Defenders of The Sacred Land: Book One of The Sacred Land Saga (35 page)

“What’s the matter?” Vesperin asked.

Dorenn beamed at his friend in spite of the grave news he had to tell him. “There are Shades lurking about in the dead forest.”

“Shades? I thought they were all destroyed a thousand seasons ago.”

“They were,” Ianthill said matter of fact, “but Dicarion believes they may have reappeared.”

“Could they be holdovers from the War of the Oracle?” Vesperin asked.

Ianthill nodded. “I could believe that. The land is slowly reawakening; it is possible some of its more colorful remnants may be resurging also.”

Vesperin looked around the dark camp. “Where are Gondrial and Rennon?”

Ianthill took a puff on his pipe. “I am hopeful they will return to camp soon. I think the Defenders have fought off something, but I am unsure if they prevailed or not. Parlane has shown me the way to Vetell Fex, so I believe I can lead us there.” Ianthill put away his half-smoked pipe. “As soon as Gondrial and Rennon return, we will go.”

“What if Parlane and his men are still out there and need my attention?” Vesperin asked concerned.

“Parlane is used to the Sacred Land and its dangers. He will be fine without us; besides, it is likely he will track us and join us later anyway.” Ianthill motioned toward the campsite. “Let’s pack up this camp and make ready to travel.”

Dorenn gathered up his tent and sleeping pallet and packed them away. As soon as he was able, Dorenn found Ianthill. He still had unresolved questions to ask the old wielder. “I don’t understand,” Dorenn said to Ianthill, who was packing his sleeping pallet onto his horse. “Why are you so upset?”

Ianthill pulled a strap on his saddle to secure the pallet and then turned his head to Dorenn, looking at him as if he were a foolish child. “I am upset, Dorenn, because I have failed.”

“Excuse me?” Dorenn said confused.

Ianthill took a deep breath. “I failed. I underestimated Naneden. That sorcerer is stronger than he seems.” He tied off the strap. “You see, Dorenn, I was too arrogant, too sure of myself. I waited too long to send for you and your friends, and now time has caught up with me and I am unprepared. I have not trained you or your friends, and I let you live among non-believers far too long. All the while, Naneden’s army prepares to march on the Sacred Land. I have failed.”

“It’s not over yet, Ianthill, I am eager to learn. I gave up a friendship to learn the way of wielders!”

“My dear Dorenn, I have looked into your heart and do you know what I have seen?”

“No.”

“I waited so long to find you, and now I see that you are trying to take the easy path, the path of least resistance. You want to learn wielding now because you believe it will make your life easier, and that way of thinking often comes from youth. What you fail to see is it is actually the more difficult path. I fear your decision was influenced.”

Dorenn remembered the three stones and how they had made him feel. The shopkeeper had said they would aid him in decisions, and they did. Dorenn wanted to tell Ianthill of the stones, but he could not find the words. “I don’t understand. I am not taking the easy way out. I know it will be tough,” Dorenn said in defense.

“I know you truly believe that, Dorenn, even if your heart tells me different.”

Dorenn was about to reply when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. He turned to see Rennon and Gondrial entering camp. Rennon was as pale as the full moon, and Gondrial was wide-eyed and visibly shaken.

“What is it?” Ianthill said worriedly.

Gondrial leaned against a nearby tree and breathed in deep as if he might collapse. “In the dead forest,” Gondrial began, “there are horrible creatures, and the worst part of it is I recognize one of them.”

Ianthill looked puzzled. “Oh,” he said inquisitively.

Gondrial stared into Dorenn’s eyes for a moment and then turned to Ianthill. “Naneden has been up to something even grimmer than warmongering. He has unleashed a form of Shade I have never seen before. The creatures have assembled not far from here, and the leader of the horrific group appears to be Lady Shey’s captain of the guard, Rodraq.”

“Rodraq? Are you certain it was he?” Ianthill asked.

“I am certain,” Gondrial said. “He is white with a black cloak and has thin, gaunt features, but it is Rodraq. We all saw him dead; Naneden must have done something unnatural to him.”

“Did you see where they were going, Gondrial?”

