Exiles From The Sacred Land (Book 2) (5 page)

“Let those who break the laws of Trigothia be warned. Draw the line!” the Enforcer shouted. Rennon felt the floor drop out from below his feet and the rope draw tight as he fell.

Lady Shey rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The smell of sizzling salted meat heavy in the air quickly roused her. She wrapped the small quilt covering her around her shoulders and followed the heavenly smell. Shila was humming a little tune as she cooked the meat on a cast iron stove.

Lady Shey sniffed the air. “Bacon and bittering tea?”

Shila turned with a start. “Oh, my lady, you sure gave me a scare. I wasn’t expecting you to be up and about yet.” She turned the meat in the skillet. “Aye, that is the bittering tea there.” She motioned with the spatula to a tin pot. “I put an empty cup out for you on the table next to the honey.”

“Thank you, Shila. Oh, and if it pleases you, why not simply call me Shey? No need to be so formal when it is I imposing on you.”

“Ah, mistress, you are no bother. When I referred to you by name when we met, I had not yet learned of your linage. My lady is the proper address.”

“I didn’t tell you that so you would curtsy and carry on so. Please, I want us to be friends.”

Shila grinned and picked up a bowl from the table. “I have something special here. Eggs! I’d wager you haven’t had fresh eggs in a stretch. I collected them right before sunup.”

Lady Shey donned a thick mitt from the table and took ahold of the pot of bittering tea. “No, I haven’t in a while for sure. It all smells so wonderful. You shouldn’t bother.” She poured herself some of the bittering tea and then glanced back to Shila. “Want a cup?”

Shila nodded. “My empty cup is on the table if you don’t mind pouring me some.”

“Not at all,” Shey said and then filled Shila’s cup.

Shila cracked an egg and dropped it in the same skillet she had just cooked the bacon in. “Don’t worry, my lady, I am glad to cook for us.”

“Shila, call me Shey.”

Shila nodded. “Sorry, mistress. It takes me a few times to get it through my thick skull.”

Lady Shey chuckled and blew on her bittering tea. She took a sip and wrinkled her nose. “Too bitter. I forgot to put in the honey.”

“Well, mistress, they don’t call it bittering tea for nothing.”

“It’s just a bit stronger than I am used to is all.”

“It’s dwarven. Grown in the mountains and freshly ground at the table. It is meant to be strong.” She set out a plate of food for Lady Shey, and then she put one down for herself. “Here we go. Let’s eat.”

Lady Shey picked up a slice of bacon and bit it in half. “Shila, thank you. This is wonderful.”

“I am glad you like it,” she said, digging into her eggs.

“How far is it to Basillain?” Lady Shey inquired.

“Not far. We will easily make it there by midday tomorrow on foot.” She took a bite of bacon. “It’s all downhill from here to there.” Shila contemplated the journey for a moment and then took a drink of her bittering tea. “Are you certain your friends will find you there?” Shila asked. “Basillain is a rough sort of city.”

Lady Shey nodded. “Gondrial and I have a system. If one of us is lost in the north, at the foot of the Jagged Mountains, we are to go to Basillain and wait.” She took another bite of bacon. “Specifically, we are to meet at the Eagle Eye Inn.”

“I have heard of the Eagle Eye. It has a rather colorful reputation.”

Lady Shey stopped eating for a moment. “Gondrial and I made the pact long ago. It was not such a dangerous place back then. We never bothered to update our agreement for a safer haven.”

Shila gave Lady Shey an uneasy grin. “It’s of no matter. We will not be in the city long enough to see any trouble, right?”

Shey nodded. “That’s right. Not to worry, we will meet my friend if he is there and leave for the Vale of Morgoran as soon as possible if he is not.”

“Back to my original question, how will he know to meet you in Basillain? I mean, how does he know you were taken northeast after you were captured?”

“Oh, I see what you’re asking. He doesn’t really; it’s an educated guess. If someone wanted to capture a wielder, they wouldn’t stay in Symboria long—it’s too risky. South is Arillia and west is Trigothia; both of those kingdoms would be just as risky as Symboria. North or east would be the only logical choice. Either way, Basillain is a good central location.”

“Clever. I guess you have it all worked out.”

Lady Shey swallowed another bite of bacon. “Aye, it is necessary to have a plan when you might be in hostile territory. Gondrial is smart, and he has a way of always finding me. I think he is in Basillain waiting patiently for me right now,” she said confidently.

“Let’s hope so, my lady, let’s hope so.”

Chapter 3: Shadow of the Mountain

Dorenn yawned, stretched his arms above his head, and worked the kink out of his back. Try as he might, he just could not get used to sleeping on the ground. He heard the familiar morning grumblings of Morgoran outside of his tent, which roused him from his uneasy sleep. The old wielder kept the pace of travel to Draegodor at a near intolerable speed, always mumbling about lost time and the folly of Ianthill’s hesitation. Dorenn was just hoping he would get on with his training and allow concerns for events he couldn’t control to slip from his mind.

Dorenn put on his trousers, pulled a clean grey tunic over his head, and strapped on
Dranmalin
. The smell of breakfast reached his tent and made his stomach growl. He wondered why Tatrice had not already greeted him as she usually did at first light. He exited his tent and got his answer. He could see Tatrice practicing swordplay with Bren in the clearing near the campsite. He had to swallow hard to suppress the sickly pang of jealousy that rose within him. After all, she was supposed to be a dragon knight now, and she needed training. Dorenn remembered the fight at Calanbrough and Brightonhold. Tatrice had learned just enough to keep her alive, but not enough to press her advantage. He reasoned that he would rather her train with Bren and be victorious than the alternative.

