Defenders of The Sacred Land: Book One of The Sacred Land Saga (19 page)

“You will refer to me as your grace, thief.”

“Forgive me, your grace,” he said bowing.

“I will charge you with assisting me as your penance for your crimes.”

“What, being trapped here was not penance enough?”

“There is much to be done.”

“Wait a moment,” Gondrial said. “All this makes no sense to me. Signal Hill was cursed because it is…well…was a village of weapon smiths and armorers, and the wielders were losing the War of the Oracle, right?”

“Aye, that is the story I know,” Seancey answered.

“That war ended a thousand seasons ago. Where are your loyalties now, uh, your grace?”

“Where they have always been, my son, with the will of Loracia. I will free the peoples of Signal Hill, and we will once again prepare for war. As I understand it, a new war is coming.”

“That is where I have a problem. How do you know a new war looms on the horizon? You have been a ghost for a thousand seasons. Do you see my dilemma?”

“I only follow that which Loracia commands, and she commands me to rebuild Signal Hill. The war I knew is long over, but we are needed once more.”

“But I…”

“Let it be, Gondrial,” Kerad said. “He is a high priest, and as such he does have the power to know Loracia’s will and do her bidding. It is our way.”

“Are you saying that Loracia has filled him in on the particulars somehow?” Gondrial asked.

Vesperin stepped up. “I know it is not something you will accept freely, but you must.”

Gondrial nodded reluctantly.

“The last I saw you, Kyrie, you worked for Toborne. And worst of all, you stole from me,” Lady Shey said.

Kyrie looked hurt. “Aye, but it was Toborne who trapped me. He hired me to sneak in this village during the War of the Oracle and steal away their weapons just before the curse. I am a Kylerie elf, curses do not taint my people easily, but I could not leave. The Spectre trapped me down here, not allowing me to pass. I could not defeat it, but as long as I stayed in the armory it did not bother me. I tried twice to leave and both times it attacked me.”

“Likely story, Kyrie. I do not believe you,” Lady Shey said.

“Sheyna, I do not lie to you. Remember long ago, I never lied. I am not too fond of Toborne either.”

“Very well, Kyrie, I will leave you be, but I have my eye on you,” Lady Shey said.

Esperdahl bowed to Kerad and Vesperin. “I have been guarding this armory for one thousand seasons because it contains weapons and armor from the forgotten times. I think it is time for the armory to give up its secrets. Follow me down below and I will do Loracia’s will.”

Gondrial drew his sword and nodded to Seancey for him to do the same.

“There is no need for your caution,” Esperdahl said.

“Right,” Gondrial said nodding. Esperdahl shook his head and led the way to the stairway.

The stairway, made of carved stone, spiraled slightly downward to the left and entered into a large room at least as large as the temple above. Lining the walls were racks filled with armor and weaponry. Dorenn could see the area where Kyrie must have lived. It was in a corner of the massive room and contained a fire pit, a makeshift bed, and several odd knickknacks. Esperdahl led the party to a particular rack of rusty armor, and Dorenn frowned as Kyrie pulled one of the sets down. The decaying breastplate was not of high quality, but since Dorenn had no armor, he decided to say nothing.

“Here you go, friend,” Kyrie said as he handed the rusty armor to Rennon.

“Thank you,” Rennon said, looking at the armor as if it were about to crumble in his hands.

“What? No, no,” Kyrie laughed. “Get rid of that old rust bucket. Set it aside,” he said as Esperdahl pressed on the rack. It toppled into the wall behind, revealing an opening.

“I managed to conceal this doorway not long before the curse.” He pressed the doorway open and entered. The sconces on the walls lit up immediately, alerting Dorenn that Esperdahl was indeed more than he seemed.

Inside the room was a treasury of armor and weaponry. The racks and the room were small, making the treasure seem larger than it was. Esperdahl picked up a broadsword and handed it to Seancey “This is
Elvander
, a most powerful sword. I present it to you.” He also gathered up a suit of combination chain mail and plate armor. “This is the companion armor to the sword. It is the pride of the elven kings of old. It is said no arrow, spear, nor any weapon of piercing can penetrate it.” Seancey set aside the sword and took the armor, holding it as if it were a poisonous viper. “Take it, Ranger of the Vale, it has no curse upon it. Surely you can see it was crafted by the skill of the elves of old?”

Seancey feigned a grin and nodded.

Esperdahl opened an overly large chest and pulled out something wrapped in cloth. He handed it to Dorenn. “Here you go, something fit for a wielder.”

