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

  The castle sparkled white against the brilliant blue sky like a picture out of a book of fairy tales. The beauty of the day contrasted starkly with Oraeyn’s nightmares, banishing them from his memory. All that was left was a troubling memory that would soon fade. Rays of light glistened on the water of the moat and warmed the iridescent fish flitting about beneath the surface. Just beyond the palace walls lay the ocean. The waves thundered against the rocks and lapped lazily across the sandy beach.

  High in the azure sky, a red-gold dragon circled. Huge, leathery wings kept the great beast aloft. Its scales sparkled in the bright daylight, creating the illusion of fire in the air. The creature might have been hunting, or perhaps merely enjoying the freedom of the open sky. Across the meadow behind the palace at the edge of the Aura Wood a pearl-white unicorn grazed, unconcerned by the monstrous dragon that dipped and wheeled overhead; myth-folk did not hunt each other. Unicorns were timid, but sightings were not as rare as in days past. If one was courageous enough to venture deep into the wilderness, even the mighty gryphon could be found nowadays. The winged horses kept to the great plains beyond the Mountains of Dusk, but those who saw the noble beasts never forgot them.

  Oraeyn stood on the high wall of the palace, waiting expectantly. He watched the dragon and the unicorn and breathed a deep sigh of contentment. It was good to see them in the light of day again. Most of these powerful beings had departed to an underground realm called Krayghentaliss centuries ago, shielding themselves from humankind who hated and reviled them. Oraeyn himself had journeyed in that realm, and he still remembered the awe its massive tunnels had inspired within him. But the myth-folk belonged in the world above, not cooped up in the cold realm underground. They had been dying out down there, away from the open air. When Arnaud welcomed them back above-realm the myth-folk had accepted with deep gratitude.

  The kingdom of Aom-igh had known peace for the past three years, ever since the battle against Llycaelon had ended. Oraeyn had been king for the past two years. He still found himself surprised at the ease with which he had taken over the kingship. Of course, he reminded himself, he was not without help. Brant was there, ready to advise and aid him in the formation and retention of good relations with several other countries, namely Llycaelon. And Arnaud was still nearby to offer advice when Oraeyn needed it.

  Brant’s travels took him back and forth between Aom-igh and Llycaelon more frequently of late, though. With the help of his young friend Yole, the dragon, the trip took but a day, rather than the weeks it would take by ship. Oraeyn understood Brant’s desire to spend as much time as he could in Llycaelon. The warrior’s young nephew, Jemson, was seated on the throne there, and Brant wanted to make sure that the boy was learning to rule with compassion, courage, and kindness. Oraeyn chuckled ruefully. Brant wanted to make sure that Oraeyn possessed these same traits.

  The two wizardesses, Dylanna and Leila, Kamarie’s aunts, were keeping busy as well. They were currently in the midst of an attempt to devise rapid and secure communications with their allies. Oraeyn hoped to receive a message from them today containing good news with regard to their endeavors. He was sure their idea would facilitate the great effort towards peace in new and different ways.

  A bird alighted on Oraeyn’s arm, startling him out of his thoughts with a rude screech.

  “Right on time, little friend.” Oraeyn set the bird down and untied the note with one hand while offering a berry with the other.

  “What does Aunt Leila have to say today? Something good, I hope,” Kamarie said as she joined him on the wall. She waved at the bird. “Safe travels, sweet Redcrest.”

  Oraeyn caught her around the waist and drew her close for a kiss. “Of course you would name all the birds in the kingdom. I haven’t had a chance to open this missive yet, and... let’s elope!”

  Kamarie laughed and kissed him back. “I don’t think your royal subjects would appreciate that very much. And think of Leila and Dylanna and Mother, they would be crushed if we didn’t let them decorate. Yole and King Rhendak want to come as well, and everyone expects a big party to celebrate… so many people would be disappointed.” She nudged him with her shoulder to let him know she was only half-joking.

