Exiles From The Sacred Land (Book 2) (10 page)

Fayne tightened the cloth bandage on Kimala’s leg. The older woman yelped again.

“You know, there is probably some Ascendic Root near that oak tree.” He pointed to the tree behind them. “I could brew it into a pretty decent pain reliever.”

“Why don’t you just do that,” Kimala stated. “I could use a decent pain reliever.”

Trendan took the dagger from his belt and started digging beside the tree.

“Hey, wait a moment, is that my dagger you are using to dig with?”

Trendan stopped and held the dagger in front of his eyes and turned it back and forth with exaggeration. “Aye, I believe it is.”

“Well, stop. I will have to sharpen it again if you keep digging in the dirt with it.”

“You threw it away, and I found it. It’s my dagger now.” He kept right on digging.

“Oh, really.” She made a move toward him, and he raised the dagger at her. His expression became deathly serious.

“Trendan?”

“Go back to tending to your mother. I told you, I found this dagger, and it’s mine.”

“See,” Kimala sneered, “nothing to worry about. He already knows. Maybe he isn’t as dumb as I thought.”

“Quiet, Mother, you are not helping.” She gently approached Trendan. “Why are you acting this way?”

Trendan dug up the root and began cutting it up with the dagger. “I need one of your pots and some water.” He remembered the pot he fastened to his own pack. “Wait, never mind. I still have this one.” He removed the pot and began putting in the prepared root. He took a water skin from his pack and emptied it into the pot. “Now we need a fire.” He stared directly at Kimala.

“What?”

“Well, you could conjure a fire, being that you are a witch, or you could have your servant with the bow trained on me to fetch some wood and start one. Either way makes no difference to me.”

“Impressive. You
are
smarter than I gave you credit for. Bhavare, you can come out.” A dark-cloaked man with brown skin and jet black hair stepped from behind a nearby tree. “Get some firewood,” Kimala commanded.

“Trendan,” Fayne began, “let me explain.”

“No need, Fayne. It’s clear.” He stirred and mixed the root mixture. “I thought it was a bit odd that you insisted on coming with me when Vesperin, the one you were so keen to marry, was so close nearby.”

“Oh, do give up, Fayne dear. Clearly he is a typical man, too preoccupied with his bruised ego than to care for your feelings.”

“Mother! He has no idea about what we are trying to accomplish. To him, you look positively dreadful. Think of your nefarious association with Naneden and your behavior at Brightonhold! I am ready to tell him the truth. It will be a relief.”

Kimala sighed and somehow found a way to make it sound sarcastic. “It isn’t important he know the truth.
He
isn’t important. Fayne, this is not productive.”

Bhavare returned with some stray logs and started stacking them to make a fire. After they were arranged, he began to try to light the logs with some kindling and his steel and flint.

Trendan tried to ignore Kimala’s words and brew the painkiller potion. He could feel Fayne’s eyes upon him. He ignored her too.

“Trendan, I know how this looks, but we are really all on the same side. Mother is a good friend of Enowene’s, and together they are trying to bring down Naneden and his schemes.”

Trendan poured the potion into a cup and handed it to Kimala. “I am sure you mean well. I am not sure what I believe, but I will sort it out.”

Kimala drank the potion. “I can’t say anything good about the taste, but I do feel better.”

Trendan cleaned out the pot and fastened it back to his pack. Fayne was too distracted to realize it was actually hers, which is exactly what Trendan hoped. He knew he would have to make a clean and fast getaway.

Fayne’s expression suddenly went cold. She looked at her mother, whose face was slowly turning purple, and then back at Trendan. “What did you give her?”

Bhavare rushed to Kimala’s side.

Kimala hunched over and began to convulse. Fayne cradled her head, and when she turned back to face Trendan, he was already gone.

Chapter 6: A Cursed Land

The rope around Rennon’s neck constricted his throat, but since it was not particularly long, it strangled him instead of breaking his neck. He flailed about for several moments, which pulled the noose tighter, and then all went dark.

When Rennon awoke, he sat up with a start and grabbed at his neck. He could feel the raised whelps caused by the tightness of the rope, and his skin was tender to the touch. He sat on a rickety straw bed, in a partially darkened room, with shabby surroundings. The door barely covered the opening as light poured in through its cracks. The room’s one window, covered with tattered and torn dark green curtains, had no glass in it. He heard a moan coming from the opposite corner, and he saw something stir in the darkness. He recognized the moans and didn’t hesitate; he leaped from his bed and rushed to the silhouette, taking her up in his arms. “Deylia,” he said, smoothing her hair back out of her eyes.

She looked up at him and her mouth curled into a grin. “You fool.”

Rennon coughed in a stifled snort of joy.

“How did you get us out of there?” she asked.

“He did not,” someone said from just beyond the doorway. A man wearing the armor of a dragon knight stepped into the room. “I did.” The knight’s black-scaled armor flashed brilliantly whenever the sun reflected off it. The knight wore a helm that completely covered his face.

“Who are you?” Deylia asked.
Rennon, I can’t touch his mind.

The knight stood motionless in the doorway. “You heard her. Who are you? Where are we?” Rennon tried not to look at Deylia.
I don’t know what that means, touch his mind. You might as well be speaking gibberish.

The knight shifted his weight and leaned against the doorway. “I encourage you to use your minds. It is safe to use here as I am not here to stifle you. You are already conversing, good.” He reached up and removed his helm.

“Theosus, it was you?” Rennon gasped.

“Indeed, I am afraid the tin I gave you had the opposite effect of what you intended.”

“You almost got me killed!” Rennon said with contempt. He moved to his feet. “And I have not had a chance to brew any tea.”

“But you were not killed and here you stand alive.” He looked at Deylia. “Here you both live and here you both will learn the old ways.”

