Yorien's Hand (The Minstrel's Song Book 3) Read online

  “Thank you, sir,” Devrin said.

  “Forgive my harsh words about your name. They were spoken in haste and despair.”

  “I’ve heard words like them before. They don’t matter.”

  “I thought the name House Merle sounded familiar. Did you serve in the King’s Helm? You seem young for it.”

  “My older brother, sir. He died in Aom-igh.”

  “I am sorry to hear that. We could use more good men like you.”

  The captain’s breath caught and grew ragged. Devrin leaned forward in concern.

  “Sir?”

  The captain waved a hand. “I do not think I am long for this world. I wanted to ask you... have you held a command?”

  “Yes, sir,” Devrin affirmed. “In the palace guard, before I asked to be reassigned to the Border Patrol.”

  “Not much experience leading men in battle, then?”

  “No, sir.”

  “But you acquired the Aetoli rank, I see,” the captain gestured at the pin on Devrin’s collar.

  “Yes, sir, a few months ago.”

  “And you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. That fire was quick thinking, and the men followed your orders,” the captain gasped and coughed, spitting out blood.

  “With all due respect, sir, you should be resting,” the attending warrior said quietly.

  “I’ll rest in a moment,” the captain growled then paused as he was seized by yet another fit of coughing. When he had recovered he lay back, panting. “Devrin of House Merle, I hereby leave you my command.”

  Devrin felt a shock course through him. “Sir?”

  “Son, some leaders are born, and some are made. The way you handled yourself tonight, anyone can see that you were born to lead. I have no doubt that you can do this. Besides, you must have talent, they don’t bestow Aetoli ranks upon just anyone.”

  “I am too young to command an entire patrol!”

  “New rank or not, you earned the title of Aetoli. Do you know that is one of the highest honors you could have been given?”

  Devrin nodded, feeling suddenly much younger than his fifty years. “Aye sir, I know it well.”

  “No one will question your capability. No one, that is, but yourself.”

  Devrin bit his lip, and then he nodded reluctantly. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” The older man fumbled with the pin on his own collar and then made a frustrated sound. “Stephran,” he said weakly. The warrior who had been attending him looked anguished, but he bowed his head and helped the captain remove his pin.

  “There is no uniform for this position,” the captain said, his voice growing weaker, “just a small token that most will never notice, but you will find the respect of your men to be worth much more than any uniform. You have surely earned that today. You will need to earn it every day.” He placed the pin in Devrin’s hand. The captain made a fist and clapped it over his heart in a salute.

  Devrin saluted back, overwhelmed as the other man breathed his last.

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  Dylanna strained against her bonds and struggled to keep herself from screaming; she was not certain she could even utter a sound. She could not see, hear, or feel anything. Worse than that, she could not reach her magic. It was there, tantalizingly close, but she could not take hold of it or use it. When she reached for it, instead of the surge of warmth and calm she was accustomed to, she came up against a net that prevented her from reaching it. She could feel it, almost see it, but she could not use it.

  Dylanna had not the faintest idea where she was. Darkness wrapped around her and she was suspended in nothingness. There were no chains or ropes, no floor, no walls, no anything. There was no sound, only absolute, desolate silence.

  After her initial terror upon waking, she found the strength to compose herself. She was not about to succumb to despair. Not without a fight. Dylanna set her mind to work. She was the logical one. Of Scelwhyn’s daughters, Dylanna was the planner, the one who always maintained a cool-headed logical perspective. She would worry a problem from every angle, thinking through every possible circumstance, no matter how unlikely; then she would act, based on the most logical solution.

  At least, that was how she usually worked. However, since Brant entered the picture Dylanna found herself acting much more impetuously, almost rashly. She would berate herself for hours over the fact that she could not get his dark eyes and quiet smile out of her head. She recalled a moment beside the fire, when Brant had taken hold of her arm with a lightning quick grab: reflecting both steel and a tenderness, telling her they needed her strength. Had he said they... or he... needed her strength? Dylanna ground her teeth in impatience with herself, now was not the time to be thinking about Brant. First she must figure out how to escape, she would sort through her emotions about the wanderer from Llycaelon later.

