Exiles From The Sacred Land (Book 2) (12 page)

“I’m sure I can make you frustrated. You stink like the dead. How can an immortal elf be so wrinkly?”

“Not helping, Gondrial.”

“Sorry, just trying to take your mind off your pain.”

Lady Shey slowed down to help Gondrial with Ianthill. “There are too many of them.”

Gondrial smirked, “No! you don’t say!” Lady Shey glared at him.

“Shey, in my pocket,” Ianthill instructed. “The Lora Daine, get it.”

They rounded the next building and hunched down. Enowene and Sanmir, who had scouted ahead, rejoined them. “They will find us here,” Sanmir said. “We must keep moving.” He looked at Ianthill’s wound. “I know how to stop that poison when we get a moment. I will need a few things from the apothecary shop.”

Lady Shey found the Lora Daine in Ianthill’s pocket. It was a small brown stone the size of a man’s palm. She showed it to him.

“That’s it,” Ianthill said.

“Wait a moment,” Gondrial began. “You said that stone could only carry one person.”

“Aye, I did.”

“I think it should probably be me because—”

“Shut up, Gondrial,” Ianthill said. “Shey, give it to Sanmir. He can use the magic of the Siladil to amplify it for all of us.”

“Am I able?” Sanmir asked.

“Yes, the sand elves use this same type of magic all the time. It’s a rock, for Fawl’s sake. You just traveled through the ground. Do that!”

“Aye.” He clutched the stone, and the others all grabbed ahold of him. Instantly they fell through the ground, and in a flash of light, they were gone.

When Gondrial opened his eyes, they were all underwater. He pulled Ianthill up to the surface. They were close to a dock with several ships. Tall buildings built one on top of the other lined the landward side of the docks. Gondrial pulled Ianthill to the shoreline and flopped him up onto the beach. Lady Shey and Enowene were right behind him. Sanmir surfaced and began to swim in.

“Where are we?” Enowene asked.

“I think Seabrey,” Lady Shey answered. “I recognize the dock.”

“Nice aim, Sandy!” Gondrial chided Sanmir as he swam ashore.

“You prefer the Dramyds?” Sanmir said as he crawled onto the sand to tend to Ianthill. “He’s unconscious but breathing. We have to get him to an apothecary shop at once.”

“Shey says this is Seabrey. Are you familiar with it?” Gondrial inquired.

“Aye, the apothecary is a man named Joster. If that is the main dock, his shop isn’t far.”

“You had better go and get what you need, Sanmir,” Enowene suggested. “We will find a place to move him nearby.”

Shey glanced around. “Did any of you see what happened to Shila? She didn’t come with us.”

Sanmir nodded. “Aye, she headed back into the inn when the attack began.”

“I do hope she got away safely. She was a great help to me.”

“I’m sure she is fine,” Sanmir said. “She wasn’t in the thick of things.” He put his hand on Shey’s shoulder. “I will return as soon as I am able.”

Gondrial ran over to the nearest ship as Sanmir headed into town. A few moments later, Gondrial returned with four dirty, scruffy-looking sailors and an equally scruffy ship’s captain. They carried a piece of canvas with them to put Ianthill on. As soon as Ianthill was on the canvas, the four sailors hoisted him up and headed for the ship.

“I can’t thank you enough, Captain,” Gondrial said. “Our apothecary friend will be right back, and he will fix him up.”

The dirty-faced captain spit off to the side and stuffed a pipe in his mouth. Gondrial caught a whiff of rotten teeth and turned his head in disgust. “’Tis nary a trouble to help someone out.” The captain eyed Gondrial’s sword. “’Tis a fine sword ye got thar.”

“You are not getting my sword, but here.” Gondrial handed him three gold coins. It was more money than the captain was likely to see in a month of shipping, unless he was a pirate.

“Do ye all have gold?” The captain had a gleam in his eye.

“So, you’re a pirate, aren’t you?” Gondrial stated flatly.

“Nay, not a pirate, sir.”

“Good, because I would hate to have to kill ye. That is all the gold you are getting.” Gondrial drew in essence. “Here, let me light that.” He waved his hand over the pipe, and it caught fire. Instantly the captain understood. This man was not to be crossed.

“And don’t get any ideas about alerting any nearby Enforcers.”

“Nay, you are safe with us. Get yer man well and be on yer way.”

The two stepped onto the gang plank and went aboard ship.

Ianthill was placed on a cot in the captain’s cabin. Enowene and Shey cut away the sleeve of Ianthill’s shirt with a dagger Enowene carried.

“We need some clean water,” Enowene said.

“No, not water.” Gondrial stopped the captain who had already started for the cabin door. “Rum or any spirit you have would be better.”

“Aye, that I can find fer ya,” the captain said as he went to a side drawer. He produced a bottle of clear liquid. Gondrial popped the cork, and the unmistakable smell of hard alcohol diffused into the air.

Gondrial handed the bottle to Enowene. “Here you go. Alcohol can cure just about anything.”

“Aye, that will do nicely,” Enowene said. “I am certain you believe it will.” She cleaned and dressed his wound with what clean cloth the captain had available.

Satisfied that Ianthill was in good hands, Gondrial went to the dock to wait for Sanmir. The sun felt good on his skin, and he welcomed the heat to dry his wet clothes. Ianthill was still unconscious when Sanmir finally returned from the apothecary’s shop. Gondrial helped him mix the strange-smelling, yellow concoction needed to counter the Dramyd poison. The actual bite didn’t seem too bad once the wound was cleaned.

