Defenders of The Sacred Land: Book One of The Sacred Land Saga (30 page)

“Go, go!” Bren said, raising his dragon fang and dragon claw.

Dorenn rushed out to meet with a stout sailor, who had managed to pull a sword out of the deck armory. Dorenn swung
Dranmalin
with all his might, and the sword sang crisply as it sailed through the air, slicing the sailor’s sword into two pieces. He slashed again and the sailor fell. Dorenn wheeled around to another sailor and cleaved him in two from waist and torso, amazed at the ease of wielding the golden-hued sword. In the corner of his eye, he saw Rennon deftly throw his daggers to strike down a running sailor. The daggers flew in a circle and returned to Rennon’s waiting hands.

All at once, the ship’s bell began ringing. Edifor was shouting, “Stop! Stop the fighting! Look at the captain.” Where the captain’s dead body had lain was now a Drasmyd Duil carcass. “We have been deceived.” Edifor took out a short knife blade and slit his arm. Red blood trickled out. He went to the nearest sailor and did the same. “Men, draw blood. The betrayers shall be revealed,” he said. Two men screeched at Edifor’s words and leapt overboard.

“Seize them,” Ianthill shouted, but no sailor moved.

Edifor took the captain’s hat from the deck and put it on his head. He smiled at Ianthill with his hideous, toothless grin. “They are my crew now,” he said. “We are in your debt, wielder.” He motioned to the crew. “Get back to work, or I’ll throw the lot of you over with the Shadow Lurkers.” The men returned to work but each kept an eye on what was going on. “I reckon we will put into port as soon as we can. As a paying passenger, I will return your money, but we don’t want the kind of trouble you bring.”

“Come about then and take us to the port of Old Symbor,” Ianthill suggested.

“That is no port. I’ll not sail my ship there, no how,” Edifor said.

Ianthill glared at him. “I don’t suppose double your passage rate would persuade you?”

Edifor smiled his toothless grin again. “You have it on you?”

Ianthill unfastened his coin pouch and paid the captain.

“Helm,” he barked, “Come about, we sail to the Sacred Land.”

The Sea Goddess
sailed smoothly toward the Sacred Land, and the weather held up nicely. One sunny afternoon, Dorenn finally cornered Tatrice when she came up on deck for some fresh air. She had stayed in her cabin with Enowene since the fight on deck.

“Tatrice,” he began. She did not look at him, but he spoke anyway. “I just wanted to say how sorry I am that I mistook you for shadow.”

Tatrice turned to him with fire in her eyes. “You know, Dorenn, I realize you were not yourself when you attacked me, but what angers me the most is that you doubted what I was willing to do to have you. I would have done anything you asked of me because I thought I knew who you were, but I am not so sure now.”

“I am still me, Tatrice.”

“Are you? I am not so sure you even know who you are. The Dorenn I knew feared wielders, he could not sniff out shadow, and he would never attack me. I don’t know who you are now.”

“Tatrice, please, I am still Dorenn. The Dorenn you fell in love with.”

Tatrice turned away and rubbed her neck. Vesperin had taken away the pain, but the feeling of what Dorenn had done was still there. “I just need a little time to think, Dorenn, will you grant me that?”

Dorenn took a deep breath. “I will grant you whatever time you need.”

Tatrice walked away without looking back and disappeared into the hold.

Chapter 16: Defenders

Dorenn felt a twinge of excitement as
The Sea Goddess
sailed into the ancient bay of Old Symbor. He had always wanted to see what the old city looked like before its people were forced to move to its present location closer to Brookhaven. Old Symbor was now a part of the Sacred Land; where there were once green fields, there was now a sea of dead browns and yellows. Where majestic trees once flourished, there was now shadowy specters. No crops would grow and no animals could graze. The Sacred Land was a dead land.