  She told herself that every cage had a keyhole, and every lock could be picked, if one possessed the right tools and the patience and skill to use them. Taking a deep breath, the wizardess set to work exploring her prison as well as she was able in her limited position. She tightened each muscle individually, trying to discover exactly how much movement she was allowed. She was not sure how this knowledge would help her, but she knew that if this prison had a flaw, it was likely to be infinitesimally small.

  Her mind wandered again as she wondered briefly what had happened to Leila. She shook the thought away, forcing herself to focus on the task before her. If Leila was also a prisoner, there was nothing Dylanna could do until she herself was free. And if Leila were free, she would be searching for Dylanna right now. She tried to think. How long might it be before anyone discovered she was missing? If Leila was also trapped, it might be days. They had sent a message to Oraeyn shortly before trying Leila’s experiment, so it would be two days at the very least before Oraeyn became aware of their absence, and that was being generous and assuming he would send a reply immediately. But how long had she been gone, a minute or a day?

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Devrin felt alone and insignificant. The camp buzzed with activity, but he had nowhere to turn. Entrusted with command of the Border Patrol, he was at a loss as to what his next move should be.

  Kelan, Devrin let his thoughts wander to his brother. You were the leader, not me. What should I do next? I don’t know how to lead these men. I wish you were here.

  “Sir?” a voice broke Devrin out of his thoughts.

  He turned and saw the man who had been tending to the captain. Devrin suddenly realized he knew the man from his training days. He could not remember his name, but he recognized the face.

  Devrin nodded. “Yes?”

  “I am the captain’s chief of staff. As you are now the captain, it is my job to assist you in taking on your new orders. My name is Stephran. We were Gyrfalcons together, I believe.”

  “Yes, I believe you are right. It is good to see you again, Stephran. And I am grateful for any assistance you can provide.”

  “Begging your pardon, Sir, but you look a little confused.”

  “Well, I am a little at a loss for what to do now,” Devrin admitted.

  “The first thing is to present you to your commanders and later to the entire camp. Everyone will want to meet the man who pulled us out of the fire by throwing everything else into it.” Stephran’s lips twitched and his eyes twinkled in merriment. Devrin was relieved to see that his chief of staff apparently had a sense of humor.

  He followed Stephran to his new campsite. As they walked, Stephran kept up a steady stream of conversation, helping Devrin feel a little less lost and alone.

  “Are you new to the Border Patrol?” Stephran asked at one point.

  Devrin shook his head, feeling a bit numb. “I’ve been in the Border Patrol for just under three years now, but I was only transferred to this regiment a week ago.”

  “Well done, sir. Been here a week and already in command. No wonder you looked a little
at loose ends when I found you. No worries though. Not very long ago the entire Border Patrol was lost, and you set that to rights. I think you’ll find your way around this command, sir. Not a doubt in my mind.”

  After a warm welcome from his commanders and men, Devrin gave his first orders, sending every man who could be spared into the Iron Wood, the nearby forest, to retrieve timber to keep the wall of flame alive.

  Once that was done, Devrin plied his commanders with questions about the structure of the Border Patrol, and requested recommendations for young men of promise. Then he asked for their opinions on strategy and results: what had worked, and what had failed in the past, and what had yet to be tried. The wall of flame flickered in his peripheral vision the entire time he spoke with them, a constant reminder that his solution was a temporary one. He had ended the battle and bought them a reprieve, not a victory.

  After many hours late into the evening, Devrin adjourned the council. “Thank you, men, for your hard work, your thoughtful consideration, and your long hours. Get some rest and be back here at first light. We have much to do.”

  As they departed, Devrin found within himself a deep and abiding contentment. He was well-pleased with his commanders. They were thoughtful, creative, and insightful.

