Defenders of The Sacred Land: Book One of The Sacred Land Saga (29 page)

He moved in a flash, knocking the dragon fang aside. He clasped his hands around the black beast’s neck and squeezed as hard as he could. Tatrice’s face turned red as he choked off her air supply. “I will kill you with my own two hands, foul creature,” he rasped. “What have you done with Tatrice? Who are you?” he said, seeing the image of Tatrice appear before him once again. Tatrice’s eyes were beginning to turn red, and Dorenn realized he had made a mistake. He released his grip. Tatrice gulped in air and tried to push Dorenn away.

“What is the matter with you? It’s me, Tatrice.”

“You are not Tatrice. I know the truth; now, I saw the truth.”

“I am, Dorenn, I am Tatrice.”

Rennon, hearing the struggling, burst into the room. “What in Fawlsbane’s beard is going on in here?”

“Do not interfere, Rennon. You do not understand what’s happening,” Dorenn warned.

Rennon did not listen; instead, he grabbed Dorenn and pulled him physically from Tatrice. “Why are you attacking Tatrice?”

“She is not Tatrice. I saw Tatrice kidnapped and taken to the Sacred Land. She is a Drasmyd Duil.”

“What are you taking about?” Rennon pushed him away and held Tatrice. She sobbed into his shoulder. Rennon pointed at her left arm with his free hand. “See, here is the scar she got when I accidentally bumped her out of that tree when we were fourteen seasons, and here is the scar on her hand from where she cut it in the kitchen two seasons ago. This is Tatrice, Dorenn. What has gotten into you?”

Dorenn was taken aback. He fell back to the deck and up against the wall. “I was sure I saw the truth. I…I don’t know what to say.” Tatrice held Rennon closer as Dorenn shrank away from them. “I was sure,” Dorenn repeated.

Vesperin knocked on the door and entered, followed closely by Lady Shey. “What is the matter? I heard shouting.” Vesperin asked. He looked at the marks on Tatrice’s neck. “Loracia be praised, what has happened here?”

Dorenn sat in the corner, thinking about the images in his head. Vesperin put his healing hand on the marks on Tatrice’s neck, but Dorenn knew Vesperin could not heal the damage he had caused Tatrice emotionally.

“You will have to be confined to your cabin for the rest of the trip, I think,” Rennon said.

Dorenn nodded in agreement at first, and then he noticed the look on Lady Shey’s face. She was smiling wickedly at him. Why had she not gone to Tatrice’s aid? Unexpectedly, Dorenn’s head began to pound. Thump; Lady Shey’s cabin was the next room over. Thump, Dorenn saw images of Lady Shey struggling with Row Praf instead of Tatrice. Thump, Lady Shey had been dragged down the stairs of the armory in Signal Hill. Thump, he could see her held prisoner in the Sacred Land.

In an instant, Dorenn accosted Rennon, pulling one of his daggers from his friend’s tunic. Dorenn turned the dagger as if in slow motion and plunged it directly into Lady Shey’s chest. Rennon, Vesperin, and Tatrice lunged forward to stop him, but Dorenn turned the blade to rend the flesh of Lady Shey’s chest as she looked at him with shock and hurt on her face. Dorenn did not waver, and Lady Shey fell to the floor, dying.

Dorenn immediately removed the dagger and turned on his friends, holding the dagger out to stave them off. “Do not come any closer.”

“Let me help her, Dorenn, you don’t know what you are doing; you are ill. If you don’t let me help her, she will die,” Vesperin pleaded.

“Then she will die,” Dorenn said, still holding them back.

“Look at her, she’s dying, Dorenn,” Tatrice said as tears began to fall down her face.

Dorenn held the dagger at Tatrice. “She tricked me. She made me think it was you, Tatrice; she wanted me to think you were a Drasmyd Duil. She was trying to make me kill you.”

“You are delusional,” Rennon said. “Let Vesperin help her.”

“No,” Dorenn snapped back. “That is not Lady Shey. She tried to convince me it was Tatrice because she knew I would sense her now. She was trying to have me confined.”

“Look!” Vesperin said, pointing at Lady Shey. She started changing, transforming into a hideous black creature.

“You see, she is a Drasmyd Duil, and she has been with us since Signal Hill. I thought it was Tatrice at first, but I realized it was Lady Shey trying to trick me.”

“You are scaring me, Dorenn,” Tatrice said, still holding on to Rennon.

“Tatrice,” Dorenn said, holding out his hand, but she did not budge from Rennon’s arms. He realized he had done something he would not be able to fix so easily. “I am truly sorry, Tatrice. I ask that you forgive me.” Tatrice said nothing.