After sundown, the party relocated to a nearby inn just on the landward side of the docks, not far from the water. They had to move when the captain informed them that his ship was loaded and ready to sail. Sanmir had spotted the inn when he returned from his medicine run. By the next morning, Ianthill had still not regained consciousness, and Sanmir began to show signs of concern.

Gondrial suspected the only reason the Dramyds and Drasmyd Duil had not shown up again was the haphazard use of the Lora Daine that got them to Seabrey. They all tried to stay indoors as much as possible and not give spies the opportunity to spot them. He knew, however, it was only a matter of time before they would be discovered. If the enemy really wanted to locate them, they would find them.

Ianthill finally awoke on the second day after they arrived in Seabrey, but he was still very weak from fighting off the poison. He would need a couple of days to recuperate.

With Ianthill out of immediate danger, Gondrial became restless and decided to put on his cloak and go into Seabrey. He intended to scout the city and find out if anyone was looking for them or if there was anything out of the ordinary going on that could be a threat.

Seabrey, as one could imagine, was one of the major seaports of Symboria. This one happened to be the northernmost hub. This seaside city was of the typical wood and stone construction style of the northern port cities, with peeling paint and old, weatherworn wood. The buildings on the port side of Seabrey were built on top of other buildings in a crescent configuration around the docks. On the other side of the wall of weather-beaten buildings, the streets were arranged in a grid pattern—north and south, and then east to west. Moving away from the docks, the buildings and dwellings were nicer, with more paint still clinging to the exterior walls, but still rather worn from the sea air. People scurried about their day, completing random household tasks and earning wages, Gondrial assumed. Nothing seemed unusual as he strolled up the main market thoroughfare, where shops teemed with activity and vendors on the street hocked their wares. Gondrial did his best to avoid the hagglers. Seabrey, being so far north of the Sacred Land, tended to be much more liberal with the ban on magic. Due to the assault on Brightonhold Keep, the Enforcers had all but been dissolved in the South, and the few that remained in the North were, in effect, useless. Gondrial figured that word would come any day now for the remaining Enforcers to disperse. He did, however, see a couple of the ill-fated men roaming around the shops. If a real wielder appeared, they likely wouldn’t have a clue how to handle it. A humorous thought for Gondrial, considering one
had
shown up. He briefly considered having some fun with them by approaching but decided against it. Ianthill’s condition was not worth the risk of being caught, even if the Enforcers were probably inept.

Gondrial began meandering farther up the street. He traveled to the end of Market Row, where the shops ended and residential streets began, before heading back the way he came. He had almost discounted any worry of being followed or discovered.
I think we are still safe
, he thought to himself. He strolled a little lighter when, as if taunted by fate, a familiar face caught his eye. A man entering a nearby shop seemed extremely familiar. Upon following the man into the shop, he wracked his brain for an answer as to the identity of the man. He searched the small shop, but he did not see him again. He dismissed the encounter as nerves and exited the shop. The cloaked man had a shadow over his face from his hood anyway. There was no way to be certain that Gondrial had seen enough of the man to recognize him. Satisfied he had made a mistake, he once again sauntered along his route to return to Shey and the others. Not long afterward, he found himself several paces behind a man in a dark cloak darting in and out of the crowds of bartering and shopping patrons. Intrigued, Gondrial quickened his pace. When the man looked back before crossing to the other side of the street, Gondrial caught a glimpse of a familiar face. After a few moments of trying to place the face with a name, he realized the man looked a lot like Esperdahl, the guardian of the armory they had encountered in the ruins of Signal Hill. But that was impossible; how could Esperdahl leave the confines of Signal Hill? Gondrial moved quickly to intercept and crossed the street after the man. He had no indication the other knew he was following.

Gondrial made every effort to stay in close proximity to the cloaked man without getting too close. He would duck in alleyways and use people in front of him as shields to hide behind. When the man entered a side alley, Gondrial followed to discover the man had disappeared. He searched for a pathway the man could have taken but came up empty. Gondrial stood there in the alleyway for a moment, feeling rather silly. A passing resemblance to a man he knew could not leave Signal Hill was probably not a good reason to chase someone down in the streets.

He turned around to the leave the alley and came face-to-face with the man he was following.

Removing his hood as he spoke, the man inquired, “Are you following me, sir?”

Gondrial, for once, could not find his voice. Esperdahl and the man before him could have been brothers, but it was obvious now that this man was not Esperdahl.

“I thought you were someone else. I apologize.”

“Oh?” The man smiled. “I do seem to have one of those faces.”

“I’m sorry to have concerned you,” Gondrial stated, bowing slightly. “I‘ll let you be on your way.”

“No trouble at all. You just startled me. I used to be mistaken for my brother all the time. I have a twin you see, and he and I used to look very much alike.”

“I’m sure you did,” Gondrial said, clearly trying to get away from the chatty fellow now that he no longer had any interest in him.

“Wait, friend,” the man pleaded. Gondrial stopped trying to escape for a moment. “Tell me, sir, who did you mistake me for?”

“That is an odd question,” Gondrial responded.

“Is it? I apologize for my curiosity.” The man lurched forward and plunged a lengthy dagger into Gondrial’s gut. “I’ll take this,” he said, cutting Gondrial’s purse loose.

Gondrial considered he had defeated all those Dramyds and worse just to be gutted by a common thief. “No, I don’t think you will.” He let the essence enter him. Sharp pains immediately pervaded his wounded, weakened body, and his head rushed, making him dizzy. The man bolted, letting Gondrial fall to the ground. A reckless bolt of lightning crackled through the air, catching the fleeing man in the seat of his breeches. The thief dropped the purse to clutch his burning behind as he fell to the ground.