Exiles From The Sacred Land (Book 2) Read online

  “Shadesilver!” Tatrice was surprised she would say such a thing. “No, we are not betrothed, but it is understood, I think.”

  “There is no such thing as getting unmarried here in this part of the world. Couples separate sometimes but remain married until one of them dies. Hmm, I wonder if that’s why they go to war so easily,” Shadesilver mused.

  “We aren’t from here,” Tatrice pointed out. “Is there a way?”

  “Of course, you two didn’t have a clue what you were doing. Technically, the imprints signify you are married, but since you didn’t know what you were consenting to, I am sure they will remove them and you can go back to the way you were. We will go back to the place you were married in the morning and explain it to them.”

  Tatrice awoke the next morning to the sound of a male voice, and also Shadesilver’s voice. Normally it would not have startled her awake, but this male voice sounded angry. As soon as she became fully awake, she realized the male voice was Morgoran, and she could guess what he was angry about. She got out of bed and hastily got dressed. She tied up her hair and made herself look presentable before entering the adjacent inn room where Shadesilver, Bren, and Morgoran sat at a small round table. Morgoran looked up at her and then averted his eyes back to his cup of bittering tea. Tatrice could feel her anger begin to surface. “It was an accident, Morgoran, you don’t have any right—”

  “An accident!” He stood from the table, his blue robes catching his chair and pulling it over onto the floor with a thud. “How in the seven shards do you accidentally get married?” After the outburst, Bren stood up to intercept Morgoran, but Morgoran boldly pushed him back down in his chair. “You can remain seated . . . broodlord.”

  Tatrice did not miss the sarcasm—broodlord meaning protector of a family of dragons. “Didn’t Shadesilver explain? We are going back to the people who performed the ritual and having it annulled.”

  Morgoran picked his chair off the floor and set it upright. “There is no such thing—marriage here is forever. The concept of breaking the bond is paramount to blasphemy of the gods here. If you go out talking of breaking the bond, they will run you out of town or throw you in stocks as a harlot, or worse, outsider or not.”

  Tatrice felt her legs go weak under her but recovered her resolve quickly. “There has to be a way.” She looked around the room and noticed Dorenn was not with them. He must have heard.

  “There is a way; there is always a way,” Morgoran said. “But there is no way here, now. You two will have to stay married for a while. I have to get Dorenn to the Isle of Doom; that’s first priority. This little diversion will just have to wait until we can get to a point to contact Kerad; only a cleric or priest of Loracia can magically remove the imprints.”

  “What about Vesperin, then?” Tatrice asked. “Is he with Dorenn right now?”

  Morgoran sat back in the chair and took a sip of his bittering tea. “Aye, he is here with Dorenn, but I hesitate to ask him. I am not even certain he has ever performed anything like this, and he is Dorenn’s friend.”

  “He’s my friend too. I need to talk to Dorenn and—”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. Vesperin is working right now to make sure Dorenn doesn’t find out about this just yet. Shadesilver had the sense not to divulge it in front of him.”

  Tatrice was relieved. “I understand now. I thought Dorenn knew.”

  “In his current condition, I don’t think that would be wise at all.” He took another drink of his bittering tea. “I have not seen the ritual performed, but I understand it is somewhat lengthy. It isn’t just the magic; clerics always have to ask questions and make sure the dissolution of the marriage is what both parties want and need and what not. We simply do not have the time right now. I suggest you two stay away from each other and speak nothing of this until after we get Dorenn to the isle and cured first. Don’t act all suspicious, and Tatrice, don’t go looking all sad and melancholy when you are around Dorenn. Act as if nothing has happened; his very health depends on it.” He took the last drink of his bittering tea. “Now, let’s gather up your things, find Vesperin and Dorenn, and get to the ferry. The Isle of Doom isn’t far.”

  “Morgoran, if Dorenn is too sick to wonder about Tatrice, why don’t we just let you take him to Rugania first and we will follow. If he asks about her, we can have her appear, but if he continues to think she has remained behind, why not just let him believe that?” Shadesilver suggested.

  “No,” Tatrice spoke up. “I don’t have to tell him about the marriage, but I won’t leave him to go through this alone.”

