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

“We still have yet to take Lux Enor, madman. I will not deplete the army on every village along the way. We will need every soldier to take and hold the highlord’s stronghold. If you plan to become highlord, you must not allow the destruction of any of your army on small village raids.” He turned his eerie gaze once more upon Naneden. “They will attempt to organize another army anyway, as I would. So, do you wish me to waste soldiers on villages?”

Naneden kicked at the dirt, looked into the night sky, and tapped his finger on his chin. “Yes, I think I do. Kill them all. Yes, I want all those who would oppose me dead.”

Rodraq resumed his posture on the boulder. “You are mad. We go around the village. If you insist we attack, you can take it up with him.” Rodraq pointed to the sky.

Naneden looked skyward and noticed a black speck outlined by the silvery moon. As it came nearer, he realized from its fiery breath that it was a dragon. “What is that drake doing here?”

“He will be upon us soon.”

“To whom do you refer? The dragon?”

“You don’t know, do you?”

“Why don’t you tell me, and we will both know.”

“That dragon carries a rider. Can’t you feel his presence?”

Naneden squinted. The moonlight illuminated a figure on the dragon’s neck just above the head. “So it does. I didn’t think dragons allowed riders.”

“They will allow this rider.”

The dragon swooped down and landed not far from the bluff where Rodraq and Naneden stood. The rider dismounted, and the dragon eagerly took flight again, heading north. The rider strolled into view.

“Drakkius,” Naneden said. “I am pleased to see you. Did you eliminate Ianthill and his pathetic cohorts?”

The rider walked deliberately to Naneden but said nothing; instead, he held up a silver statue of a drake. Naneden’s eyes gleamed. “You did it. You captured the Silver Drake. Give it to me, and I will—” Naneden glared at the rider as the man held the Silver Drake up in his palm.

“Kneel before me,” he said in a hushed tone. Naneden fell to his knees by the power of the Silver Drake.

“What are you doing, fool? If you plan to double-cross me, Drakkius, I swear on Toborne’s legacy I will see you dead.”

The rider tittered at the name Toborne. “Naneden, I do not intend to betray you, my son, but I will have your loyalty or I will have your head. I am your master. Drakkius is no more.”

Naneden’s eyes went narrow and cold. The blood drained from his already ashen face until it was almost as white as Rodraq’s.

“The statuette.” He searched frantically around the rider’s feet as if he might find it on the ground. “Where is the jade statuette?”

“Now you understand; now you see. The statuette is safe. You will not confine me there if that is your wish. I have read the thoughts of the one you knew as Drakkius, and I approve of your plans, my apprentice. I will let you sit on the highlord’s throne. I have just made a few alterations to your plan, that’s all. I am sure you will approve.” The rider’s eyes were hollow and black. “Give me your loyalty.”

Naneden bowed down, touching his forehead to the ground with his arms outstretched. “I pledge my loyalty to you once again, Lord Toborne.”

Toborne lowered the Silver Drake to his side. “Rise, Naneden. We have a land to tame. A sacred land.”

Rennon entered the alleyway fully cloaked and with hood drawn over his head. The foreign quarter of Trigoth was treacherous, and, being a country boy, he quaked at every sound. Ganas had arranged for a meeting with Theosus Fiderea at first light, but he could no longer wait to obtain the herb mixture that settled his mind. He had slipped out into the night in search of another to aid him. He had already deemed Theosus as too risky because the apothecary knew Morgoran, and soon he might be involved with them too closely to know the secret. The only other shop he could find in Trigoth was located in a much seedier part of the foreign quarter than he would normally be inclined to visit.

Rennon gathered up his courage and was about to push onward to the alleyway entrance to the apothecary’s shop when another cloaked figure suddenly appeared from around the corner. Rennon stepped back into the shadows. The cloaked figure was shorter than he and had a slighter frame. The hooded outline suddenly stopped next to the shadowed area where Rennon hid and looked directly at him. In the dim light, he saw the face of a woman not any older than he was. In spite of himself, he gasped at her allure.

“Who’s there?” she said, squinting into the darkness. Rennon shrank back as far as the wall would allow him but said nothing. She took a step closer, and Rennon felt a strange sensation manipulate him, control him. He felt himself about to let loose the wild magic against his will. He clenched his teeth, fighting desperately to control the sensation.
Go away!
he thought.

Go away?
he heard a foreign voice say in his head.
You go away! What are you doing hiding in the shadows?

Get out of my head,
Rennon thought.
I am going mad. I need my herbs.

“What herbs? Come out where I can see you,” the woman said out loud.

No, I don’t want to hurt you. Move along,
he thought.

“Hurt me?” The woman drew out a dagger. “You just try it, and I will stick you in the ribs!”

Rennon looked at the woman with astonishment.
She can hear my thoughts.

“Of course I can,” she said. “You are projecting them at me, and harshly, I might add. You have the malady in you too. Come out where I can see you.”

Rennon released the wild magic, and the woman fell to her knees, dropping the dagger to the ground. Images flooded into his head; he saw the woman talking to an old man mixing something in a mortar with a pestle.

“Can you cure me?” she was asking.

“I will give it my best,” the man said.

Rennon felt the images leave his head with force as the woman recoiled.

“Stop that, you fool,” the woman said. “You are an idiot. You will get us caught!”

