Defenders of The Sacred Land: Book One of The Sacred Land Saga (37 page)

As Melias led the party down out of the valley and away from the Lake of Souls, Dorenn looked back at the monastery one last time. The damage looked even greater from the ground. If Dorenn had not witnessed it, he never would have believed that any one spell could destroy so much. Of course, he realized that the blackfire only destroyed the portion of the army the monks now gathered up for disposal. The monastery was damaged because of the violation of its essence.

Ianthill rode close behind Melias; no one approached him or bothered him. Palanon sat silently behind the saddle horn of Ianthill’s mount. Rennon brought up the rear, and Dorenn felt sure that if he had a chance, Rennon would slip away, but Dorenn figured he would wait until he felt it was a bit safer to do so. Vesperin rode just ahead of Dorenn and behind Ianthill. Beside Dorenn rode Gondrial. Dorenn felt the emptiness of the fallen wielder as they rode. He understood that Ianthill had been angry for the loss of Dicarion, but to use the blackfire? Ianthill must have been more frustrated than Dorenn thought.

“Gondrial, could I speak to you about what happened back at the monastery?”

Gondrial looked at Dorenn and shook his head. “Not if it’s about what Ianthill did or the consequences of his actions. Ianthill can hear far better than you might think, and he needs time to deal with it on his own.”

“Sorry, I guess it will wait then.”

“No harm done,” Gondrial said, breathing in the cold air.

“Are we going directly to Brightonhold Keep?” Dorenn asked.

Gondrial nodded. “If I had to venture a guess, I would say so.”

For the remainder of the day, Melias led them through the snow and cold, onward through the Sacred Land. Dorenn was not exactly sure why Ianthill stayed to himself, but he suspected the wielder was ashamed for using essence in the heat of anger. As the light of day faded, the temperature drop was more than Dorenn’s feet and hands could bear. His boots offered some protection from the cold and he had his hands wrapped tightly, but he would have traded anything for a good pair of gloves. The biting numbness of his fingers made it difficult for him to hold onto the reins.

The sun had already set when Melias finally allowed the party to stop for the night. The party was to bed down in what must have been a farmstead long ago. Remains of a barn sat only a few paces from a stone farmhouse that someone had kept in fair condition. Gondrial told him the defenders maintained dwellings in the Sacred Land where they could stay the night sheltered from the elements while on patrol. The Defenders even kept stores of dried food in the old farm cellars.

As soon as a fire was roaring in both fireplaces and they had eaten their fill from the cellar stores, both Vesperin and Melias set about with their meditations in the south room, each in his own ritualistic way. The monk of Fawlsbane Vex had not uttered a word the whole trip. Ianthill disappeared into the decaying barn shortly after they had arrived without eating and had not yet returned. Rennon bedded down in a corner just after supper and was unwilling to speak with anyone. Dorenn was left, in the north room, with the company of Gondrial, who had managed to find the Defender’s stash of ale.

“Ah, here we go, Dorenn. I found two mugs in the cellar. This ale will warm our tired bones now that our bellies are full.” Gondrial had rolled a barrel into the room and tapped it.

“You are not expecting the two of us to finish off this entire barrel are you, Gondrial?”

“Certainly not, but we shall try with all our combined efforts,” he said smiling.

“How do you do it, Gondrial?”

“Do what, my boy?” he said, gulping some of the ale.

“Keep your spirits up.”

“Well, it helps to drink some spirits down first,” he joked, holding up his mug.

Dorenn laughed and sipped some of his ale. The brew was surprisingly good; it had little of the aftertaste he had expected. Gondrial took out his pipe and began to pack it. “We are not going to get very far on this barrel if all you plan to do is sip it like that. Ale’s for drinking, not for sipping.”

Dorenn tipped his mug and took a long, hard drink. He lowered the mug, smacking his lips. “Ah,” he said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“There you go, boy. That’s how it’s done,” Gondrial said with satisfaction.