  “He isn’t alone,” Shadesilver reminded her. “He has Vesperin and Morgoran.”

  “It isn’t the same. He—”

  “I agree with Tatrice,” Morgoran interrupted. “If nothing else, she will help keep him calm. As long as we don’t mention the marriage, I think it will be better to have her.” He let his eyes wander to Bren. “On the other hand, Bren might be an irritant. Why don’t you and Bren remain here until I summon you, Shadesilver? I will send for you as soon as Dorenn is cured. That way, Bren is out of sight and out of mind.”

  Tatrice thought he might have been just trying to separate her from Bren, but she agreed.

  Bren looked as if he might say something, but Morgoran ended the conversation abruptly. “All right, that’s settled. Go and gather your things, Tatrice, and we will go find Vesperin and Dorenn.”

  Chapter 13: Rugania: The Isle of Doom

  Rugania, also known as the Isle of Doom by common folk, did not appear to Dorenn to be the horrific place its nickname indicated. When the old ferry finally came to rest at the dock, Dorenn was almost disappointed how new and vibrant the docks seemed. They were constructed of wood, but they must have been magically protected because they were very well maintained. The docks were covered with a canopy carved and crafted with precision.

  “Morgoran,” Dorenn said, “did the elves build these?” He indicated the docks.

  Morgoran was preparing to help tie off the ferry. He grabbed a thick rope and slung it on the docks. “Aye, the Siladil built them. Darovan is just across the Amarouan Sea there.” He pointed southwest. “Surprisingly, the sand elves can work wood pretty well.”

  “Do they have wood in Darovan?” Vesperin asked.

  “Certainly they do. Darovan isn’t all sand and desert. The northwestern lands have trees and even mountains.” Morgoran stopped Dorenn before he took another step. “The docks are fine, but I want to do one more check before we set foot on land, so don’t go running off.”

  Melias stepped up. “The captain says he will return in one week’s time. He says he will leave here in about an hour.”

  “That’s fine, Melias, you can tell him to shove off now if it suits him. We will be fine.”

  Morgoran and the boys stepped onto the docks and headed for shore. Tatrice followed. Dorenn could feel the anticipation building within him. Just before the end of the docks, Morgoran made a few more incantations to check that all the preparations had been met before allowing everyone to set foot on the island.

  “It must have worked,” Dorenn said after he stepped ashore. He fought the urge to run around in the grass in celebration before he realized he had not fought the urge at all and everyone was staring at him. “Sorry,” he said somberly. “I didn’t realize.”

  “No harm, Dorenn, that’s why we’re here,” Morgoran said. He pointed to the pathway ahead. “Let’s get to it. The citadel is about a half hour walk. Erinthill and Brynna are expecting us.”

  Morgoran, Dorenn, Vesperin, and Melias walked for about twenty minutes before they were greeted by Brynna, Ianthill’s niece. A light blue dress with a white-laced collar perfectly fit her slender elvish figure. Her facial features were soft and pleasing. Dorenn, thankfully, could see no resemblance to Ianthill. Tatrice lagged behind.

  “Welcome to Rugania, Master Morgoran. My mother will be pleased to see you so well.”

  “Aye, I am sure I looked a fright with clea
r eyes and a babbling mouth. That is all well behind me now; there are other, more pressing concerns to tend to now.”

  Brynna looked intently at Dorenn. “Yes, I can see the malady within him, but it is not too late.”

  Vesperin was curious. “You are a healer?”

  “Aye, cleric of Loracia, not much different from your sect. My mother and I have healed wielders for generations, although time and ignorance has slowed business of late.” She smiled. “It is of little matter now. Let me take you to the citadel. Mother has prepared a meal for you.”

  “Great, I am starved,” Dorenn said.

  Brynna guided the party up a winding path to a set of stairs that led high up onto a hill where the citadel was built solidly into and on top of a heavy rock outcropping. Spiraling towers and bold walls blended in with the rocks, making the citadel appear a bit ominous.

  A woman met them at the door. She looked like an older version of Brynna. She wore white rather than the light blue Brynna wore.

  “Welcome, friend Morgoran.” She held her arms out, and Morgoran embraced her.

  “It is pleasing to see you, Erinthill,” Morgoran said.