  “If you need anything, sir,” Stephran offered kindly, “my duties are to assist you in yours.”

  Devrin nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Unfortunately, some young hero burned the captain’s tent earlier today, so you’ll have to make do with sleeping under the stars,” Stephran’s voice held a hint of laughter.

  Devrin chuckled in spite of the urgency of their situation and the threatening enemy camped just beyond the fiery barrier. “I should give that young hero a stern talking to,” he replied.

  Much later that night, when the Toreth was even higher overhead, Devrin sat a short distance outside the camp. He stared into the wall of flame that danced between him and the enemy and he wondered how much time he had bought and if his actions would even matter. It was strange to think that only hours ago he had felt like a man with nothing to lose. His family’s honor already bore a stain, what did it matter if he defied orders? He could do nothing more to mar the good name of Merle that hadn’t already been done, not that it was Kelan’s fault, though there were those who blamed him anyway. Now he sat in command of an entire patrol, and the weight of that responsibility lay upon him like plated mail. For one wild moment he let himself believe that he might redeem his family’s honor. The men here did not appear to know or care about Devrin’s shame. They greeted him as a brother and not a one blinked when he mentioned his family name.

  He gazed into the night. On one side of the fire, silhouettes of his men moved with lithe purpose as they tended the wall of flame and built it higher. Through the wall he also discerned the shapes of seheowks as they milled about in frustration. In his hand he held the small pin the captain had given him. He rolled it about between his fingers, lost in thought.

  The pin was fashioned in the shape of a dragon. Dragons disappeared from Llycaelon hundreds of years ago, another reason the land was often dubbed the “dark country.” But they had returned in recent days. Devrin had even seen them. He still remembered the first time: the great beast landed on the palace lawn and a man swung down off its back.

  Devrin’s reaction to the sudden appearance had startled even him. He was not afraid, he merely felt a deep longing when he saw the dragon, and he instantly knew what the creature was, no one had to tell him. When he saw the man dismount, Devrin found himself consumed with a wave of envy so strong that for a moment all his senses were blocked by it.

  A sudden, sharp pain in his hand pulled him out of his musings and made Devrin glance down. He watched in quiet fascination as his blood rolled down the back of the pin. Blood blossomed like a tiny flower on the tip of his finger where he had accidentally stabbed it, but his thoughts were too far away to be bothered by such a small thing. His mind danced across the clouds on the back of a dragon, free to conquer the open skies and fly up to the starlight, impervious to the trivial concerns of name or house or even honor. With a monumental effort, Devrin brought himself back to the ground with a rueful laugh; such fancies were foolish and perhaps even dangerous, but the longing was still there.

  The next morning, Devrin woke up early and greeted his men personally. He was quick to use the authority of his new position, and he sensed that the men were beginning to respect him even in the first few hours of his command. The words of the old captain echoed in the back of his mind always, and he now understood their meaning: the respect of these men was reward enough. Devrin was not convinced that he was any more capable of commanding the Border Patrol to victory over the seheowks than anyone else, but the command was his and he did have ideas.

  “I need two divisions of archers atop the cliff wall. The seheowks will realize soon enough that they cannot get through this gap. I do not know if they can scale these cliffs, but I am determined that nothing they do will surprise us.

  “Build fires on top of the cliff faces and see what you can do with your longbows. Rotate the men so we have constant energy on the fire above and fresh perspective on the enemy below. Make sure your men know where they should be and what they should do at all times. If they have any questions, report to me. Any questions?” Devrin asked.

  None were offered, so Devrin continued, “The Border Patrol has guarded this country from the attacks of the seheowks for hundreds of years, and we will continue that tradition with pride and skill.”

  The men broke apart as he finished, each with new purpose and determination, each with a wary glance at the wall of fire to make certain it was still there. Maintaining those flames was foremost in every man’s concern.