The sun was still low in the east when Dorenn got his first full glimpse of the ancient docks; decay and overgrown vegetation made them look more like part of the landscape than the once vibrant trading hub of Symboria. Old Symbor lay in ruins from the docks outward as far as he could see on land, with dilapidated buildings, bushy shrubs, and dead trees choking the once vibrant streets. Captain Edifor helmed
The Sea Goddess
into one of only a handful of still-maintained docks and moored the ship. Dorenn was surprised to see an old man hobble out from one of the hardier structures to greet the approaching ship. The old man walked with a cane, and a small, scruffy dog with black and white hair followed close behind him, barking in warning. The man wore an eye patch over his left eye and a dusty tunic over breeches that made Dorenn wonder if he remained dormant until a ship sailed into his port. His white hair and beard were long and unkempt, and he had a scowl on his wrinkled face.

“I thought they had you exiled from this land, you old fool, what in Toborne’s name are you doing back here?” the old man said to Ianthill.

Ianthill made his way from the ship to the dock. “Aye, I was exiled, but then again, as I recall, so were you. Who let you back on sacred soil?” Ianthill stopped and looked around. “And where are those bothersome Defenders?”

“The Defenders are on patrol. I suspect your ship will have them scrambling for the docks soon enough. They will be disappointed your ship is not the supply ship. It’s overdue.”

“What, Dicarion, you did not tell them I was coming? I thought you would have figured out I would be back by now.”

The old man grinned. “I am good, alas, but not that good, old friend.”

The rest of the party joined Ianthill in disembarking and stood behind him.

Dicarion became thoughtful. “I did not know you were coming, ‘tis true, but I welcome you just the same. It’s the Defenders that are likely to get all block-headed crazy when they discover you have come to the dock unannounced.”

“They will never change.”

“Nor would I expect them to; it’s their job,” Dicarion said, holding his arms in invitation. Ianthill embraced him warmly, and the black and white dog began to bark uncontrollably.

“Quiet, Palanon, Ianthill is a friend,” Dicarion scolded, and the dog stopped barking.

“Palanon! You named that dog Palanon?” Ianthill said amused. “What does our good man Palanon think of that?”

“Ask him yourself, the Defenders have arrived.” Dicarion pointed his twisted cane to several riders dressed in blue cloaks pulled over black armor approaching from the edge of the ruined city.

The men on horseback reined in their horses directly in front of Ianthill and Dicarion. There were five of them, with the lead man being about the age of Dorenn’s father, Lourn. His tabard bore the crest of the captain of the Defenders. His hair was black and curly with grey temples, and his facial features were rough and slightly pockmarked.

“You!” He glared at Ianthill. “I might have known it would be you that would sail so brazenly to the Sacred Land.”

“Well met and salutations, Palanon,” Ianthill said, ignoring Palanon’s tone. The dog, Palanon, looked up at Ianthill sharply when it heard its name.

“Dicarion, I told you the last time this man appeared on these docks not to allow him access to the Sacred Land. Why do you allow him passage now against my orders?”

Dicarion examined his dirty fingernails indifferently. “He slipped past me. I must be losing my edge.”

“Indeed.” Palanon was still glowering at Ianthill. “What brings the great defender of the isle to these lands? Another ancient scroll in the hall of records, perchance, or is it simply to make more mischief, perhaps?”

Ianthill lifted his staff and pointed it at Palanon. “I dare not tell anyone of my true reasons to grace these lands again, least of all, you.”

Palanon was stunned but recovered quickly. “Well, you being a great and powerful wielder in a land where you cannot draw upon your power disturbs me, for it means you are here for an urgent reason indeed. You are like a fish out of water here; I will have your reasons for landing on these shores.”

“No, you will not,” Ianthill said in a matter-of-fact tone. Palanon’s men shifted uncomfortably in their saddles, and Palanon’s contempt increased.

“You will not tell me then? I thought not. You will toy with me?” Palanon drew his sword from his scabbard, and his men followed suit.

Dorenn realized he was holding his breath.

Ianthill lowered his staff. “Very well, I shall give you a reason, Palanon. I need to know if the Enforcers are holding a young woman prisoner in the Sacred Land.”

