Exiles From The Sacred Land (Book 2) (16 page)

“Your Grace?” Oberan seemed concerned.

The Lora Daine began to fluctuate in the king’s hand. “What new madness is this?” the king said, alarmed.

The stone assumed the visage of Theosus and spoke. “Just a trick Morgoran taught me long ago.” He glanced at Ganas. “See, Morgoran was right. I did know what to do with you.”

“Brendlewyre, what is the meaning of this?” Oberan asked.

“Information, Oberan. Naneden has found a way to exile the Western army all the way across the Forbidden Sea to Denogia. I am assuming he used some kind of arcane dragon magic or magic from the Tome of Enlightenment to do it. Actually, no one knows how he did it. Morgoran foresaw this and sent me word just after his return.”

“Why you? If Morgoran knew about it, then why didn’t he just send the boy straight to me?”

“The boy, Rennon, had to come here for some reason. I didn’t ask,” he lied. “Also, the stone you see before you had to come from me. Only I know of the exact location of the army, and you will have to send this boy to the army with one of the dragonkind if you want to have any hope of getting the army back to fight the armies occupying the Sacred Land.”

“So you had a hand in this,” the king stated.

“Naturally. I gave the fool the location to send the army. He thinks I work for him. Morgoran knew you would need me. I imbued the Lora Daine with the location. It will lead you to the army. However, only a dragon can use it. I made sure of that. Man is not trustworthy enough.”

“You put me in a difficult situation, Brendlewyre.” He seemed to have an epiphany. “I am going to send the scout back to you. I charge you with finding a way to return the army of the West to our shores. If you do this, I will pardon you of all your past offenses.”

“That son of a goat. He did this to me. He knew!” Theosus cursed.

Tatrice stepped up to the king. “Your Grace, Morgoran can still help you.”

“No, he is far away.”

“What? Where are Dorenn, Melias, and Vesperin?” Tatrice’s voice became almost shrill.

“Careful, that is the king you are raising your voice to,” Oberan cautioned.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Tatrice said with some urgency. “May I inquire where my friends are?”

The king appeared irritated, but Tatrice knew his irritation was not toward her. “The boy is very sick. I am not sure you know the extent of it. He seems to be coping with it well, but he is dangerous. I might have acted a bit rashly, but he needed immediate help.”

“Your Grace, what did you do?” Tatrice asked, not caring about Oberan clearing his throat.

“I sent them to the Great Forest so that Morgoran could get Dorenn help. You have to understand, the boy has essence sickness. He could kill someone or destroy most of Draegodor without knowing what he was doing. The sickness is more than just insanity. It builds and builds until . . .” He saw the horrified look on Tatrice’s face. “Well, I had to get him closer to help.”

Tatrice marched over to Shadesilver. “Can you get me to Dorenn?”

“I can send you to them,” the king answered before Delanora had a chance.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but Tatrice is my knight, and I will go with her to her friends, if I have your leave?”

“Aye, Delanorasylva. You have my leave. Only, the enchanters have not made you a Lora Daine yet. You will have to go over land unless you let me send you.” He turned to Oberan and Steben. “While I take them to the throne room, I want you two to prepare a strategy for Brendlewyre.” He turned to Bren and Amadace and gave Amadace a cocked eyebrow.

“Oh, yes, and Bren, you must go with Shadesilver and Tatrice. I still need you to keep me informed.”

“As you wish, my king,” Bren said.

The king led the way to the throne room. Amadace, Oberan, and Steben headed in another direction.

Shadesilver whispered in Tatrice’s ear as they walked down the enormous hallway. “King Amarantus and Morgoran do not get along. The king barely tolerates him. I think he sent him away just to get rid of him. Be careful of what you say to either of them. When we get to the forest, I am sure Morgoran will be incensed.”

“Ah, here we are,” the king began. “I am truly sorry for my behavior. I only wanted to help the boy. Go to your friends.” He didn’t wait for Tatrice to say anything before he began his transformation. Everything around Tatrice went dark for a moment, and when she opened her eyes again, it was dark outside, but she could still make out the trees directly ahead.