“I will not! I am not ever going to become a wielder!” Rennon bellowed.

“That is why she is here.” Theosus pointed an armored finger at Deylia.

“You are a madman,” Rennon said.

“No, my boy, that is you,” he said as he left the room.

Rennon chased after him and was thrown back as he tried to enter the open doorway.

“It’s protected,” Deylia rasped. “There is no defense against the wild magic. We could easily break the barrier.” She took a deep breath. “But I think he is using dragon magic.”

“I am not sure where we are yet, but I am sure we wouldn’t get far. We have to be smarter than that if we want to get away. How can you tell he is using dragon magic?”

“Well, for one, he is a dragon, and second, I didn’t feel any wielder essence.” She searched his eyes. “You can’t feel it, can you? You don’t know the difference.”

Rennon shook his head. “Where I come from there aren’t many wielders about, and certainly no dragons. He has a strange look about him but not what I picture to be a dragon.”

Deylia snickered. “There aren’t many wielders anywhere, but I still learned to tell the difference. He is not in the form of a dragon right now. He looks to be part of the Duil brood. They can look like a man or an elf or anything they choose. All the drakes in the Duil brood all have strange blue skin.”

“Doesn’t the blue skin tip off people that he is a dragon?”

“It didn’t tip you off.” She laughed.

“Others, I mean.”

“The Duil brood are not the only one around with blue or bluish skin. His dragon magic is what gave him away to me.”

“You know a lot about dragons for a . . .”

“What? A girl?”

“I was going to say for a poor girl in the streets.”

“Oh.” She hesitated as if she wondered whether or not to tell him something. “I had a friend that was interested in dragons. He wanted to be a dragon knight.”

There was a pause in the conversation as Rennon examined Deylia’s injuries for anything that might be serious. Thunder rolled in a melodic flourish somewhere in the distance. She smiled at him, and he could not take his eyes off her desirable, full lips. He felt the urge to kiss her again but soon came to his senses. “Wait a moment, didn’t you take that potion from the other apothecary? How are you feeling anything?” He moved away from her.

“Rennon, that was long ago. They took everything from me. I have no potion to take now.”

He paced the room and then went to the window. He brushed the dirty, shabby curtains aside and peered outside. “Deylia, come here. I think you will want to see this.” Deylia pulled herself up and moved to the window where Rennon held the curtains back for her. They were on the second floor of a massive, ruined complex. The room they occupied appeared to be the only part of the second floor still standing. Out in the distance, tornadoes and smaller twisters swirled in an elaborate dance, weaving in and out from one another. Lightning flashed and rolled in heavy, dark clouds that spanned as far as the eye could see. Another ominous clap of thunder breached the highly-charged air, which illustrated to Rennon how massive the storm was.

“What is it?” Deylia whispered.

“I think that is the Plain of Storms. We are in Ishrak!”

A white haze and a humming noise came from the doorway as Theosus entered the room, disturbing the magic barrier. He carried two plates with meager amounts of food on each. “Ah, you are admiring the Plain of Storms.” He sat the plates down on a small, rickety table. “It is an amazing sight. The storms come and go but the sky is never clear. Do you know why?”

“I don’t care,” Rennon replied.

“I care. How does this storm continue? Shouldn’t a jungle be there instead of a plain with all the rain?” Deylia asked.

“The storm is conjured mostly. It rains occasionally, but for the most part, the storm rages in the minds of those with the wild magic. They live in this village and project their abilities out onto the plain.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Rennon inquired but still feigned indifference.

“They have a type of essence sickness that cannot be cured. Mindwielders are different. There is no defense against their magic and no one around anymore that knows how to cure their madness, so they just project their power into that storm over and over again to keep from hurting themselves and others.”

“What a terrible way to live,” Deylia concluded as she left the window to see what food Theosus had brought them.

“Is that why you masquerade as an apothecary? To find a cure for mindwielding?”

“Not a cure for mindwielding, boy. A cure for the illness that mindwielding by one untrained brings. No one remembers how to train the mind for the wild magic anymore, hence the reason mindwielding is also known as the wild magic.”

Deylia started wolfing down bites of bread and unceremoniously talked with her mouth full. “Why? Where did they go?”

“Dead, my dear, all dead. Most of them were killed in the War of the Oracle. Now that the Sacred Land is coming back to life, we had better figure out a way to bring back training mindwielders, or those who seek to enslave and conquer will have us all. The Sacred Land is destined to become the most powerful source of magical essence ever known, and that is why I brought you here. I need you.”

“Ridiculous,” Rennon scoffed. “Even if you did find a way to bring back such training, which is highly unlikely given that no one remembers how, they would not be affected by the Sacred Land because, as far as I or anyone knows, mindwielders do not draw upon essence.”

“Morgoran set out a specific plan for me all those seasons ago. He knew you would be captured—he told me where and how to rescue you. I brought you here to help revive the old ways of the wild magic. Morgoran has foreseen all of this and he has foreseen that you will come around.”

“Wielding sure does cause a lot of sickness. Perhaps that should tell you people something.”

Theosus chuckled. “Sickness from wielding was not uncommon in the old days, but the magic was stronger then and easily dealt with. So much has been forgotten now. I am certain that it appears much worse than it is. I brought you here because Morgoran told me you would be able to cure it.”

“He was wrong.”

“I don’t think so.” He looked at Deylia and then back to Rennon. “That potion for the malady you took—you misunderstood her. It wasn’t to suppress your mind, but it was to control the malady. In fact, it was to treat the malady. That’s why I told you to stop taking it; you didn’t need it, and it wouldn’t work on you anyway. You are not sick, but your friend here is. She has the illness. She will go mad within the month without the potion. I suggest you get started fulfilling your purpose or lose the girl. It’s your choice.”