Dorenn wondered for a moment if he should try and approach the subject of the monastery again, but he decided to let Gondrial drink a little more ale to loosen up first.

Dorenn and Gondrial finished off two more mugs of ale before Melias startled them by appearing next to the fire. “Are there any more of those mugs about?” he asked in a voice Dorenn would never have believed came from his scarred face. Dorenn expected it to be much rougher and raspy. Instead it was almost melodic.

“I’d wager there is another in the cellar,” Gondrial said, getting up from his comfortable position against his bedroll backed to a bare wall and heading back down into the cellar. A moment later Gondrial reappeared and blew the dust out of a brown mug before handing it to Melias. Melias took the mug and rinsed it out with a bit of the ale and tossed it into the fireplace. Gondrial winced at the loss.

“Is Vesperin still praying?” Dorenn asked the monk as he filled his mug with ale.

“Oh yes, the priests of Loracia spend hours praying. I am not entirely certain what they have to pray about or why it takes them so long, but it does keep them occupied,” Melias said.

“Monks of Fawlsbane Vex do not pray as long, I take it?” Dorenn asked.

Melias became irritated at the question. “Not nearly as long,” the monk answered. Dorenn decided not to continue.

“Personally, I am pleased to have someone else to drink ale with,” Gondrial said. “The more the merrier. I would hate to have to drink it all.” Gondrial took another swig of ale. “I thought the monks of Vetell Fex were mostly sworn to silence.”

“We are within the monastery, but not in situations such as this. Fawlsbane Vex is a just god, so he does not require us to be unsociable. Monks that bear his name need their voices for war after all.” He took a gulp of ale. “How would we speak on the battlefield otherwise?”

“Good point,” Gondrial said.

The bald monk smiled at Dorenn, and for a moment, Dorenn saw his eyes turn red again, and he shrank back.

“What is it, boy?” Gondrial asked Dorenn.

“I can answer that,” Melias interrupted. “You see my eyes as red, right?”

“I do, why is that?”

“I am a warrior monk. I can conjure great strength and stamina when I need it. It is a skill developed by my people over thousands of seasons. I can also see in the dark as if it were day. When it is dark and I am trying to see, my eyes sometimes appear red.”

Ianthill suddenly burst into the room, bringing cold from outside and startling Dorenn. He eyed the barrel of ale and then the three drinking it. Dorenn froze. Ianthill seemed on the edge of anger as he closed the door behind him and stood with his eyes fixed on the barrel. “I see you wasted no time in finding the ale, Gondrial.”

“You know me, Ianthill, if there is drink to be found, I will root it out,” Gondrial responded.

“Indeed. Well, how about rooting out some for me?” Ianthill said as he warmed himself by the fire.

“I will be right back,” Gondrial said as he jumped up from his pallet. Ianthill took Gondrial’s spot as soon as he had left for the cellar. “So, what are we discussing?” Ianthill asked.

“You seem in better spirits now, Ianthill,” Dorenn said.

“Let’s not kick sleeping dogs, Dorenn,” Ianthill said in an even tone.

Dorenn flinched but said nothing. He did not mean to offend the wielder.

A moment later Gondrial returned with three more dusty mugs. He walked into the room and then, as an afterthought, went back outside. When he returned, the mugs were packed full of snow. He melted the snow over the fire and rinsed out the mugs with the resulting water. He tossed the water out the front door. “There, nice and clean,” he said, glancing momentarily at Melias. “I brought enough mugs in case the other two want to join us later. I don’t want to go out again and…” He noticed Ianthill in his spot. “Hey, that’s my spot, Ianthill,” he said.

Ianthill intentionally looked dazed. “Oh, well, I guess it is mine now.”

Gondrial stood before Ianthill, his gaze bent on him.

“Very well,” Ianthill said, moving aside to let Gondrial sit. Ianthill found his own pack and spread out a pallet on the floor.

