Exiles From The Sacred Land (Book 2) (17 page)

Dorenn, Morgoran, Melias, and Vesperin made their way to the thrones.

“Is there anything I should know, Morgoran?” Dorenn asked.

“You are asking me?” Morgoran seemed surprised.

“You are my advisor, advise me.”

“Very well, there is nothing here uncommon. When Sildariel enters, you bow, and do not look into her eyes until she speaks. Don’t stare at her. I’m sure, in your dreams, you have seen her beauty.”

“Actually, she is never in my dreams. Only Seandara.”

“Don’t address her by the familiar. You may refer to her as ‘Your Grace.’ If Seandara is with her, then refer to her as ‘my lady.’”

A side door opened, and the four immediately bowed. The introductions Dorenn was accustomed to were not given, just a few guards followed by a tall woman in a blue dress. Dorenn was not prepared for the legendary beauty of Queen Sildariel. Her dark hair poured over pale shoulders. There was a slight sharpness to her features. Her ears, as delicate as they were, came to a smooth point. Dorenn’s heart fluttered as he recognized the girl in the doorway behind the queen. With a solemn radiance that could not be fully explained stood Seandara, princess of Endil. As she emerged from the vine-wrapped doors, the smaller branches of the trees, still out of reach, bent down to greet her. The vines around the doors, and even in the decorum, shifted to reach out to her, caressing her silky skin as she passed through them, like adoring children might cling to a parent. Her dress was white with purple accents. Garland adorned her dark hair, which was pinned up and to the side of her head in a beautiful, yet formal, pattern. Dorenn lowered his head when Sildariel, who looked to be Seandara’s sister rather than her mother, caught his gaze.

“Morgoran of Symboria, I greet you and welcome you to Endil, even if your visit is ill -conceived and ill-timed.”

“My apologies, my lady, it was not by my choice, rather, it was King Amarantus,” Morgoran said as he bowed.

Dorenn could feel Sildariel’s stare burning into his skull. “The king of dragonkind has forced you here?”

“Not forced,” Morgoran lied, “suggested. The boy is ill, and we could use your help.”

Sildariel motioned for them to follow her through a wooden door to a more private chamber. As soon as they entered, a guard shut the door behind them. A large banquet table took up a majority of the room. “Sit and we will discuss the matter.”

“Before we sit, Your Grace,” Morgoran began, “I would appreciate it if you would take a look at the boy. King Amarantus and I believe he suffers from essence sickness.”

“Draegodor could heal such a malady.” Sildariel moved to Dorenn and lifted his head so she could look him in the eye. “No, not essence sickness. This is something else, something far worse than recklessly drawing essence could cause. Another affliction dwells within this boy.”

Dorenn frowned at Morgoran as soon as Sildariel let his chin go. “Great, just great. Now what?”

Morgoran shook his head for Dorenn to stop talking. Dorenn reluctantly complied and took a seat at the table. An antsy feeling rose within him. He felt like he needed to make Sildariel and Morgoran understand that he was fine. There was nothing to worry about.

“You must do as you, no doubt, have already concluded. You must take him to Rugania,” Sildariel instructed as she rounded Morgoran and sat at the head of the table.

Morgoran sat just to her right. “Aye, but what do you see?”

Sildariel addressed Seandara, who sat down at the table opposite Dorenn. “Is he the one?”

“Aye, Mother, it is he.” Seandara’s voice made Dorenn’s heart flutter again.

“Morgoran, you are to leave Endil immediately. There will be no quarters here for you.”

“I don’t understand. What is it?” Morgoran asked.

“Seandara has been dreaming of this boy for some time now. The dreams never end well for him.”

“I dream of her too,” Dorenn blurted out and immediately regretted it. Morgoran turned on him like a scolding father, his eyes filled with fury.

“They cannot be in Endil together.”

“This is ridiculous, my lady. They are just dreams. I dreamed once of choking on rabbit stew, but I still eat it whenever I am able, and to no ill affect.”

“It isn’t the content of the dreams that worry me. It is the fact that they have never met until now. Familiar dreams are a sign of something manipulative taking control.”

“It is a mistake, Your Grace. How can they be so familiar with each other from the vagueness of dreams? They just
think
they have been dreaming of one another.”

Seandara took the initiative and reached out her hand to Dorenn. Instinctively he reached out to her in return. “This is how,” Seandara said as she touched Dorenn’s fingertips with hers.

Dorenn felt a rush of emotion pulse through him. A blinding white light issued forth from the touched fingertips. Images flooded his mind of the dream he had of Seandara, and something more. Images of him fighting Morgoran with essence and striking him down, followed by an image of hundreds of dragons flying directly toward him, black dragons calling to him. He also saw the image of a man dressed in all black sitting on a throne of gold. He pulled away from Seandara and the images stopped.

Morgoran gasped. “I have not seen this since before the War of the Oracle.”

“What is it, Morgoran?” Dorenn asked.

Sildariel answered, “You are Solicanths, two sides of one. Somewhere in the past, our families have touched. Historically every pair of Solicanths ever known to stay together has caused great destruction and death. The best course of action is to separate you.”

“What?” Dorenn was confused.

“Solicanths and destruction are a bit of an extreme, Your Grace,” Morgoran said. “In the old days, I knew a few Solicanths that lived in harmony.”

“True, perfect balance is achieved through careful training. Seandara might be able to handle the training and discipline needed to achieve balance, but let me be honest. This boy is a mess.”

Dorenn was glad to see that Morgoran seemed to take offense. “Your Grace, this boy is under my tutelage. I will do whatever is necessary to train him.”

