Defenders of The Sacred Land: Book One of The Sacred Land Saga (25 page)

“I have not seen any fish yet, but I suspect he will catch a few before the hour rolls around.”

Ianthill eyed the sky suspiciously. “If the weather holds he should have plenty of time.”

Dorenn nodded.

“Is there anything you wish to tell me?” Ianthill asked, still stuffing the pipe.

“What do you mean?” Dorenn replied.

“About you and Tatrice,” Ianthill said, pointing the stem of the pipe to the direction Tatrice had gone before.

“No, not particularly. Why do you ask?”

“I am no fool, you know. I have been around for some time. You two have been back and forth since we left.” He stared out into the sea for a moment. “Something weighs heavily on her mind, and yours too.” He put the unlit pipe to his mouth and puffed a few hard tugs. The pipe lit even though he put no visible flame to it. “You know, I once loved one such as Tatrice.”

Dorenn was stunned. “You?”

Ianthill grinned. “I am old, my lad, but not dead.” He puffed white smoke into the air. “This girl I fell in love with was a beauty. She was tall and thin, with eyes of greenish-yellow and hair of gold.”

“Was she from Arillia?” Dorenn asked.

“Nay, she was Sylvan. Have you ever seen a Sylvan elf?”

“No, I have seen Arillian and Darovan, but never Sylvan. I did read once that they never leave their forest.”

“Oh, they leave the forest, but not without good cause,” Ianthill said in between puffs. His mind seemed to wander for a moment before he spoke again.

“Sylvan elves have olive skin, you know, not as fair as the Arillian.”

Dorenn suddenly remembered the elves’ long life span. “Does your Sylvan elf maiden reside in the forest? In the Great Sythian Forest, I mean.”

“Aye, I expect she does. She has long since married before you go getting any ideas, but we will most likely see her. In a few days, we will dock at Dinjara’dor, the village at the edge of the forest, and from there we will travel to the city of Endil known in common tongue as Foreshome. The dock lies on the very outskirts of the Great Sythian Forest, and the journey to Endil will be long.”

“Did you have something specific you wanted to discuss with me, Ianthill,” Dorenn asked, “or have you come to discuss long lost loves?”

Ianthill sighed. “Gondrial tells me you and Tatrice are very close.”

“Aye, that is true.”

“How close, Dorenn? Would I be safe to say you plan to ask her hand in marriage?”

Dorenn’s surprise was apparent. “Did Tatrice say something to you about it?”

“Oh no, lad, it is just a guess.”

Dorenn gazed at Ianthill apprehensively. “What is this all about?”

“I would urge you to curb your affections for Tatrice for the time being.”

“It is too late, Ianthill, I have already asked her.”

Ianthill puffed his pipe. “What was her answer then?”

Dorenn lowered his head. “She has not given it to me yet.”

“Then it is beginning,” Ianthill whispered, and Dorenn was unsure of whether he was supposed to hear him.

“You are making me nervous, Ianthill. What are you not telling me?”

Ianthill shifted his weight against the rail, searching for the right words to express what he wanted to say. “You have an important destiny. I cannot tell you much about it at present, but you do.” Dorenn wanted to tell him he knew about being a descendant of Ardenia, but he knew better. “I just cannot see Tatrice as an integral part of your destiny.”

Dorenn huffed. “Destiny! Destiny is what you make of it. I am a simple man, son of an innkeeper, and as far as I am concerned, that is my destiny. I don’t want to save the world; I just want to live in it and raise a family. What destiny are you talking about?”

Ianthill puffed the pipe once more. “You have great potential within you; don’t deny it to yourself. You have the ability to harness the essence of the land, if only you would accept it.”

“What are you suggesting, Ianthill? I am no wielder.” He pounded his fist on the wooden railing, allowing his bottled up emotions to surface. “I will never take a path of a wielder over a life with Tatrice.”

After a long, uncomfortable silence, Ianthill spoke. “Go and do as you will, Dorenn, but you cannot deny your destiny. Sooner or later, it will have its way with you,” he said, puffing on his pipe. He gave Dorenn a cold stare and then backed away toward the hold.

