Defenders of The Sacred Land: Book One of The Sacred Land Saga (39 page)

Ianthill immediately went to Trayore’s aid and, seeing his wound, turned to Gondrial. “Where have you left the cleric and his friends?”

“Outside. I doubt they can hear what is happening inside these thick walls.”

Ianthill closed his eyes briefly and called out to Dorenn with his mind. “He should hear that!” Ianthill exclaimed as he dodged an Enforcer blade. “Go for Drakkius, if you can, Gondrial.”

Gondrial nodded and cut his way through attacking men to get at Drakkius. Gondrial was surprised to see Yarbrille locked in combat with Drakkius and appear to be winning.

Ianthill put his hand on Trayore’s wound and said a light incantation: “Tay ori noe uncanta.” The wound closed up but was still bruised. “That should hold you until you receive cleric healing, old friend.”

“Go on, Ianthill, stop that madman,” Trayore said, spitting blood.

Ianthill nodded as he stood up, pulling
Elanadil
, sword of fire, from midair. He pointed the blade and a burst of reddish-orange flame shot from it, engulfing Drakkius as he dove to avoid the blast. At the same moment, Yarbrille’s blade cut between Drakkius’s crimson breastplate and his armpit. Gondrial thrust forward as well but was knocked clear by the blade of an Enforcer. Unflinching from his obvious pain, Drakkius jumped to his feet and cleft Yarbrille’s blade in two with one terrible blow. Stunned, Yarbrille awkwardly thrust his shard forward, and Drakkius disarmed him, thrusting his own blade and just missing Yarbrille’s side. Gondrial recovered his footing and lunged forward, slicing Drakkius’s forearm. Drakkius retaliated with a fist square into Gondrial’s face. Ianthill again used
Elanadil
, and a bolt of flame encompassed the blade. He thrust the fire at Drakkius, who absorbed it and sent it back at him. Ianthill dove for cover, and the flames engulfed a nearby Enforcer. Cleared of his attackers, Drakkius held his sword high and uttered a speech as dark as the night sky. The building rumbled and shook, causing the glass dome to shatter. Massive slabs of stone ceiling crumbed down to the chamber floor.

More Enforcers entered the fray from the bowels of the keep, and Gondrial moaned. “Not more of them.” Gondrial heard some commotion toward the rear of the chamber, and when he looked, his spirits perked up some. Bren and Tatrice had entered the rear of the chamber, swinging their dragon fangs. Bodies were dropping left and right in their path.

“Attack all those wearing black robes. As far as I am concerned, they are all enemies,” Ianthill shouted. Bren cut down two or three black-robed men at a time with his deadly dragon fang. Tatrice wielded her dragon fang and claw with some skill, but it was evident she was a novice. Bren would kill her foe in between his own swings, which tended to anger her.

After she had seen Bren and Tatrice arrive, Kimala sneaked to where she had seen Bren, Enowene, and Tatrice leave their packs. She frantically searched them, and after a moment, she found what she was looking for: the green statuette. She shrieked with glee before she made her way through the tangle of bodies back to where Drakkius was fighting. “The statuette!” she shouted, throwing it to Drakkius. He caught it, and Ianthill watched in horror as Drakkius focused his mind on it. Ianthill used
Elanadil
, but Drakkius avoided the blast. The green statuette burst with light at Drakkius’s incantation. The light from the statuette entered him. He sneered wickedly at Ianthill and lifted his fist into the air. He let out a shriek of triumph.

“What was that all about?” Gondrial asked Ianthill as he avoided the blade of an Enforcer.

“I think he just released essence trapped in the statuette,” Ianthill responded.

Outside of Calanbrough, and oblivious to the battle going on two hundred yards away in Brightonhold Keep, Dorenn sat on a bench with Vesperin. Rennon was sitting on a bench three yards opposite them, keeping his distance.

Since Dorenn had made his decision to become a wielder, Vesperin was the only friend around from Brookhaven who would still speak to him, but he rarely had much more to say except for polite conversation. A nagging whisper flooded Dorenn’s mind and he felt dizzy for a moment, but the feeling passed.

“Oh, what is it?” Vesperin asked Dorenn. “You keep fidgeting and shaking your head. It’s annoying.”