Chapter 10: The Great Forest

The crackling noise in Dorenn’s ears began to fade. His ears also popped a few times as they adjusted to the new elevation. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Morgoran pacing. Dorenn fully expected to see him erupting in expletives. Instead the old wielder began dusting off his robes, which didn’t appear dusty, before taking out his pipe and stuffing it with tabac. He strolled over to a fallen log and sat down like he didn’t have a care in the world. There was no flame put to it or wave of hand or any visible gesture made toward his pipe, but Dorenn could plainly see it was lit, and puffs of smoke floated from the pipe as well as the sides of Morgoran’s mouth.

Through the dense forest, Dorenn could see some sort of dwelling high up in the trees. As his sight adjusted and the dwelling became clearer, his blood ran cold. This was the place in his reoccurring dream; at least, the dwelling was built in the same style.

Melias offered his water skin to Dorenn, who waved it away. “My lord, drink some water. Travel this far by Lora Daine is not easy on the body.”

Dorenn, for the first time, did not object to Melias addressing him as
my lord
. “Thank you, Melias, but I have my own.” He held up his own water skin and took a drink from it.

“Yes, my lord, as you wish.”

Dorenn put away his water skin and watched Morgoran pace back and forth. “Melias, why don’t you tend to Vesperin.”

“Aye, my lord,” he said before heading off to where Vesperin rested on an overturned log nearby.

Dorenn joined Morgoran. “Ready to move out?”

Morgoran gave Dorenn a look.

Dorenn pointed to the dwellings in the trees. “Morgoran, is there something you want to tell me? I mean, is there something you
need
to tell me?”

Morgoran stiffened but then relented. “All right, aye, you are growing in your perceptions. It is about time I started confiding in you if I am to teach you anything. The matron of Endil,” he paused, “Foreshome in common, is a Sylvan elf maiden called Sildariel. She has a lovely daughter called Seandara.”

Dorenn rubbed his hand over his day-old beard.

“Aye, you know that name.” He leaned in closer so the others would not overhear. “My visions as Morgoran Cleareyes are still with me. Not everything I saw will come to pass, but I am not as dumbfounded as I let on.”

“I have suspected,” Dorenn whispered back.

“Seandara is a significant person for you. She can be a great ally or a terrible enemy. I foresaw her as not too happy with you upon our first meeting.”

Dorenn scoffed. “Is that all? I’m certain I can handle her.”

“Real people portrayed in dreams are not always the same as they are in person,” Morgoran warned. He looked at Dorenn appreciatively. “You are becoming more bold and decisive.” He stroked the whiskers on his chin. “Too bold. This could be the essence sickness.”

Dorenn rolled his eyes. “I feel fine. It’s just that I left home thinking I was going to be gone a couple of days. I miss the inn. I miss my parents. I want to know what has happened to them.”

“You have said you feel fine more than once, but essence sickness is no common illness. It is of the mind more than of the body.” He continued to stroke his beard. “I suspect we have been lied to. King Amarantus knew fool well his clerics could have cured your sickness. It’s as if he wants me to take you to Rudania.”

“Rudania?”

“Aye, the Isle of Doom in common. A rather undeserved name. One has to be magically prepared to set foot on the shore, and many unprepared trespassers have met their deaths trying to get there, hence the nickname. There is a chamber there in the old, now defunct, Academy of Wielding, called simply the Essence Chamber. Any wielder that has ever had any prominence in the world has left a shard of their magical essence there for future generations. The idea is to expose you to the magical knowledge of the ancients until one essence binds with you and helps you cure the sickness from within. All the combined knowledge is there, but only the essence of the wielder that knows your specific cure will bind with you.”

“That sounds perfectly fine, so what’s the problem? I would love to see the old academy. It seems that with responsibility, wielding is a good thing. I know it was outlawed in Symboria because of the War of the Oracle, but from what I have seen, it can be used for a lot of good.”