“I am not a wielder,” Dorenn protested.

“Oh, aren’t you? I sense it all about you.” He paused. “Here, this is
Dranmalin
, forged by the elves with the help of the dragons. It is light and deadly to creatures of shadow. Its name translates to dragon’s hammer in the tongue of the drakes of Draegodor.”

At first, Dorenn was reluctant to take the sword, but it called to him. It was familiar to him somehow. He took the sword and it felt natural to his touch, like it had belonged to him all along. He studied it intently for a moment and then realized why it seemed familiar. It was the sword from his reoccurring dream!

“Curious sensation, is it not?” Esperdahl commented. “That sword chooses its master and binds itself to him. If you handed the sword back to me now I would not be able to hold it, nor anyone for that matter.”

“What did you call it again?” Dorenn asked.

“
Dranmalin.
”

Dorenn felt a chill run up his spine. It
was
the sword from his dream of the girl falling through the trees.

Esperdahl removed a set of silver and white armor from another rack and gave it to Rennon. “This is the armor of Adjent Amar. It will not interfere with the magic you wield, and it has no helm to obstruct you. It is truly the armor of a mindwielder.”

“What did you call me?” Rennon asked in horror at being called a wielder in front of the party.

“Mindwielder.” Esperdahl dismissed Rennon’s protest with the wave of his thin hand. “It is of no matter, friend, I meant no offense. Please accept the armor in good faith.” Rennon took the armor, already developing a dislike for the high priest.

Kyrie spotted something on a nearby wooden table. “Oh and here are the daggers I planned to steal. They will never lose their master if you treat them with respect.” Esperdahl moved with haste, almost knocking the little rogue off his feet. He grabbed the daggers off the table and glared at Kyrie with contempt.

“I wasn’t going to take them right in front of you,” he said defensively.

Esperdahl handed both of the daggers to Rennon, who smiled despite himself. The daggers were beautiful, golden-jeweled and carved with strange creatures Rennon had never seen before.

Kyrie appeared disappointed.

Esperdahl disappeared behind a canvas draped over a collection of swords and returned a moment later with a breastplate made of blue dragon scales and handed it to Tatrice. “This is the armor and weaponry of a dragon knight who lost his life in the battle for the Sacred Land. Just before his final moment, he asked me to give this armor to one that could wear it with pride. The broodlord seemed quite determined that I swore to do as he asked. He also felt compelled to tell me that the dragon master he was sworn to serve is called Amadace the Blue. He told me that I must see that it is worn again.”

Sylvalora spoke up. “Excuse me, kind sir, but I have never heard of a woman donning the armor of a dragon knight. Are you certain you honor the broodlord’s wishes correctly?”

Esperdahl’s face contorted into a malicious scowl. “As clearly and correctly as your own words, good elf maiden.”

Sylvalora raised an eyebrow, clearly offended.

“I am no warrior,” Tatrice said, turning up her nose to the armor. “Why not give it to one of the men?” She inspected the breastplate. “This armor is crafted for a man.”

“I have sworn to give it to someone, and now I have given it to you. It is yours. I have fulfilled my promise. Female or not, it is no longer my concern. Do with it as you wish.”

Kyrie pulled a long, slender sword from a plain green and blue hilt. Seancey reached for his sword but stopped when he realized Kyrie did not intend to wield the weapon. “The dragon knight’s sword is called a dragon fang by the way, and his shield and armor are made of dragon scales.”

Esperdahl took the sword from Kyrie and handed it to Tatrice. “This too belongs with the armor.”

“All right, how is a suit of armor useful to me when I am not to fight in battle alongside men?” Tatrice lamented.

Enowene exhaled. “It is a gift, dear. Try to think of it as such and not complain.”

Gondrial wiped his brow and breathed in heavily. “We should prepare for travel. We still need to vacate this village.”

“Well, thank you for the gifts, Esperdahl, we will be sure to have the clerics and smiths in the Vale of Morgoran look them over when we return,” Enowene said.

Dorenn caught the sarcasm in her voice although he did not understand her tone.

Seancey swung his sword. “The craftsmanship is like none I have ever seen.”

“I am embarrassed that I do not have more gifts to bestow.”

“What you have given is enough, your grace,” Lady Shey said.

Esperdahl turned to Tatrice. “I shall begin work on removing the curse at once. Please return, young maiden, and I will have your armor fitted to you if it displeases you so.”

Tatrice nodded.