“Sorry, I’m hearing someone call my name. My imagination is playing tricks on me.”

Vesperin took out his long clay pipe and began to pack it. “Well, it’s annoying at any rate.” He looked to the entrance to Brightonhold Keep across the way. “What is keeping Gondrial and the Defenders? It should have been easy for them to go in, get her, and exit. The Defenders outnumber the Enforcers here two to one.”

“You think we should go in and find out? They might have run into unexpected trouble.”

“You heard Gondrial. He said under no circumstances are we to leave this spot.”

At that moment Rennon bolted for Brightonhold Keep in full sprint. Vesperin and Dorenn looked at each other with puzzlement until they heard the sound of tremendous wings beating behind them. Vesperin’s pipe fell from his lips as he rose to see what the noise was, and he stumbled backward. Two enormous black dragons flew directly toward them.

“Run,” Dorenn yelled, “to the keep!”

Rennon managed to get the doors open and was beginning to shut them again when Vesperin and Dorenn reached them. Inside the keep, the three were surprised to hear the sounds of battle.

Drawing their weapons, they ran to the source of the noise. The floor shook, and the reverberation of crumbling stone knocked Dorenn into a nearby wall. Vesperin pushed his way through the two mammoth wooden doors into the chamber. Dorenn saw the roof had been torn away and bodies were covering the stone floor. The two dragons had flown in and were burning the room while the men left alive were scrambling for cover. A man in red armor and a tattered red cloak jumped from a balcony onto the back of one of the dragons. Ianthill and Gondrial were behind a stone pillar on the left of the immense chamber. Vesperin made his way to nearby wounded despite the flames, and Rennon took cover behind the nearest stone pillar to the door. Dorenn faltered as he realized a third dragon had joined in the fight; its scales were greenish black. One of the black dragons had seen Dorenn in the doorway and was heading for him. Dorenn stood paralyzed. He tried but could not shake the fear of the strafing dragon bearing down on him.

The second black dragon circled around near Gondrial’s position.

“Gondrial, watch out, the dragon is circling!” Ianthill shouted. The second dragon also spotted Dorenn standing in the doorway, and it flashed its long sharp fangs in satisfaction as it dived for him. “Get out of the way, boy!” Ianthill shouted at Dorenn, but Dorenn could not bring himself to move. Ianthill stepped out from behind the pillar, even though Gondrial was trying to hold him back, and he positioned his staff at the dragon. “Get back!” he shouted as streaks of lightning charged the air. The dragon reeled just before it loosed its fire breath. It wavered in midair and then crashed into the doorway, just missing Dorenn. It stood upright, shook its head, and immediately took flight again.

In a booming voice the dragon with the rider spoke, “Get the wielder! Destroy him.”

Ianthill twisted around to face the other two dragons before he realized he was too far from the pillars to run to safety. Gondrial leaped out from behind the protection of the stone, trying to aid his master, but it was too late; all three dragons let loose their fiery breath. Ianthill held up his staff and blocked the first two, but the third burned him. Dorenn stared horrified, trying to think of what to do. He watched helplessly as Ianthill rolled out from under the flames with his crimson robes on fire. The dragons increased their combined efforts and sprayed intense blue, orange, and red flames onto Ianthill as he rolled. Dorenn’s eyes widened as the wizard stood pushing back the flames. Casting the staff aside, Ianthill held his hands up high and black flames leaped from his fingertips. One of the dragons burst into a horrible, deafening scream as its charred remains crashed to the floor in a smoldering heap. The keep groaned and crumbled, and Dorenn shrank away, remembering the terrible cost of using blackfire. In an instant of revelation, Dorenn swiftly sprang from his crouched position to grasp the staff Ianthill had cast aside, intending to help him with it. Ianthill looked visibly shaken by his experience, and he and Dorenn exchanged a long glance, which Dorenn knew was only seconds. Ianthill was vulnerable to the attacking dragons. The old wielder’s expression went dark, and Dorenn knew what was about to happen. Ianthill held up his hand, and Dorenn felt a strange sensation as he was pushed back by an unseen force to the safety of a nearby pillar. Dorenn recovered quickly and was about to charge back to Ianthill’s aid when he realized Sylvalora was standing next to him, holding him back. She smiled. “I choose you, Dorenn. You must live.”

