Read Online Defenders of The Sacred Land: Book One of The Sacred Land Saga by Mark Tyson - Free Book Online

talk to Vesperin or Rennon. After a quick search of the camp, he found Rennon sitting under a tall oak, gazing at the stars and smoking a long-stemmed clay pipe.
    “Rennon, there you are.”
    “Aye, here I am. You have found me,” Rennon said sarcastically.
    Dorenn grimaced even though Rennon could not see him do so. “I have known you too long for Lady Shey’s comments to bother you like this. What is the matter?”
    “It isn’t any of your concern, Dorenn. You could not possibly understand.”
    Dorenn noticed Rennon move the bag of Sanmir’s bittering tea out of his sight. “Why don’t you let me decide that for myself?”
    Rennon coughed uneasily. “Because you can’t keep a secret. I remember when I told you a secret when we were younger and you told Trendan, Tatrice, and who knows all.”
    “We were only four seasons old, Rennon, and you told me you were turning into a wolf. You scared me half to death with that beaver fur you put on your arms. I thought you were going to eat me alive.” Dorenn laughed.
    Rennon chuckled in spite of himself. “No, not that time. The time I told you I saw my dead grandmother sitting at the end of my bed at night.”
    “I didn’t think you were serious.”
    “I still see her, Dorenn,” Rennon said somberly.
    “Okay, Rennon, I made a mistake when we were six. I think I can keep it to myself now,” he paused. “Why do you think you still see her?”
    Rennon stood and brushed the dead leaves and twigs from his backside. “Another time perhaps, right now I just need to sleep.”
    “Rennon, you can’t do that.”
    “Do what?”
    “Leave me in the dark like this.”
    “I am truly sorry, Dorenn, but I can’t tell you, not yet anyway. Just let me come to you on my own,” Rennon said, and then he walked back to camp.
    “I have been hearing that a lot lately,” Dorenn muttered to himself.

    The next morning, after a breakfast of dried beef and bread, the party packed up and moved back onto the southern road. The guards and Rodraq cleared the campsite so well that it was difficult to see any signs that anyone had made camp there at all. Trendan hoped they would reach the first village from Brookhaven at around midday, and indeed, as the midday summer sun beat relentlessly on their backs, the party reached Soldier’s Bluff, which meant they were making good time.
    Up until the last four leagues or so, the terrain had been mostly flat with occasional rolling hills topped with green and golden grasslands. Now the hills became much steeper and trees became more prevalent. Sharp stones began to appear on the road, and despite Rennon’s excellent inspection of the horse’s hooves before they had left Brookhaven, some of the rocky terrain had damaged one of the mount’s shoes. The damage was not severe, but it did require a blacksmith. Dorenn knew that Rof’s blacksmith shop was not far off the main road, just beyond the guardhouse. He had not been to Soldier’s Bluff in quite some time, but he was sure nothing had changed much. The village was not large, just a collection of two or three shops and a handful of houses, but it was a clean and pleasant place. As the party approached the guardhouse, a stout man in rusty chain mail called a halt, and Rennon complied.
    “What business do you have in Soldier’s Bluff?” the pig-faced guard asked in a gruff voice.
    “We are merchants bound for Symbor from the village of Brookhaven,” Rennon replied.
    The guard studied Dorenn for a moment, and then he saw Tatrice step out from behind the wagon. “It’s okay, Feyon; this is Master Lourn’s son and a summons group from Brookhaven.”
    The stout man perked up immediately. “Mistress Tatrice. It is good to see your fair face again. Are you well?”
    “I am well, Feyon, but I am in a bit of a rush as one of our mounts is in danger of losing a shoe. We need to get to Rof’s shop.”
    The stout man stood aside. “Aye, Mistress Tatrice, you may pass at once, and welcome to