Dorenn bowed his head in shame, and then he swallowed the lump in his throat and looked at Rennon. “I need to find Ianthill and Gondrial. Will you and Vesperin keep an eye on things here until I get back?” Rennon assessed him for a long moment as if he might object to Dorenn leaving, then Rennon nodded and Dorenn left the cabin.

It was not my fault
, he thought to himself as he exited from the hallway onto the upper deck.
I was tricked. Duped into thinking Tatrice was the enemy. Ianthill will understand.

On deck, Dorenn found Ianthill and Gondrial smoking their pipes and surveying the coast. Enowene stood nearby, taking in the sea air. Dorenn approached Ianthill. “I need for you to come with me to Tatrice’s cabin.”

“Oh,” Ianthill said.

Dorenn leaned in close to Ianthill. “I just slew a Drasmyd Duil.”

Ianthill coughed and blew smoke. He cocked his head at Gondrial, who nodded. Ianthill motioned for Enowene to follow and they rushed down below, trying not to alert the crewmen around them.

Dorenn watched as Ianthill examined the Drasmyd Duil and spat a curse. “We should have sensed this, Gondrial. These Drasmyd Duil are being very clever to dupe us like this for so long.”

“Where have they taken Shey?” Enowene asked with a worried, frantic expression.

“My guess is to Brightonhold,” Ianthill said. “This means the Enforcers are probably in league with Naneden. We may already be too late to save her.”

Gondrial leaned down to inspect the creature more closely. “Did it use some form of illusion?”

“Mind tricks, I would presume,” Ianthill’s eyes narrowed while he thought. “Drasmyd Duil can hold a shape for six or seven days at a time. If this Drasmyd Duil was extremely gifted, maybe fifteen.” Ianthill thought for another moment. “If Lady Shey was a plant to fool us and divert us from our true path, then why was the captain lying to us?”

“I follow you,” Enowene said. “The captain’s in on it. There are twenty men aboard this vessel. We are on a floating trap!” Gondrial pulled the creature farther into the tiny cabin and closed the door. “There is something here,” Gondrial said, pulling a little green statuette from the Drasmyd Duil’s hand.

“My statuette,” Tatrice said. “She must have taken it from off the sea chest.”

“Lady Shey has been eyeing that statuette since we boarded from Symbor,” Enowene said. “I thought it was because she used to have one herself.”

“Let me see that,” Ianthill said. Gondrial gave him the statuette.

“Ah yes, Morgoran and Toborne used to dabble in the making of these. They have something to do with essence, or the ability to store essence, but I never took much interest in them. I found them somewhat useless. Toborne and Morgoran eventually came to the same conclusion and abandoned them.”

“My dear Ianthill,” Enowene began, “your memory does not serve you. Remember when Lady Shey was a child? She found a way to unlock the essence in the statuette she had, and it released the memories of her parents into her, making her a formidable wielder at a very young age.”

“Aye, I did forget.” He examined the statuette carefully. “Then this statuette could have more inside it than we care to know. We should destroy it. If Naneden wants it, then we don’t.”

Enowene took the statuette from Ianthill. “We most certainly will not destroy it! This statuette may be sought after for a variety of reasons. It could contain the essence of someone Naneden fears just as easily.”

“Or it could be empty,” Gondrial added.

“So much the better,” Ianthill said. “Now it is you who forgets, Enowene. As I remember the story, Toborne used a statuette such as this to contain the essence of the Silver Drake, which allowed him control over it. Naneden could have found an account of that incident, and now he plans to try it. There are not many of these statuettes left in the world.”

Gondrial stroked his goatee in thought. “I am inclined to believe the statuette contains something Naneden fears.”

“Oh, and how did you arrive at that conclusion, Gondrial?” Ianthill inquired.

“Why else would they take Lady Shey? She is one of only a handful of wielders who knows how to use it. Morgoran is useless, and Toborne is dead. And it came to our possession rather suspiciously when Dorenn bought it in Cedar Falls.”

Enowene put the statuette in the small pack she carried. “For now, I will hold onto it. When we find the real Lady Shey, we will see what secrets it possesses, or we can see if Morgoran can stay coherent long enough to offer insight on it. I believe it would be a mistake to destroy it when we do not understand its significance.”

“I agree,” Gondrial said. Ianthill nodded reluctantly.

Dorenn looked at Tatrice, and she lowered her eyes not to meet his. “What about me? I mean, what is happening to me?”