Dorenn stared at her, confused for a moment. “You choose me for what?” he asked, but she did not answer.

Infuriated, the two remaining dragons focused on Ianthill.

Dorenn watched in awe as Sylvalora began to shimmer and transform. Silver wings sprang from her shoulder blades, and her face elongated into a maw. Her emerald green eyes flashed as her great silver wings stirred the air, and she took flight, knocking Dorenn to the ground. The two remaining dragons swooped down on Ianthill, striking him, flames burning him relentlessly.

“
NO
!” Gondrial screamed as he leapt onto one of the dragon’s path. He held out his hands and more of the damaged ceiling fell and crumbled as blackfire engulfed the green dragon with deadly lightless flame. Some of the black flame recoiled and smote Gondrial. Pieces of stone from the ceiling of the keep exploded downward as the dragon’s tail smashed a supporting stone pillar, and pieces of it crashed into the already weakened wall. Unlike Ianthill, Gondrial’s blackfire had failed to stop the dragon completely. Gondrial lay motionless on the floor of the trembling chamber.

The Silver Drake flew directly into the dragon flames. She sent her body up with a mighty thrust of her silvery wings. Her eyes flashed ruby red as she cast a luminous spell, and Drakkius tried to rein in his dragon. He abruptly turned on her. “There she is, the Silver Drake! She has come as I predicted.” Drakkius reached inside a bag at his side and pulled out the green statuette. The Silver Drake shrieked and spit blue fire at Drakkius and his dragon, but Drakkius fended off the flames and managed to cast his spell. The Silver Drake shrank into a small silver statue that Drakkius immediately summoned to him with his free hand. A silvery blue light from the Silver Drake entered the statuette. He put the figurine into a bag he carried at his side and clasped the Silver Drake in his hands, laughing shrilly. He reined in his dragon and retreated into the sky.

The remaining black dragon fixed its eyes on the still vulnerable Ianthill as he lay moaning on the chamber floor. There was a moment when the dragon met Ianthill’s gaze, eye to eye, and then it dove.

Dorenn clenched his fists, trying to draw essence, but he could not summon enough. He caught the glimpse of a blue robe out of the corner of his eye. He looked to see a man with a hood over his face, standing over Ianthill. Concerned, Dorenn ran out into the open. He had to do something. The robed man turned to meet his gaze, and Dorenn stopped short when he saw the man’s face. Two ice blue eyes stared fixed on him, and he froze in disbelief. The man in blue put his hand on Ianthill’s shoulder. “I am here, brother.”

“Morgoran!” Ianthill said. “It cannot be.”

“Aye, Ianthill, I am here,” Morgoran repeated as he held up his dark wood staff with his right hand to the dragon and removed his hood with his left. His blue eyes sparkled with life as the light from his staff struck the dragon. It flew down low and then it climbed higher into the sky. Morgoran lifted his left hand high and let loose a terrible thunder that drove the dragon away, and it flew off into the distance.

Morgoran reached down to Ianthill and pulled him to his feet. Ianthill embraced his old friend and stared into his familiar blue eyes. “Your eyes!” Ianthill marveled.

“The curse has been lifted. The Silver Drake lifted it when she last came to the vale. It took me some time to recover.”

“I am pleased to see you, my brother,” Ianthill said.

“Naturally you are, old fool, I just saved your skin. You have grown careless. You waited too long to join the fight. We have some work to do.”

Ianthill’s expression soured. “Brother, I think I know what Drakkius released from that green statuette.”

“Toborne!” Morgoran said. “I already know.” He scanned the chamber. “Where is Sylvalora?”

“With Drakkius. He captured her.”

Morgoran turned red with anger. “He has captured her again.”

“Again?” Dorenn asked baffled.

Morgoran looked at him with contempt.

Dorenn shrank back; he had not expected Morgoran to be so grumpy.

Ianthill put his hand on Morgoran’s shoulder. “It’s all right. The danger has passed.”

Morgoran stared at Dorenn. “I hope you live up to your destiny, boy, we can’t have you go weak on us now. Toborne has taken the Silver Drake, which means he will take the Sacred Land.”