Morgoran was sitting by the embers of the dying campfire, apparently trying to rekindle it with new pieces of wood. He had placed a bag of bittering tea beans on a large rock next to him. Just beyond the tents and nestled in the tree line, Melias had set up a fire under a pile of rocks where he cooked biscuits and pork in a skillet.

“Good morning to you, Morgoran,” Dorenn said.

“What . . . oh . . . good morning,” he grumbled.

“Why don’t you just use essence to get the fire going again?”

Morgoran looked as if he had just swallowed something foul. Dorenn noticed he had shaved his beard close to his face and cut his hair short. “Why don’t I just light you on fire and throw you into it for suggesting such an asinine thing? You would probably burn easier than this wet wood,” he said, tossing the wood down on the dying embers. The old wielder turned away and began to mumble, but Dorenn could still understand him. “Use essence to do such a menial task; solve problems with a trick and a wink.”

“Why not?” Dorenn asked.

“Why not what?” Morgoran poked at the fire some more. “You have some big ears on you, boy. What are you asking? Why will I not use essence?”

“Aye, why not?”

Morgoran grumbled. “Because . . . well, if I did . . . um, it’s just not wise.”

“Why isn’t it wise?”

“Will you go bother someone else? I am trying to make some bittering tea, and as soon as I pour a cup down me, I will answer all your impetuous questions.” He turned back to the fire and poked at it again. As soon as Dorenn moved away to go speak to Melias, he heard the fire suddenly roar to life. Dorenn gazed back, and Morgoran hastily poked the fire with the stick, but Dorenn knew what he had done, and he snickered to himself.

“What are you so cheerful about?” Melias asked him as Dorenn approached.

“Oh, nothing. Just smelling your fine cooking.”

“Hungry, are you? Well, get you some pork while it’s still hot. The biscuits are coming. Get one of those plates.” He pointed to a stack of wooden plates sitting on a tree stump nearby. Dorenn grabbed one of them. “Morgoran should have some bittering tea brewed.”

“Aye, he’s working on it,” Dorenn said as he picked up a couple of links with his fingers.

“Careful, they’re still hot.”

Dorenn put his fingers in his mouth to cool them after dropping the sausages on the wooden plate.

Vesperin appeared out of a dense copse of trees behind Melias. “Something smells delicious. I could barely finish my morning prayers.”

“Have some,” Melias said as he pulled the biscuits from the skillet. “Get a plate.”

Vesperin took a plate from the stack, grabbed a link, and experienced the same finger-burning incident that Dorenn did.

“Here are the biscuits,” Melias said, giving them a golden-brown biscuit each.

Tatrice and Bren, unable to ignore the smell of breakfast any longer, put away their swords and joined Dorenn, Melias, and Vesperin.

Dorenn eyed the dragon knight suspiciously before he could catch himself.

The knight nervously struck up some small talk. “Tatrice is coming right along with her dragon fang and claw,” Bren said, referring to the two swords of a dragon knight.

Dorenn cocked an eyebrow. “I knew she would. You should see her wield kitchen knives.”

Tatrice beamed at Dorenn and then playfully poked him on the shoulder.

Morgoran, still grumbling, brought the pot of boiling bittering tea from the campfire and set it on top of the hot rocks. He poured the hot tea into six mugs and helped himself to breakfast. “Enjoy the hot meals while you can, boys. As soon as we leave Tyre for Draegodor, meals will be nothing but hard bread and dried meat.”

Dorenn groaned. “Why? Except for the boat ride to Seabrey, we have had hot meals all the way from Calanbrough, and I am enjoying having them for a change.”

“Is that what Ianthill taught you, boy? Whining? I think I have heard enough of that out of you.” Morgoran took a bite of biscuit. “For one thing, the road to Tyre is well traveled, and these campsites along this forest are plentiful.” Tiny bits of biscuit ejected out of his mouth as he talked. “If anyone is trying to track us, our campsite is not all that different from any other along this road. After Tyre, we will be heading up into the mountains. Not a lot of trails or roads leading up to Mount Urieus. We would do well to cover our tracks.”

“What is on Mount Urieus?” Tatrice asked. “Do we have to go there to get to Draegodor?”

“Aye, Mount Urieus is where the sentinels guard the gateway to Draegodor,” Bren answered. “They guard the Amalease stone. The stone is how we will gain entrance to Draegodor.”

“So is Mount Urieus near Draegodor?” Vesperin asked.

“Nay, Mount Urieus is the first highest western peak. The Amalease stone is a type of Lora Daine; it won’t send us to Draegodor like a regular Lora Daine, but it will alert Draegodor that we wish to enter. If the dragons accept, they will send for us. Otherwise, without Mount Urieus, we would spend weeks slowly traveling through the Jagged Mountains to get there. Draegodor is only reachable by air or Lora Daine.

Dorenn drank some of his bittering tea and placed the cup on his half-empty plate. “I am almost afraid to ask, but what do you mean by ‘sending for us’?”

“If the dragons invite you into Draegodor, you will find out. If they do not, it shall remain a secret.”

“I thought you might say that,” Dorenn said. “I do look forward to seeing the home of the dragons—if they let us in, I mean.”

“Aye, the red city of Draegodor is something to see,” Bren stated.

After breakfast, they packed up camp. Bren and Morgoran led the way through the forest to Tyre. Although they traveled near the road, Morgoran made it a point not to actually travel on the road, and as a result, the trip to Tyre took much longer.
At least the weather in northern Symboria is unusually warm for mid-winter, which makes travel more agreeable
, Dorenn thought.

After the midday meal, Vesperin approached Dorenn just before the party geared up to move out again. “Dorenn, I have been thinking about what happened in the woods with the Dramyds.”