Palanon re-sheathed his sword and motioned to his men to re-sheath theirs. “I know not why you insist on trying my patience, wielder,” he said. “The one you seek was at the Enforcers’ keep of Brightonhold. They brought her there a few weeks ago. It is now rumored they have moved her elsewhere. They say she killed a whole regiment of Enforcers near the Vale of Morgoran.”

Ianthill scoffed. “It was only a few men, three at the most, and she did not have any part in their death. They managed that out of their own stupidity. These rumors you speak of, do they tell where she is now?” Palanon said nothing, but Ianthill could read the answer on his face. “Are they keeping her in the dungeons below Vetell Fex?”

“Naturally, and under constant guard too. She has escaped them more than once, saying she needed to find Gondrial and warn him she was not herself. That talk almost got her flogged for madness, or so the rumors say. I have not any evidence to give you.”

Ianthill stomped the ground with the butt of his staff irritably. “Rumor or not, we need an escort across the Sacred Land and then on to the monastery of Vetell Fex.”

“Impossible, I am to admit no one, you know that, Ianthill,” Palanon said emphatically.

“Nevertheless, Palanon, I am going to cross the Sacred Land. You can choose to help me or you can be unfortunate enough to get in my way. I leave the matter up to you.”

Palanon shook his head. “The days and nights in the Sacred Land have grown increasingly darker, and I have heard reports of vegetation growing in remote areas. I sense change is on the horizon. I may not trust you, Ianthill, but my men and I will help you no matter how reluctantly. I have always been loyal to the Defenders’ cause, and I suspect whatever you may be up to shall not sway me from my course.”

Ianthill nodded. “The day is not getting any longer, Palanon, we need to get as far into the Sacred Land as the light of day allows.”

“I will guide you across the Sacred Land, but I cannot go with you to Vetell Fex. I can, however, tell you how to get yourself in when you arrive,” Palanon said. “You will have to enter alone, Ianthill. The keep guards will let you pass but not your party.”

“Let me worry about who goes in and who does not. Just lead me to the western border of the Sacred Land and I will find my way to Vetell Fex after I set foot on Symborian soil.”

“No need for you to lead them across, Palanon, I will take them,” Dicarion said. “There would be no use in you losing your post here at the docks, and you know as well as I that Commandant Trayore would have your head if your patrols came up missing.”

“Dicarion, I—”

“No, now you don’t argue with me, Palanon,” Dicarion scolded. “I will be taking Ianthill and his party to the keep and you will patrol here.”

Palanon bowed his head and nodded in reluctant agreement. “As you wish, honored Dicarion. I will allow this out of respect.”

Dicarion turned his attention to Ianthill. “The first bit of advice I have to give you is to send that huge ship you have there out to sea. If she stays moored to the docks, she will attract attention, and the sort of attention she would bring would not be the kind you would want on your back. We will need a few horses, and since they are scarce, I would suggest a small delegation of men.”

“I already have all the men I need right here on the dock, Dicarion,” Ianthill said as he waved his hand toward Dorenn and the others.

Palanon pointed at one of his soldiers. “Take two men and go to the stable. Prepare fresh horses for their journey.”

“Aye, sir,” the soldier said.

Gondrial was standing behind Ianthill with apprehension on his face. Dorenn had noticed Ianthill occasionally glancing at Gondrial with irritation.

“All right, Gondrial, what is on your mind?” Ianthill asked.

Gondrial frowned again and looked back to the ship. “We are stranded here once the ship sails. We have no way back?”

Ianthill scratched his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“We will be close enough to Symbor when we leave Vetell Fex, but we will have to hire a new ship. I have to be careful in Symbor. I er…well, I have had some trouble there. I would prefer the ship to swing around to port in Symbor.”

Ianthill smiled. “What sort of trouble, may I ask?”

“No, you may not ask,” Gondrial shot back.

Ianthill absently rubbed his left temple. “The new captain is not too keen on being in our service.” He sighed heavily. “It will cost me a small fortune, but I think I may be able to fix a price. I will have
The Sea Goddess
sail to Symbor.”