  “And you, as well.” She clasped her hands together. “I insist you and your wary band of travelers have a meal. I had it prepared especially for you. Your cleric, Kerad already awaits you in the dining hall.”

  “I’m certain we would be delighted to accept.”

  She moved with grace to Dorenn and examined him briefly. “He is not lost to us yet. You are right to be concerned; he is far along with the malady, but not so much we cannot help him.”

  “That is good news, my lady,” Morgoran said. Dorenn was surprised to see him smiling at her. He tried to remember if he had ever seen Morgoran smile before. He quickly concluded that he had not.

  “Everyone, this is Ianthill’s twin sister, Erinthill. She has invited us all to dine with her,” Morgoran said. He leaned in close to Dorenn. “You are in for a rare treat!” He patted Dorenn on the back. “Let’s go while it’s still hot!”

  The feast Lady Erinthill had prepared rivaled any Dorenn had ever seen, and he wondered briefly where all the food had come from. Surely this island is somewhat isolated and desolate. He decided he didn’t care and shoveled some roast chicken onto his plate.

  Gondrial felt sick to his stomach. The process of bending, which the Kylerie elves were so adept at doing, made everyone but the Kylerie nauseated. As promised, Kyrie had managed to put them on the exact floor of the Sea and Fog Inn where Gondrial’s room was located. Kyrie helped Gondrial through the doorway as best he could for a person of his small stature.

  “Gondrial! For the love of Fawlsbane, what happened?” Shey exclaimed, taking over from Kyrie and helping Gondrial to the bed. Ianthill sat in a nearby arm chair, awake and shaking his head. Enowene moved to help Shey. They put Gondrial on the bed while he groaned in pain.

  “I was attacked by a cutthroat. Seabrey lives up to its nefarious reputation. We could have just as easily gone south from Basillain, Sanmir.”

  “Sanmir went out for food and provisions,” Ianthill said. He had his eyes intently on Kyrie.

  Shey fluffed the pillows and made sure Gondrial was comfortable before acknowledging what everyone else in the room was wondering.

  “Kyrie, where in the world did you come from?” she asked with a somewhat suspicious tone.

  “I came from Signal Hill, of course. Morgoran sent for me. I have a message for Ianthill.”

  “Likely story,” Ianthill said. “Why would he send for you to tell me anything?”

  “Morgoran knew I could get to you quickly; at least, that is what he told me.”

  “Sorry, little one, but this time I will not be fooled. You and I have too colorful of a past. What proof do you have?”

  “Morgoran told me to say this if you didn’t believe me: ‘Listen to him, you wool-headed elf. I don’t have time to put up with foolishness. The password is Brynna’s backside and—’”

  Ianthill coughed. “That’s enough. What is the message?”

  “You believe me now?” Kyrie asked.

  “Yes, yes, aye, get on with the message.”

  “Morgoran has traveled with Dorenn to the Great Sythian Forest. Queen Sildariel has stabilized Dorenn’s essence sickness, but Rugania is required for the cure. Travel to Ormond’s Arch at once to rendezvous with Morgoran.”

  “If he is in Endil, how in the seven rings are we supposed to meet him in Ormond’s Arch? He will be there months before us. Dorenn would never make it that long. He must think we have a bigger Lora Daine or something.”

  “Actually, his message says that he thought you were in Trigothia. He told me to look for you there in one of the Trigothian Kingdoms.”

  “How did you find us here then?” Ianthill asked.

  Shey spoke up. “Me. He bonded with me as a young girl and has been able to find and annoy me ever since. That is, until he was trapped at Signal Hill.”

  “I still knew where you were. I just couldn’t leave.”

  “I am sure you did,” she said, “and I am glad.” She smirked to let him know she was only kidding with him.

  “It was a lucky thing he did come, or I might not have made it,” Gondrial said.

  “Which reminds me, I need to start the healing magic on you and Ianthill,” Kyrie said. “The Enforcers are sparse in these parts, but I am sure the ones still around are starting their search.” He hovered over Gondrial, speaking a strange tongue and waving his hands. White light poured out of his palms.

  Gondrial noticed the curious looks on the others’ faces. “I had to let Kyrie bend us here. It was the only way.”

  “Quickly, Shey and Enowene, we need to ward this inn,” Ianthill commanded.