“Crazy old elf,” Dorenn mumbled to himself, “trying to get me into trouble.” Dorenn looked at the coast again and noticed the ship was coming in closer to shore. Ahead he could see a city and the masts and sails of ships in port. He saw that a crewmember was preparing the mooring ropes nearby.

“What city is this?” Dorenn asked him.

The crewmember looked up, somewhat irritated. “That be Port Arovan. I s’pect we’ll be stopping there.”

“We’re putting into port then?”

“Aye, I just told you so. We always sail into Port Arovan and exchange cargos. We’ll be there a day or two.”

“Thank you,” Dorenn said to the sailor. Dorenn moved next to Rennon as he wound his fishing line. “I suppose the fishing will have to wait.”

“What city is this?” Rennon asked.

“Port Arovan, I am told.”

“Still part of Adracoria?”

“As far as I know, it is. The maps I have seen put part of the Great Sythian Forest in the upper western corner of Adracoria.”

“Ah, this must be the last port before the forest then.”

Dorenn nodded without speaking.

Gondrial met with the two boys on deck. “Well, it seems we will be in Port Arovan until tomorrow as I hear it from the crew. What say we go to Yew’s Tavern and sample the ales? Yew’s has ales imported from all over the world, and I have yet to try them all.” He reflected for a moment. “In fact, I have only sampled about half of the brews imported there in all the seasons I have visited this port.”

“I am up for some time off ship,” Rennon stated excitedly.

“I’d wager Vesperin would be up for it too. Solid ground will do him good,” Dorenn said, stifling a laugh.

“I told him we were putting into dock, and he said he would be on deck shortly,” Gondrial interjected.

“And here I am,” Vesperin said as he joined the others on deck.

“How are you feeling now?” Rennon asked.

“Better than yesterday. I would very much like to get off this ship for a time,” he said, and then he addressed Gondrial, “although I don’t feel much like having ale.”

Gondrial patted him on the back and laughed. “I understand, Vesperin, but you will come with us, won’t you?”

“Of course I will.” Vesperin smiled.

The Sea Goddess
slowly entered the port’s mouth, and Dorenn could feel the anticipation of standing on solid ground grow within him. As soon as the mooring ropes were secure, the three boys and Gondrial departed, yelling back to Ianthill that they would be back sometime after dark.

Enowene scowled disapprovingly. “Are you going to let them go carousing with Gondrial like that, Master Ianthill?”

“What choice do I have, Enowene? The boys are becoming men, and I believe they should enjoy themselves while they still can. The times ahead will afford them no such luxuries.” He sighed and took Enowene by the hand. “How about a nice home cooked supper at the inn, eh?”

“I thought you would never ask,” Enowene stated with a smile.

Ianthill held his arm out and she took it, and they both walked off the ship onto the dock. Enowene suddenly stopped. “We should bring along Tatrice and Lady Shey as well.”

“Aye, I will wait here while you go and fetch them.”

Enowene walked rapidly back onto the ship for Tatrice and Lady Shey. She found Tatrice in her cabin with Bren. The two of them were talking while polishing their dragon scale armor. Enowene’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “There you are, Tatrice. Ianthill and I are going to the inn for supper. Would you and Bren like to join us?”

“Thank you for your invitation, but Bren and I have made plans.” She blushed slightly and Enowene lifted an eyebrow.

“Uh huh, I see. Come along, Tatrice, I think you had better join me tonight.” Tatrice hesitated. “Now, my dear,” Enowene said sternly.

“As you wish, my lady,” Tatrice obeyed.

“I meant no harm to the girl, my lady,” Bren said.

“No, of course not,” Enowene said. “Nevertheless, I will take Tatrice along with me anyway. I am sure you understand, broodlord.”

“Of course, my lady,” Bren said, standing and bowing respectfully.

“Come along, Tatrice,” Enowene commanded, and Tatrice obeyed. “We will look for Lady Shey.” Tatrice stumbled, and the small green statuette Dorenn had given her in Cedar Falls tumbled to the deck with a thud.