As the merriment continued, Vesperin finally came into the room, and Gondrial poured him a mug of ale. Dorenn lit up his pipe and Ianthill followed suit. Since the laughter had woken him from slumber, Rennon decided to join in as well. Rennon made a point to stay clear of Dorenn, however. But Dorenn was glad to see Rennon join in despite the tension between them, and he realized they all needed a break from the pressures of reality, even if for only a few hours.

Dorenn awoke to a pounding headache. He heard Vesperin and Rennon groaning as well. Gondrial moved about, preparing to make breakfast while nursing his head. Dorenn heard Melias complain to Ianthill that the day was gloomy and more snow was falling. Ianthill and Melias did not show any signs of a hangover, and Ianthill was delighting in speaking loudly to annoy Gondrial, who had drunk more ale than the three boys put together. Melias insisted on putting the farm house back in order when breakfast, consisting of hard bread and cheese, was done. He said they would respect the hospitality of the men who kept the farmhouse in good repair by leaving it the way they had found it. The horses had kept well in the stables located in the corner of the barn left standing. Apparently, Ianthill had seen to their care before he had come back into the farmhouse the night before.

By midmorning the party moved steadily onward. By midday they had reached a stretch of plains with a single stone structure far in the middle of the clearing. As they moved nearer, Dorenn could see it was a great tower about twice the size of Morgoran’s tower. The outward edges of the stone structure were smooth, and it had many shuttered windows from top to bottom. The tower had an extended base that gave it the appearance of a large stone spike protruding outward from the roof of a house. A few trees grew around the base of the structure and, to Dorenn’s surprise, they seemed to be alive even though they were in the Sacred Land and covered with snow.

“Dismount here,” Melias said as he stepped down from his horse. A wooden pole, driven into the tower’s foundation and attached to the ground, served as a hatching post. “Tie up your horses.”

One by one they attached the reins to the post and waited for Melias, who entered the tower first.

The party followed Melias up several stairs until they reached a great, round room in the tower. A man with grey hair and beard and dressed in a Defender’s uniform sat at a marble desk. Behind him was an enormous looking glass.

“Melias,” the man said, “welcome to the watchtower. It has been awhile since I have seen you around here.”

“Selaan, you look well,” Melias said.

Selaan noticed Ianthill and his smile abruptly turned to concern. “Master Ianthill,” he acknowledged.

“Captain,” Ianthill said.

Melias spoke up. “I am afraid we have some disconcerting news, Selaan. Naneden’s army is in Symboria, and we have reason to believe it will march through here.”

Selaan laughed. “Not possible. The armies of the West are in Symboria. They will engage Naneden long before he reaches us.”

Melias looked tense. “We have reason to believe the dark armies have either gotten past the armies of the West or have defeated them.”

Captain Selaan looked at Melias suspiciously. “How would you know this?”

“We received word at the monastery before I left. It was attacked by some of the dark army. There was no sign of the Western armies.”

Selaan eyed Ianthill. “I will keep a sharp lookout for this army, and I will raise the alarm if need be.”

“You see that you do,” Ianthill said. “Now we will take our leave.”

Ianthill stormed out of the tower muttering under his breath.

They had mounted their horses and were well on their way before Ianthill spoke. “Fools, the lot of them.”

“Why not have him raise the alarm now, Ianthill?” Gondrial asked.

“Because I have a plan to rescue Lady Shey, and if he raises the alarm now, it may work against me. I just wanted him to keep a sharp eye out, but I could tell he did not believe us.”

“It is difficult to believe an entire army has disappeared or has been defeated so quickly without seeing any signs of retreating soldiers,” Gondrial reminded him.

“True enough,” Ianthill said. “We will ride on to Calanbrough and see if we can rouse the Defender’s garrison there. If we can convince them of the dangers ahead, we will ask them to aid us at Brightonhold. The two keeps are within walking distance of each other.”

“What is your plan, Ianthill?” Dorenn asked.

Ianthill smiled. “Fox in the henhouse, Dorenn, fox in the henhouse.”

Dorenn looked at Vesperin with puzzlement. Ianthill rode ahead faster, and Dorenn spurred his horse on to keep up.