, dear lady, let’s just get a room and get some sleep. I am exhausted. I am not often this far away from home.”

“We might have made it by midday as planned had I not been so slow.”

“Don’t fret. You will regain all of your strength back soon enough. There are still a couple of hours of daylight left.”

Lady Shey pushed open the double doors to the common room of the inn and waited for Shila to pass through them before entering. The room was only fairly kept. Dirty dishes still sat upon unclean tables. A lone servant waited tables and dodged wandering hands deftly. The room reeked of sweat, old food, and ale. At the rear, a long desk, with a pudgy, angry-looking man behind it, lined the wall beside a set of stairs that led to the rooms. The patrons didn’t seem to notice Lady Shey or Shila as they made their way back to the desk. Most were either drunk or simply did not care.

“Welcome to the Eagle’s Eye. Rooms for you both?”

Shila gave Lady Shey a smirk when the man said Eagle’s Eye. Lady Shey grinned back.

“Mistress?” The man seemed anxious.

“Yes, but only one room. We will make do.”

“Aye, mistress, I will give you my best room. It just came open.”

“Very well, Inn Keep. Might I ask if a tall gentleman with dark hair, dark facial hair, and blue eyes is staying here? He would also be wearing trousers and a white shirt.”

“No, mistress. I can’t say that I have seen anyone of that description here. You have to know I see many people come, though, and it’s hard to keep track.”

“I am sure you would not miss this fellow, my good man. He is somewhat difficult to ignore.”

“I will keep an eye out for him. Here is your key. Go up the stairs and all the way back. Your room will be the last left door.”

Lady Shey and Shila followed the inn keeper’s directions and entered their room. A foul odor immediately offended Lady Shey’s nostrils.

“Ugh, what is that smell?” Shila commented.

“It looks as if you and I have a bit of cleaning to do before bed.”

“I will unpack the soap. You see if you can find some water.”

Lady Shey nodded and took a sizable decanter from a large bowl sitting on a nearby chest of drawers. “I will be back shortly.”

“Hold on, I will go with you. No one should venture out to the water cistern alone so close to dark.”

“Inn Keep, an ale here.” Gondrial pointed to the rough wooden table before him. A few moments later, a portly young girl with a nice smile and blonde ponytails put a tankard before him. He took a long pull of the dark ale before he realized the girl had not moved away, her gaze questioning.

“What? Run a tab,” Gondrial commanded.

“No sir, no tabs for strangers. Coin or the street.” Her nice smile was curiously absent now.

He produced a coin. “All right, all right, here you are. There is no need to get testy.”

The portly girl took the coin without as much as a thank you.

“You’re welcome! And yes, I will have another, thank you,” Gondrial called after her.

Ianthill entered the common room and made his way to Gondrial’s table. “What have you found out?” he said as he pulled up a chair and sat down.

“That the locals have little to no manners.”

Ianthill was not amused.

“I just got here; I haven’t gotten around to asking yet.”

“But you managed an ale, I see.”

“Oh, I see what you’re getting at.” He raised his hand up. “Young miss, ale for my thirsty friend here.” He pointed to Ianthill. “Don’t worry, he has plenty of coin.”

“Well, not exactly what I had in mind, but I suppose one mug of ale couldn’t hurt.”

“Where did Enowene go?”

The bar maid put an ale in front of Ianthill, and he flicked her a coin. “She went down toward the Eagle Eye to see if Shey might have arrived.”

“I just checked there about midday,” Gondrial said before taking another pull of ale.

“That was several hours ago.”

“So it was.” He took another drink. “It’s a long shot that Shey will be at the inn, but it’s worth trying. As resourceful as she is, we may still need to rescue her from somewhere. How long are we planning on waiting?”