“Aye, they were heading east.”

“Toward the monastery?” Ianthill asked concerned.

Gondrial nodded. “As far as I can tell they are.”

Dicarion had wandered up to the men talking and had listened to Gondrial’s tale intently. “That is what he is doing! Naneden plans to sack Vetell Fex and is sending the Shades to his army. Why has the Western army not routed them? Is it possible Naneden’s army has defeated them already?”

Ianthill coughed. “Not likely, the armies of the West are strong. This news makes no sense.” He eyed Gondrial with a flash of inspiration in his eye. “Are they moving fast?”

“Nay, they are gathered and milling about in the woods.”

“We may still have a chance to beat them to the monastery then. If we can convince the monks an invasion is eminent, I may be able to incite them to fight before the Shades can take up positions with the dark army.” He rounded his horse and put a foot in the stirrup. “Mount up,” he commanded.

“But how can you defend the monastery if you cannot draw essence in this dead land, Ianthill?” Dorenn asked.

“Simple, the monastery is not in the Sacred Land. It is just on the other side of the border; plenty of essence there. I don’t expect I will be wielding much around the monks anyhow; it makes them nervous,” Ianthill said.

An early winter wind blew bitter cold across Dorenn’s face as he trailed behind Ianthill, who led the party hastily onward to Vetell Fex. Just as Dorenn thought the situation could not get any worse, he felt the cold sting of giant snowflakes on his cheek. He reached behind him and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and clasped it tight around his face. Ianthill only quickened the pace when the snow began to fall. The snow covered the ground and the dead trees, making the Sacred Land appear more peaceful, as if it were a vibrant land simply cloaked in winter snow. Dorenn could make out his surroundings as long as the wind kept down and the snow fell strait down in large flakes. To his right he could just make out a huge lake, serene and silent in the cold night, its vastness making it impossible to see the other side. Ahead and elevated above the lake, there appeared to be a huge ravine in the hills and mountains with a river running down into the lake. On the closest edge of the ravine, embedded in the canyon side, was a monstrous structure.

“That is Vetell Fex in the cliffside there,” Ianthill shouted to his companions, pointing to the structure Dorenn was looking at. “We have arrived.”

Dorenn was in awe of the monastery, and he noticed Rennon’s jaw had dropped as well. As soon as Rennon saw Dorenn looking his way, he closed his mouth and tried to appear aloof at the sight of the monastery.

Vetell Fex was built directly into the side of Ashonda’s canyon above the mouth of the mighty Tikaronda River. Its giant columns were as white as the snow falling around them. Dorenn wondered why anyone would attempt to attack such a structure; it seemed completely defendable. Oversized braziers burned all along its expanse, which made the monastery appear to actually be on fire.

“Monks live here?” Vesperin asked, surprised by the ominous appearance of the monastery.

“Absolutely,” Dicarion answered. “A special kind of monk, the monks of Fawlsbane Vex himself.”

Ianthill led them to the opposite side of the monastery where there appeared to be no bridge to cross, and then he rode off the cliff edge, floating in midair. He reined in his horse. “Ride on. It’s an illusion; the bridge is here.” He reached for his staff and drew it from his saddle. He tapped once on the bridge, and it began to slowly vibrate, glowing with reddish-orange light illuminating the way. “Quickly now, the light will fade.”

On the other side of the bridge, two monks dressed in plain brown robes stopped Ianthill and took his reins. Ianthill dismounted and embraced the first monk’s hand.

“Welcome, Lord of the Isle,” he said to Ianthill.

“Praise be to Fawlsbane Vex, Lord of the Gods, Gragar,” he responded.

“What brings you to Vetell Fex, Ianthill?”

“You and your monastery are in grave danger, Lord Gragar. Naneden, Lord of Scarovia, comes with his dark army.”

The stout, tall man laughed a hearty laugh. “Then we shall have him, and the Tikaronda will run red with the blood of Scarovia.”

“There is more, Gragar. He may have revived the old abominations of Toborne, atrocities not seen since the War of the Oracle.”