  I mean to do more than that, too, Devrin thought to himself quietly. He had several goals, lofty perhaps, but he meant to see them through. In addition to restoring his family’s name, Devrin wanted to get the Border Patrol recognized for their effort, and he meant to beat the seheowks back for good. He meant to defend the borders so well that the Patrol would no longer be needed. Perhaps others older and wiser than he would have told him that such a dream was pleasant, but impossible. But the men did not care that their captain dreamed of things unattainable. For them, for now, it was good to have a leader with such energy and vision.

  And someday, Devrin added to his list of dreams, I’ll fight the seheowks from the back of a dragon. He let out a pent up breath and berated himself for being childish. Even he would admit that such a dream was foolish. He was not even sure why the idea of riding a dragon fascinated him so much. Ever since he had seen the dragon near the palace, a part of him yearned to see another one, to get close enough to touch the scales. He longed to sit upon the great, spiked back and rise up to the clouds to meet the dawn. He shook his head, now was not the time for dreams of dragons. There was work before him, and it was up to him to make sure that it got done.

  Devrin looked around the camp with sober mien as he watched his plans spring to life. The Border Patrol was about to make history, and Devrin was fiercely proud that he would be there to see it.

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  It was dark. So dark that Oraeyn blinked several times just to reassure himself that his eyes were, in fact, open. For a moment, he panicked, wondering if he had gone blind. Then a pinprick of light appeared on the horizon, and the air began to grow brighter. Fear raced in his heart as he caught a glimpse of his surroundings. He was inside an enormous cavern of some kind. The ground below him was made of packed earth and it rumbled and quaked restlessly.

  Oraeyn became aware of a pressure on his left hand. Something was squeezing his fingers together. It was painful. He turned to look and saw that Kamarie was with him. He had almost forgotten she was there. Her face was pale in the dim glow. As he turned to her to ask what was happening, her lips parted to speak, and then the ground quaked again and the cavern floor ruptured below Kamarie�
�s feet. As she fell, her grip on his hand tightened. The sudden, unexpected weight on his arm pulled Oraeyn to the ground. He slid to the edge of the chasm, grasping Kamarie’s hand with all his strength.

  She stared up at him, her face filled with terror. “Oraeyn!” she gasped. “Please! Don’t let go!”

  Oraeyn sat up in bed with a shout that brought his servants running to his side. He blinked blearily and reached up to rub his hands across his face, nearly beheading Anya with the sword that was clutched in his right fist. The faithful servant ducked and flinched away, his face whitening in consternation.

  “Sire,” Emyth gasped from the other side of the room, “surely you don’t sleep with your sword unsheathed!”

  “I don’t sleep with it at all.” Oraeyn stared at the Fang Blade, with bleary perplexity. The golden blade glinted with brilliant innocence in the full light of day that poured in through his window. He shook his head. “I haven’t even taken it out since the coronation. I keep it hanging on the wall, you know that. Forgive me, Anya.” While the ancient sword was like a piece of his own history, Oraeyn felt uncomfortable wearing it, and much preferred his old, plain one for everyday use.

  “No harm done, Sire,” Anya’s wrinkled face was a portrait of deep concern and his voice was shaky.

  “Ah,” Emyth pursed his lips dubiously. The two servants shared a meaningful look across the bed. “Yes, well, very well. I shall warn the others about waking you too suddenly in the future.”

  “I mean it, Emyth,” Oraeyn protested, “I have no idea how the Fang Blade ended up in my hand just now.”

  “I see,” Emyth’s tone was less than convinced. “In any case, it is time for you to get up, that messenger you are expecting should arrive soon.”

  Oraeyn decided it was no good trying to argue his point any longer and submitted himself to the ministrations of his staff. At length, he was released. Almost as an afterthought, Oraeyn buckled the Fang Blade to his waist. Despite his reluctance to carry it, the sword hung at his side comfortably. He wasn’t sure why he had decided to wear it today, but something about its presence felt right.