“A wise observation.”

“I have always been interested in wielding, but in Symboria, even interest was dangerous to express.”

“Aye, it was. To answer your question about Rugania—the problem is that both Naneden and Toborne have essence shards therein. Toborne, at least, knows how to manipulate the shards, and I am concerned he might use it to his advantage if I put you through the trial.”

“Just remove his shard.”

“Might as well tell me to make the sun rise, lad. It’s beyond the power of any wielder to remove an essence shard from the Essence Chamber. It is said that Fawlsbane Vex, the god of all things magical, protects it, and he isn’t about to let any creature, man nor dragonkind, manipulate it.”

“You believe that?”

“There are stories handed down that back up the claim. No one who has tried has ever lived.”

Dorenn paced near Vesperin, who scratched his forehead impatiently. Dorenn straightened his shoulders and indicated the dwellings in the forest trees with a nod of his head. “We may as well get this over with. I can tell you are concerned, Morgoran, but I must confess to you as well that I am not as timid and fragile as I let on.”

“I have suspected,” Morgoran replied with a grin.

“Vesperin, Melias, let’s get on to Foreshome. I want to meet these two elvish maidens.”

“Aye, it’s about time,” Vesperin commented. “I thought you two would never stop talking.”

The guard at the entrance to the vine-entwined metal gate of Foreshome stood at attention as soon as Dorenn and his party were in view. As they approached, Dorenn could make out archers in the trees. They were extremely difficult to see because their manner of dress blended in well with the greens and browns of the surrounding trees. The arrows drawn were tipped with an arrowhead that resembled a sharply-pointed leaf. A humorous thought occurred to Dorenn to put the archers all to sleep, but he fought the urge. He ached to use essence, but he held back like a child wanting the last piece of pie would hold back to make the reward all that much sweeter.

“Welcome, travelers, to Endil, home of our queen, Lady Sildariel. What is your purpose here?”

Morgoran stepped up, but Dorenn cut him off. “I am Dorenn of Brookhaven. Seandara, your princess, expects me. Your archers can lay down their weapons; there are no foes here.”

Morgoran nodded his approval to Dorenn, and he opened and waved his hand in a short bow in order to gesture for the young man to pass in front of him.

The guard made a quick hand motion to a subordinate, and the elf ran up the path to the dwellings. “One moment, Dorenn of Brookhaven, while I wait for word.”

Dorenn nodded. He glanced up at the archers, who had lowered their bows but kept their arrows nocked and ready.

After a few moments of uneasy silence with Dorenn and the guard both staring at each other, the blaring of a soft horn in the distance alerted the guard to admit them.

As soon as the small party passed through the vine-garnished, golden-trimmed gates, Dorenn could feel his heart beat quickening. The frail golden light cascading down through the thick trees, the smell of pine needles and cedar, and the gentle breeze swaying the branches and rustling the leaves gave him chills. It was all so familiar, yet, other than his dreams, he had only read about Foreshome in books. He thought of Seandara. He would soon meet the girl literally from his dreams.

A guard led Dorenn and his companions to a small platform and gestured that they stand on it. Dorenn complied and noted that the wood of the platform felt strange beneath his feet. It was soft somehow. He felt his feet sink into it, and he grabbed ahold of Morgoran’s robe to steady himself. Morgoran gave him a sour look and removed his hands from his robe as they fell through the wood.

“Easy, Dorenn,” Morgoran chided. “It’s nature magic. Just be still.”

It felt similar to taking a step in a mountain stream, the rushing of something cold over his feet. The sensation ended in only a moment, and Dorenn found himself standing in front of a wooden structure built high into the trees. The great, carving-adorned doors stood open. Inside, Dorenn could see what was obviously a throne room or something similar. A great chamber with divans and covered chairs lined the walls except for the furthermost wall, which hosted two oversized chairs. They were smaller than any throne he had seen before, but they were unmistakably thrones. The guard led them into the chamber before taking his leave through the front double doors and closing them behind him.