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

Soldier’s Bluff.”
    “Thank you, Master Feyon,” Tatrice said, bowing slightly and stepping back onto the wagon.
    As the wagon lurched past the guard, Tatrice blew him a kiss and he blushed furiously.
    When Rennon drove the ale wagon around the first corner, Dorenn was surprised to see Fadral’s wagon unhitched and stowed away neatly, as if it had not been used for quite some time. “Rennon, is that Master Fadral’s wagon?” he asked.
    “It certainly appears to be,” Rennon replied curiously.
    Trendan rode up next to Rennon. “Isn’t that—?”
    “We think so,” Dorenn said before Trendan could finish his sentence.
    Rennon halted the ale wagon next to the shop not far from Fadral’s wagon. A dark-skinned man came out of the shop, rubbing his hands with a cloth. He instinctively circled round to the injured mount. “Horse thrown a shoe?” he asked.
    “Aye,” replied the disguised guard. “Well, it isn’t thrown yet but it is damaged.”
    “Thought so. I could see the limp all the way down the road.” The dark-skinned man’s huge arms were the size of an average person’s leg. “Name's Rof,” he said as he held out his massive hand to the guard. “Hop down and I will repair it for you.”
    The guard dismounted and the smithy led the horse to an anvil near the shop.
    “Master Rof,” Dorenn began, “is that Master Fadral’s wagon?”
    The blacksmith lowered his head. “Aye, such a tragedy. I liked the old peddler.”
    Rennon and Dorenn looked at each other. “What happened? Is he here?” Dorenn asked.
    “Aye, he is. The poor man died near a month ago. He came into Soldier’s Bluff at full speed claiming that some animals attacked him. His horses were lathered up, and he was badly injured. He died before the next morning. I expect he would have lived if we had a cleric about.”
    “That is impossible. He was in Brookhaven not two days ago. I saw him myself,” Dorenn said.
    “And so did I,” added Trendan.
    “And me,” Tatrice said, walking out from behind the wagon.
    “Nay, that would be impossible. I tell you he died here near a month ago. I carried his casket to be buried and attended the funeral myself.”
    Lady Shey came out of the wagon now. She went directly to Rodraq and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and rode off. Lady Shey moved to stand beside the wagon on Rennon’s side. “Did he speak of what kind of animal he ran into, good smithy?” she asked.
    The blacksmith’s forehead furrowed, and he brought his hand up to cup his chin. “Not that I recall offhand. The claw marks looked like wolf work. The strange thing I remember was the bites on his arms and legs. They seemed to melt away like he was burned by fire.” He shook his head. “Hard to explain but that is all I remember.” He turned and led the mount to the anvil.
    “What is it, Lady Shey?” Tatrice asked.
    Lady Shey did not immediately answer. “We should move along as soon as possible. After Rof repairs the shoe on the mount, we will push on to the village of Cedar Falls. I hope to make it there by nightfall. I cannot justify camping out in the open so near a village if there may be danger.”
    “What about Rodraq? Where did you send him?” asked Tatrice.
    Lady Shey made a face as if she were searching her mind for an answer, and then she abruptly ignored the question. “Let’s get loaded up; Rodraq will catch up to us in Cedar Falls.” Sylvalora glanced curiously at Lady Shey before she climbed into the rear of the empty wagon, joined shortly by Lady Shey and Tatrice. Trendan paid the smithy, and Rof began to work on the damaged shoe.
    The smithy finished his repairs quickly and the guard remounted. Soon the party was slowly moving back to the main roadway and onward to Cedar Falls.
    “What was all of that about back there, Rennon?” Dorenn asked him as they left Soldier’s Bluff. Rennon did not answer, so Dorenn clarified his question. “I mean, where did Lady Shey send Rodraq?”
    “Who