Rennon stood dumbfounded as the woman retrieved her dagger. “Come out and hurry now. We have to get off the street.”

Rennon exited the shadows, and the woman immediately took his arm, dragging him along beside her. She turned her head his way briefly. Under the hood, he could make out her soft, youthful features. He was particularly drawn to her lips. They were full, red, and kissable. He suppressed a silly urge to go ahead and kiss her.

“In here,” she said, throwing open the door to what appeared at first glance to be the apothecary’s shop. It looked nothing like Sanmir’s shop back home, and it had an oppressive odor hanging thick in the air. Rennon had to hold back his gag reflex by swallowing hard.

“Ugh, what is that horrid smell?” he blurted out.

“It speaks,” the woman said sarcastically.

Rennon glared at her.

He recognized the room as being both storefront and preparation room. It was much smaller and more cramped than Sanmir’s shop. Strange foreign animals in fluidic jars lined rickety shelves, and pelts hung on the walls.

“Who have you brought into my shop this time, Deylia?” said a man partially hidden behind a monstrous cauldron.

“I don’t know. Some idiot.” She turned to Rennon. “What’s your name?”

He wanted to say Dorenn or make up a name, but he was somewhat offended at being called an idiot again, and his mouth and brain could not agree. “Rennon,” he said.

“He has the malady, Hadder.”

“Does he have the required payment?” Rennon felt a sinking feeling in his gut. What was he getting himself into this time? The man behind the caldron was dirty and scruffy-looking. Not the sort he wanted to trade with.

Deylia shrugged. “I don’t think he’s from around here.”

“No payment, no potion. You know that.”

Deylia nudged Rennon. “You have gold, don’t you?”

Rennon was not about to tell her what he had. “I can pay,” he said defensively, trying to sound gruff.

Hadder eyed him apprehensively. “Let’s see it then.”

Rennon’s anger flared. “Oh, no, first I need to see the herbs.”

Hadder puffed up like a bear as his left eyebrow shot up. “Herbs? What is this idiot talking about, Deylia? Get him out of my shop.”

“Wait! Here.” Deylia let her hood fall back, revealing her shiny light brown hair, which cascaded down the back of her head and into the hood of her cloak. She handed the grumpy apothecary a gold piece, looking extremely embarrassed. “May I have some of the potion?”

Hadder growled before disappearing behind a shelf.

It’s a gold piece for the potion. I don’t know what herbs you are talking about, but the potion suppresses the malady and masks it from the Enforcers,
Rennon heard her say in his thoughts,
if they are not on our trail already after your stunt out there. We shouldn’t be thinking to each other like this anymore either.

“I’ll take the potion as well, please,” Rennon said. He heard a grumble from somewhere behind the shelves.

How did I just offend him?

The Enforcers have outlawed herbs used to suppress the malady here in Trigoth. It makes it more difficult for them to find us. If it is known that Hadder makes the potion, he will be arrested. If you ask for a potion, it could be a potion for anything. Careful how you word things. Now shut up!

Are there others who have the melody?

Deylia laughed aloud, and Rennon felt his anger rising again.

“Planning to carry a tune, are you?” She laughed again.

“What are you bloody laughing at?”

“It’s malady not melody. You did just arrive off the boat?”

Rennon took offense, but he was not about to let her know she was right. It was none of her business. “No!”
he shot back.

“Here you go. That will be two gold for the potions to . . . er . . . cure your toothaches,” Hadder said.

Rennon took one of the potions and pressed a gold piece into the dirty shopkeeper’s hand. “Now, you two better get along home to your mother. She will be missing you this late in the evening, and she’ll be wanting that other potion to sleep.”

Rennon looked at him with an odd expression, wondering what he was talking about until he turned around and saw two men in grey cloaks standing behind him and Deylia.

Are they
Enforcers?
Rennon thought to Deylia.

Deylia’s eyes went wide, and she gasped. The two mens’ mouths opened with surprise. They both reached for something under their cloaks.

“You fool, you bloody fool,” she said to Rennon as she produced her dagger in one fluid motion.
Run, you fool, you have exposed us!

Comprehension dawned on Rennon as the first man reached for him. Wild thoughts pervaded his mind. Images of the man burning and screaming in pain. Rennon tried in vain to calm his emotions, but the man’s robes burst into flame anyway, and he erupted into painful screams. Rennon became vaguely aware of Deylia looking at him in horror, but he did not care. His instincts took over, and he reached his thoughts forward to the man in flames and touched him with a sense of hatred for his fellow Enforcer. The burning man, no longer screaming in pain, calmly turned to his partner, who was winning a struggle with Deylia, and began strangling him, catching him on fire in the process.

“Garain,” the other Enforcer gasped. “He has your mind! Fight it!” It was too late; Garain had already lost his fight against Rennon’s resolve, and the Enforcer moved in closer for the kill. Hadder knocked Rennon aside and kicked the two burning men from his shop with one massive boot.

He rounded on Deylia and Rennon. “Get out of here, you two. With a display like that, more will be here in moments. He pushed them both out into the alleyway and closed the large wooden door behind them, locking up shop. Rennon looked into Deylia’s eyes for the first time since he had lost his temper and control. Her eyes revealed her terror, and Rennon had to look away.

Go. I am unclean. I can see your horror.

I have never seen anyone with the malady do something like that before! And stop thinking to me, you will mark yourself again.

I don’t care! Go.