Dorenn saw Gragar’s bald head wrinkle at Ianthill’s words. The monk’s jolly round face turned grim and somber. “Let us not freeze out here in the open; we will discuss this inside with the order.” He motioned to the second hooded monk. “Melias, see to their horses and then join us in the main chamber.” The hooded monk took Ianthill’s reins from Gragar and led the horse to Dorenn. He reached out his hand for the reins of Dorenn’s horse. Dorenn handed the reins over to the monk and caught sight of the monk’s hand. A long scar ran up between the forefinger and thumb. Slowly the monk raised his head, and Dorenn began to see his face for the first time. As the light illuminated the monk’s expression, Dorenn made out a scar from cheek to forehead, and when the monk’s eyes met Dorenn’s, they glowed a blood red. Startled, Dorenn reached for
Dranmalin
as a feeling of utter dread filled him. “It’s one of the creatures!” Dorenn shouted.

In a blur, the monk spun around and under Dorenn, unbalancing him.
Dranmalin
sang as it sailed through the air and embedded point first in the snow nearby. Dorenn felt the air exit from his lungs, and before he knew what had happened, the monk stood above him with his foot firmly planted on Dorenn’s chest. He was still holding the reins from both horses in each of his scarred hands.

“Melias, let the boy go and join us in the chamber after you stable those horses,” Gragar commanded. The hooded monk released Dorenn and led the horses away.

“Foolish boy,” Dicarion laughed as he walked by Dorenn. Two more monks took the reins of the remaining mounts. Dorenn retrieved
Dranmalin
and followed behind Vesperin and Rennon into the monastery, his head bowed to avoid looking at them. He was thankful his friends did not say a word.

Vetell Fex was not at all what Dorenn had imagined based on the monastery’s outward appearance. The rough stone walls were polished and strong, but they were plain and brownish grey. Huge rooms and chambers, which contained almost no furniture, opened up along long halls. The monastery was somewhat gloomy, and Dorenn could see in the faces of his friends that he was not the only one who thought so. Vesperin’s childlike awe had been replaced with a slight scowl as if he had just sniffed a foul odor. Rennon carried a blank expression as if he were unimpressed. Gondrial searched every nook and cranny with his eyes, searching for any clues to Lady Shey’s whereabouts. At last, Gragar led them to an immense chamber with light and heat emanating from two huge braziers. In the center of the chamber was a large, rectangular oak table that reminded Dorenn of an eating hall rather than a meeting hall. Gragar motioned for the party to sit, and they did. Ianthill sat to Gragar’s left since Gragar sat at the head of the table.

After a few moments of idle chat about the weather and the state of Symboria, Ianthill spoke. “Forgive my boldness, lord of the monastery, but have you any prisoners in your dungeon I should know of?”

Gragar was startled for a moment. “A few heretics awaiting trial at the hands of the Enforcers, but no one important. Why do you ask?”

Ianthill’s eyes narrowed, and he moved in closer to Gragar. “You are not holding Lady Sheyna in your prison are you?”

Gragar’s expression changed to one of shock and defense. “Certainly not!” He glanced at Gondrial for a moment. “Even if the Enforcers had brought her here, I would have refused to hold her, and if I did receive her, it would only be to set her free. No, Ianthill, I do not have Lady Sheyna here.”

Ianthill sat back in his wooden chair, his tone was almost a whisper. “I never mentioned the Enforcers,” he said. “I never mentioned them at all.”

Gragar’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake. “Ianthill, I speak the truth, I never saw her.” He paused. “But I did hear of her capture.”

“Then why didn’t you say so!” Gondrial interrupted. “Why the lies?” Ianthill motioned for Gondrial to sit down. “I’ll handle this,” Ianthill said. He turned back to Gragar. Sweat formed on Gragar’s brow. Dorenn could feel Ianthill’s anger as well as Gragar’s apprehension.

“Well, Gragar, I await your explanation,” Ianthill said in hushed tones.

“All right, I shall tell you what you wish to know. Yarbrille has her. He came to me with her, and I refused to imprison her just as I said I would. He was angry with me when I told him to set her free. I assume they hold her at Brightonhold Keep. It is the only place they could take her.”