  There came a short knock on the door, followed by Sanmir entering the room carrying newly procured provisions.

  “Something has a handful of Enforcers stirred up out in the street,” Sanmir said. “Do any of you know why?”

  “It’s us, as usual,” Gondrial quipped.

  Sanmir noticed Kyrie. “A new member to our party?”

  “An unavoidable one,” Gondrial said.

  “Stop fidgeting and stop talking,” Kyrie scolded.

  Ianthill sat forward in his chair. “Kyrie brings a message to us from Morgoran.”

  “Ah, I see,” said Sanmir. “What is the message?”

  “Morgoran sent me the message via the wood elves in Endil. He says for you to travel to Ormond’s Arch. Dorenn’s essence sickness will require the trials at Rugania.”

  “Ormond’s Arch is months away. Do you have a plan?”

  Ianthill sat back in his chair. “We cannot travel by Lora Daine. The short bursts you conjure up would not get us across the Strait of Adracoria.”

  “Sanmir, could you duplicate the spell you used to enhance the stone’s power?” Gondrial asked. Kyrie growled with irritation. “Stop it, Kyrie, I’m not moving that much.”

  “I fear that feat was accomplished in a spur of the moment. I am not sure I could duplicate it,” Sanmir warned. “It would be too dangerous. I am surprised I got us this far.”

  Ianthill nodded. “We can go by ship across the strait, and when we reach Trigothia, we’ll go the rest of the way by foot.” He thought for a moment. “There is one other way. I have not seen it done in a thousand seasons, but we are strong, having four master wielders, and with the magic you possess, Sanmir, we just might be able to pull it off.”

  “Pull what off?” Sanmir asked.

  Ianthill winked at Sanmir as if to say, you’ll see. “Gondrial, do you remember the incident at Rhysen’s Bay during the War of the Oracle?”

  “Aye, we were outnumbered and retreating by ship. Dramyds were flying around dropping fire on us and . . . Oh, I see what you are up to. Can you still accomplish such a feat? I haven’t seen it done since the war, and even then it was a difficult trick.”

  “Aye, with a little help from all of you, it should be fine.”

&nb
sp; Lady Shey and Enowene finished packing the new provisions.

  Kyrie jumped down from the bed and found a small stool nearby to sit on. “There, all done. You are not completely healed yet, Gondrial, so don’t try to lift heavy objects, but you are healed enough to get around. Now you, Ianthill.” Kyrie started pulling at Ianthill’s robes.

  “I am fine, Kyrie. I heal fast. I am an elf, remember? Get down.”

  “Fine,” Kyrie said. He found a spot next to Gondrial and sat on the bed.

  “Were any of the ships in dry dock, Gondrial?” Ianthill asked.

  “I am not sure. I wasn’t looking for one. I did see a nice clipper. I am not sure it is still docked.”

  “Why don’t you and Sanmir go down to the docks and find us a ship. Are you up to the task?”

  “Kyrie healed me up pretty well. I feel fine.”

  “Good, you know about what size she should be,” Ianthill said.

  “Wait a moment,” Sanmir interjected. “I thought a ship would be too slow. We are going by ship now?”

  Shey lit up as she caught on. “Aye, we are going by ship, but it won’t be slow.”

  “Now you have it!” Ianthill exclaimed, pointing a finger at Shey.

  Gondrial got down off the bed and patted Sanmir on the back. “Let me get out of these bloody clothes and we will go find us a ship to steal.”

  Sanmir abruptly caught on. “Oh, no, you are going to do what I think you are, surely.”

  “Aye, my old friend, this should be quite an adventure,” Gondrial said with excitement.

  After the meal, Brynna showed each of the party to their rooms before they all met in the common room. Erinthill, Kerad, and Brynna took Dorenn aside to an adjoining antechamber for a more thorough exam. When they returned to the common room, Erinthill’s concern was apparent on her face. “The Isle of Doom is affecting him, Morgoran. We will have to forego some of the ritual and let him take the trial early.”

  “I agree with Erinthill,” Kerad said.

  “Affecting him how, exactly?”

  “He grows worse by the hour. He is already showing signs far more advanced than when you arrived,” Brynna lamented.