Ianthill put his hand on Dorenn’s shoulder. “It is not your fault, Dorenn. You are changing. I tried to tell you about this in Adrontear. Had we made it to Foreshome, I would have been able to instruct you better, but now, if what you saw is true, we have to land this ship at a more dangerous port and travel to the Sacred Land in haste.” Ianthill reached for Tatrice and cupped her chin in his hand. “It was not his fault, child, he will surely never be the boy you once knew, but another attack on you such as this is unlikely to ever happen again. You may still trust him as you did in Brookhaven.”

A knock at the cabin door startled everyone in the room. Dorenn could feel his mind instinctively reaching out beyond the door to sense who was on the other side, but before he could find out who it was, Gondrial flung the door open ready to attack. It was Bren. Dorenn put his hand to his forehead.
What am I doing? I am no wielder
, he thought.

Bren surveyed the room, saw the creature’s body, and immediately drew his dragon fang. “Relax, it is dead,” Gondrial told him. Bren re-sheathed his sword.

“What is all this?” the broodlord asked.

“Lady Shey was a Drasmyd Duil,” Gondrial stated flatly.

“Gondrial!” Enowene snapped.

“What?” Gondrial said, sounding annoyed. “She was.”

Bren grumbled, “How is it she escaped our notice?”

Ianthill clasped his hands together. “We need to regroup.” Ianthill looked out of the porthole to the coast. “We are not far from Arovaan. We need to get this ship turned about.” Ianthill scrutinized the broodlord, who was still not wearing his armor. “Bren, don your armor. The rest of you make ready as well. Gondrial and I will dispose of the Drasmyd Duil and return to smoking our pipes up on deck. We need not alert the captain of our discovery. In one hour, all of you will come up on deck. Gondrial and I will have a surprise ready for the deckhands.
The Sea Goddess
is going back to Arovaan.”

Bren put his finger up to his mouth, motioning for everyone to quiet down. Slowly, he made his way to the door and jerked it open abruptly. Bren leaped into the hallway where he was met with a dirty, black sword. Avoiding the slicing motion of the sword, Bren cleft the black creature’s arm with his forearm, sending the gruesome blade to the deck with a clang. Bren took advantage of the vulnerable position of the Drasmyd Duil and jerked its neck with both hands, twisting it with an awful crack. The black creature fell to the deck in a heap. “No time to implement a plan, Master Elf,” Bren said to Ianthill, “the fight is on!”

“How many Drasmyd Duil are there?” Enowene said to no one in particular. “I thought they were relatively rare.”

“Everything is relative, Enowene, the fact is no one knows,” Gondrial said.

Tatrice scrambled for any piece of armor she could strap on quickly and followed Bren and Ianthill into the hall. Gondrial rushed to the end of the hallway to make sure the Drasmyd Duil acted alone. Bren reached his cabin and quickly suited up in whatever piece of armor he could put on with haste, which included his two swords.

“Hold the fang this way,” he showed Tatrice, “and the claw as such.” He turned both blades with the curvature upward and moved her fingers closer to the hilt. “Block sword blows with the claw and thrust and slice with the fang.”

“That much I gathered,” Tatrice said with a smile. Bren smiled back uneasily.

Ianthill stood with an expression of urgency. “If you too are done, we must move to the end of the hallway.” As the three passed the cabin with Dorenn and Rennon, Ianthill looked in and motioned for them to follow sharply.

Dorenn strapped on
Dranmalin
and pulled the blade from its scabbard. It appeared to be glowing a slight yellowish gold, enough to light a dim room.

Rennon strapped on what he could of the Dolant Tor armor and tucked his daggers just under the breastplate. Dorenn noticed Rennon was sweating profusely. “Are you all right, Rennon?”

“I am just a bit nervous. Sanmir taught me to use daggers, but I never thought I would be in a fight like this. On a ship at sea, that is.”

“I too am feeling apprehensive. I have not been myself lately, as you well know. Do you think Tatrice will forgive me?”

“Just give her a little time and everything will work out.”

“Come on, you two,” Ianthill commanded with urgency from the hallway.

The two boys left the cabin and met with Vesperin, who was wearing his golden armor of the clerics of Loracia. Bren and Tatrice appeared in the hallway, and the four walked to the hallway door leading out to the deck where Ianthill and Gondrial waited. Bren stopped and signaled Ianthill, who nodded back.

“Oh, Captain Felladan, a word with you please,” Dorenn heard Ianthill say. A few moments later, Dorenn heard a commotion and then a sailor shout that someone had killed the captain. Sailors dropped what they were doing and ran to the stern.