Chapter 10: Revelations

Dorenn understood why Gondrial had decided not to use the travel spell to get back to the Vale quickly. If the Enforcers had reinforcements in the area, they would be attracted to their whereabouts, and they might not accept the fate of their companions as the truth. Dorenn was not sure he accepted it either. He put his arm around Tatrice’s waist, and she awkwardly moved in closer to him with a clink of her armor. “I wish I could take this breastplate off; it is terribly uncomfortable in the chest area,” she whispered.

“If Rennon still has a bit of twine I could carry it on my back,” Dorenn offered. Tatrice stopped and lowered her pack.

“Hold up a moment, Kerad, while Tatrice removes her breastplate,” Dorenn shouted ahead. “Rennon, do you still have some of that twine you were carrying?”

“Aye,” Rennon answered, removing his pack and rummaging through it. “Ah, here it is.”

Dorenn took the twine from Rennon and tied it through the arm outlets of the breastplate, after Tatrice had freed herself of it, and swung it over his pack, securing it to his pack straps.

“Is it too heavy for you?” Tatrice asked.

“Aye, but I will manage it. The Vale can’t be all that far away.”

Seancey stepped beside Dorenn. “Here, let me take it. It will not encumber me.”

Dorenn nodded and swung the armor down from his shoulder, and Seancey easily swung it onto his back.

“Thank you, Seancey,” Tatrice said.

Seancey grinned at Tatrice and nodded for Kerad to lead on. Dorenn put his arm around Tatrice, and she snuggled in close. “That’s better,” she said.

The morning sun was blinding as the party caught first sight of the trees surrounding the Vale of Morgoran in the distance.

“I think I will sleep for a week,” Rennon said.

“Aye, as soon as I get some breakfast in my belly I will as well,” Vesperin said.

Kerad rubbed the back of his neck. “Only another hour or so to the Vale. I think we all deserve a rest and some breakfast. I can almost smell the bacon frying now.”

“I want to soak in a nice, hot tub before I turn in,” Enowene said. “This robe has collected a fair amount of dust hanging in that dank armory for so long.”

“How do you suppose this cloth has held up for so long?” Lady Shey wondered aloud as she patted dust off her arm.

“It was woven from elven silk. It cannot be burned or torn, and time will not wear it down as long as its magic holds,” Enowene answered. “You have worn elven silk before, Shey. I am surprised you do not know this.”

Lady Shey said nothing.

As the day wore on and the party came closer to the Vale of Morgoran, Dorenn felt uneasiness begin to well up inside of him, a heaviness of heart, apprehension like a child scolded for something he knew he did but did not want to admit. The large oak trees surrounding the Vale seemed to bend and scowl at him somehow. A cold, chilling breeze began to rustle the branches around him. Tatrice noticed him shiver. “What is it, Dorenn?”

Dorenn pulled her tighter to his side. “Something is different. Something is wrong,” he whispered.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“It’s the Vale; something does not sit right with it.” He analyzed the trees swaying in the wind. A branch, blown in an abrupt gust of wind, snapped and tumbled to earth before them with a crack. Dark ominous clouds began to roll in, and the wind picked up, growing stronger.

Kerad pulled his cloak around him. “Hurry now, a storm is blowing in.”

The party rushed into the clearing where the tower of Morgoran rose above the main stone buildings. Rain began to fall in sheets as they passed the guard towers.

Seancey motioned to the guards. “Secure the main gate from the storm, men.” The guards pulled the iron gates shut behind the party after they entered and bolted them down. A priest of Loracia met them at the entrance to the main hall and bowed before Kerad. “Thank Loracia you have returned, Brother Kerad. Morgoran has taken ill. Neither prayer nor healing I understand has eased his suffering. He needs your expertise.”

“You will pardon my haste, dear friends?” Kerad spoke, dropping his pack in the main entrance hall.

“Of course, Kerad, see to the master,” Enowene replied. Kerad followed the priest up the side stairs to the tower.

“I will help Brother Kerad if I can,” Vesperin said, excusing himself.

“Lady Shey, come with me, and we will see if we can be of use,” Enowene said as she deposited her pack where Kerad had laid his. Lady Shey lowered her pack and sighed. Dorenn felt as if Lady Shey actually dreaded to follow Enowene, and as he watched her, he noticed her wrinkle her nose at Sylvalora before she finally followed Enowene up the stairway. Sylvalora nodded and lagged behind the rest. Dorenn noticed the elf maiden did not seem particularly interested in following Lady Shey or Enowene to aid Morgoran; instead, she meandered out of the hall and out of sight. Dorenn heard Seancey mutter something about the storm just before the ranger excused himself to the courtyard.