Sildariel put her hand on Morgoran’s shoulder. “Being a Solicanth is but a small fragment of his illness. Something else dwells within him, and I fear only a trip to Rugania will help him.”

“If it isn’t essence sickness and it isn’t the Solicanth curse, then what else could it be, Your Grace?” Morgoran almost sounded sarcastic.

Sildariel stared at Morgoran for a long while, and Dorenn thought she might be contemplating how best to throw him out of Endil. “I do suspect the boy has a form of essence sickness—he has most of the symptoms—and it’s also true that he lacks discipline to endure being a Solicanth, but there is something else, something more.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

She spoke softly. “His mind is on the brink of madness. I can see him becoming a great man or a terrible enemy, and both visions have equal possibility. I am sorry, Morgoran.” Her tone changed from soft to stern. “I will supply you with horses from our private stables. You have to get him to Rugania. I have several contacts in Ormond’s Arch, and they will return our horses to us. I can also send a request with you for the passage on the old ferry. The ferry master will not take anyone out to the island without a good reason.”

“I am certain he will remember me,” Morgoran said. “But still, it couldn’t hurt for you to send word. I assume Ianthill’s family still resides there?”

“Aye, Erinthill and Brynna still keep the grounds of the old citadel, with a little help from others, of course.”

“Good, I would like to see Ianthill’s sister and niece. It has been far too long.”

“Can’t we use the Lora Daine to get there?” Dorenn asked.

“No, the Lora Daine will not work in Rugania. In fact, I hope I remember the spell to prepare you to enter the island.”

“Why do you have to be prepared?” Dorenn asked.

“Rugania is also called the Isle of Doom, because if you are not prepared properly, the enchantments of the island will kill you instantly when you set foot on its soil. It’s a defensive measure that became necessary prior to the War of the Oracle. Some unsavory folk saw it fit to try to assassinate wielders in those days. No one bothered to remove the enchantments after the war. Come to think of it, I am not entirely certain the enchantments should ever be removed; they fulfill a purpose.”

A knock at the wooden door interrupted the conversation. A servant entered. “Forgive my intrusion, Your Grace, but we have more guests arriving.”

Sildariel gave Morgoran an inquisitive gaze. He nodded, “Aye, I was expecting more quests, “He said. “I assume the king has sent on the rest of our party, two dragon knights.”

Sildariel nodded her head at the servant, and he showed in Tatrice, Bren, and a woman dressed in white. Sildariel immediately stood, prompting the rest to also stand.

The woman in white bowed to Sildariel, and Tatrice and Bren followed suit. “Your Grace,” the woman in white said with a wonderful, musical voice.

“My lady,” Sildariel said in return.

Dorenn suddenly felt uncomfortable being in the same room with Tatrice and Seandara at the same time. He worried that Tatrice might catch wind that this was the girl he had been dreaming about—the same girl that had made her so jealous on more than one occasion. Morgoran began talking to Sildariel about arrangements to travel to Ormond’s Arch, and Dorenn tuned him out. Trying to avoid her direct gaze, he looked at Tatrice and was caught by surprise by the magnificence of her new white armor. His eyes lingered too long, and Tatrice met his gaze with a wide smile. She cut her eyes twice to the woman in white next to her, so Dorenn scrutinized what she was trying to draw his attention to. Tatrice then pointed to her armor. Comprehension came to Dorenn in a flash. “She’s a dragon!” Dorenn blurted out.

Morgoran stopped talking to Sildariel and focused on Dorenn. “What are you doing? You are in polite company.”

Dorenn was horrified. He awkwardly bowed his head and lurched forward toward Shadesilver. “Forgive me, mistress,” he spluttered. She stepped back. Horrified for a second time, he tried to grab for Shadesilver’s hand, and she yanked it back, obviously unsure of what he was trying to do. Dorenn could see the frightened expression on her face, and for a reason he could not explain, it angered him. Tatrice, with sympathy, tried to step in. He looked at her and at Bren, who was shaking his head. “That is Seandara over there.” He pointed to the elf maiden. “The one I dream about.” In his mind, he was trying to take advantage of the situation and change the subject. Seandara bolted from the room, clearly embarrassed by the dismayed expression on Tatrice’s face. “You have frightened her away with your mean-spirited gaze!” Dorenn felt himself fall backward as Tatrice pushed him away from her. Bren grabbed Tatrice by the arms and held her back. A strange sense of relief washed over Dorenn as he fell. There was pain coming from the back of his head briefly before the darkness.

“That should do it for now,” Dorenn heard Sildariel say. “He should be coming around soon.” She cleared her throat as if what she was about to say was difficult. “I must apologize, Morgoran. I should not have been so dismissive before. I knew he was ill, but I never expected it to surface like that.”

“Don’t regret trying to protect your people and your daughter, Your Grace, I am thankful you have placed your healing hands on him.”

Dorenn opened his eyes. “I am cured then?”

“There he is,” Morgoran said. “No, son, not cured, but in much better shape than before. Queen Sildariel has used her healing magic on you to help you cope long enough for us to get you to Rugania.”

“Thank you.” Dorenn addressed the queen. She graciously nodded her acknowledgement.

“There should be no more outbursts or arrogant, misguided banter from you for the duration,” Morgoran said as he put a reassuring hand on Dorenn’s forehead.

“What about Tatrice? Is she all right?” Dorenn asked.

Morgoran took a breath. “She understands that you were not yourself, but it is difficult for her to handle seeing you like this. I thought it best that I send Tatrice, Bren, and Shadesilver on ahead to Ormond’s Arch. That way, Queen Sildariel’s healing would have time to work and you could see her with a clearer head.”

“You will be more like yourself,” Sildariel interjected.