“Oh no,” Tatrice said, scooping up the statuette. “I hope it didn’t break.” She examined it carefully.

“It appears to be unharmed,” Bren said.

Enowene looked at the statue in Tatrice’s hand. “Where did you say you got that?”

“Dorenn gave it to me when we traveled through Cedar Falls. Why do you ask?”

“I remember Lady Shey having a statuette like that one when she was very young. Her mother had given it to her as I recall. May I hold it?”

Tatrice handed the statuette to Enowene.

“Ah, I do believe it is made from an essence stone.”

“What is an essence stone?” Tatrice asked.

“In days of old, essence stones were used to store power to draw on in areas where there was not sufficient essence to wield, such as the Sacred Land is now. It could also be used to house a person’s essence, but the ability to use it in this manner has been lost.” She handed the statuette back to Tatrice. “It was common practice to sculpt the stones into objects more pleasing to the eye than a lump of stone or crystal.”

“Do you have one, Enowene?” Tatrice asked.

“Heavens no, they are extremely rare and expensive. In fact, I would wager that the person who sold that statuette to Dorenn had no idea what it was.”

Tatrice put the statuette back into the front pocket of her dress, pleased that Dorenn had given her such a precious gift.

Lady Shey was strolling out on deck when Enowene and Tatrice found her. She happily agreed to come to supper.

The three women left the ship and met with the waiting Ianthill.

“I was beginning to wonder what was taking you so long.”

Enowene cocked an eyebrow. “Bren was about to make a dragon knight out of young Tatrice here. I suggested she come with us instead.”

“Really? I have never heard of a female dragon knight,” Ianthill said inquiringly.

Enowene cleared her throat loudly.

“Oh, I see. Is that…uh…is that how it is then?” Ianthill stammered.

“No, it was most certainly not that!” Tatrice interrupted. “I am not so foolish a girl as to not know what you two are implying. Bren was a complete gentleman the whole time. We talked of the armor and that is all.”

“Okay, dear, just be sure and not talk of the
armor
with him anymore without supervision,” Enowene insisted.

“I am not a helpless kitchen maid,” Tatrice said, frustrated with Enowene’s tone.

“Of course not, my dear,” Enowene said.

Ianthill rolled his eyes and looked for the nearest inn, any inn he could find.

Yew’s Tavern’s location put it not far from the docks, which meant it was a sailor’s tavern. Dorenn was a bit uneasy about being around such a rough crowd. His own experience with the crew of
The Sea Goddess
told him they were probably a friendly bunch prone to pranks and humorous endeavors. The captain of
The Sea Goddess
was a well-loved man that treated his crew more fairly then most, but some of the sailors did not have such a cheerful disposition.

A tall, stout-looking woman with dirty blonde hair and a thick cigar in her mouth approached the table the four men had occupied. “What will it be gents?”

“I think we will splurge this night and purchase four Lux Amarou Stout ales please.”

The woman’s eyes lit up. “Coming up.”

“What was that look she gave us for?” Dorenn asked Gondrial.

“The men of Lux Amarou hold the record for the thickest, stoutest ale. The men there believe that if it is thick and disgusting enough, no one will want to drink it and therefore wean himself off the drink. The problem is that it is the most imported ale in the world, and it is extremely expensive because it is not brewed in large amounts.”

“Why don’t they make more of it and turn a tidy profit?” Rennon asked.

“The men from Lux Amarou think that it would be contributing to the evil ways of man, dwarf, and elf if they turn a profit from it. In other words, they would consider it ill-gotten wealth.”

“Four Lux Amarou Stouts,” The blonde-haired woman said, putting pint-sized tankards in front of them.

Dorenn picked up his tankard as Gondrial paid the woman. To Dorenn’s nose, it smelled like grease the sailors used on
The Sea Goddess
. “Ack, this smells disgusting.”

“Naturally. It is stout ale, you know.” Gondrial turned his tankard up and drank the thick fluid down. “Ah, that’s the stuff.” Gondrial’s face contorted, and he closed one eye as he spoke.

Dorenn was surprised to see Vesperin turn his tankard bottom up and even more shocked when Rennon drank his.