  Although their relationship had gotten off to a rather rocky start, Oraeyn and Kamarie had learned to respect one another, and that respect eventually turned into a deep friendship. Oraeyn was still not sure when their friendship had deepened and turned to love, but Kamarie had been his constant support. He was certain he would have drowned trying to navigate the waters of ruling a kingdom if she had not been by his side through it all. Six months ago, he had found himself asking her to be his wife, and to his delight she said “yes” without hesitation.

  Oraeyn sighed in mock despair. “All right,” he said, opening the note. “The dragons have decided to return to the Harshlands,” he said after scanning the note.

  “That’s wonderful news,” Kamarie said. “Aunt Leila never thought the Mountains of Dusk would be big enough for all of them. Especially since the gryphons prefer the mountains to the forests. I’m surprised at how quickly the myth-folk have re-entered the upper realm, though—they were so cautious about accepting Father’s invitation.”

  “They were growing desperate,” Oraeyn replied. “Your father’s invitation was their only hope. I’m glad that our people have welcomed them back so graciously.”

  “The agreement to leave livestock alone is what did it,” Kamarie agreed. “It creates trust among all parties.”

  Oraeyn nodded absently, reading the note for more details. “Dylanna says their previous attempts have been disappointing, but Leila has a new idea for a way to allow instantaneous communication between non-magical beings. They’re going to try again today.”

  “That would be incredible,” Kamarie’s face glowed. “Imagine being able to talk to King Jemson without anyone having to travel anywhere!”

  Oraeyn folded up the note and stared out to sea lost in thought. A sense of ill-defined vulnerability that had been resting in the back of his mind all morning loomed to the forefront of his thoughts with an intensity that caused him to wince and double over in pain. A dread foreboding crept over him like a frigid wind and he shivered.

  “Oraeyn?” Kamarie asked. “Are you all right?”

  Oraeyn remained silent.

  “Oraeyn?”

  “Something is coming. Something evil.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know!” Oraeyn put his hands over his face. “I can’t remember.”

  “Then how do you know something bad is coming?”

  “Look at the Fang Blade.”

  “What? You never carry the Fang Blade,” Kamarie began, but then stopped, for Oraeyn drew the great sword and held it up. The blade glowed even brighter than usual, casting a strange, golden light on Oraeyn’s face.

  “What is it doing?” Kamarie asked, mystified.

  “Something important is going to happen,” Oraeyn said, he felt absolutely certain about this. “I can feel it. I don’t know how I know, but I do know it isn’t good.”

  “I don’t understand,” Kamarie shook her head and stared up at Oraeyn, worry etched in every line of her face.

  “I don’t either.” The sword’s glow faded, and Oraeyn shuddered as though waking from a trance. He flashed a brilliant smile at Kamarie, like nothing strange had happened. “How are your warriors coming along?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

  Kamarie’s brow furrowed, but then she shrugged and let the matter drop. “The Order is really coming together,” she said, her voice growing excited. She always grew animated whenever talking about her Lady Knights. “We have new women arriving every day to take up the shield. The knights have been so helpful and have taught us so much. I’m so glad that they support our work. It has certainly enhanced our appreciation of theirs.”

  Oraeyn felt his heart swell with pride at Kamarie’s enthusiasm. Before King
Arnaud abdicated the throne and handed the crown to Oraeyn, he granted his daughter the honor of training a new class of knights: a class which Kamarie christened The Order of the Shield, emphasizing its role as one of defensive battle. The king charged her with creating a revised code for this new class of knights, and then gave Kamarie the authority to oversee and implement the recruitment, training, and outfitting of this new force for full readiness in three years’ time. Arnaud knew this was a huge undertaking: precisely the kind of challenge his daughter was best suited for.

  As expected, Kamarie poured herself into the challenge and began planning at once. The law of the kingdom stated that no woman should be trained as a knight or allowed to enter into combat. Princess Kamarie, however, had ignored those rules, convincing one of the older knights to train her as his squire. After witnessing first-hand the recent war with Llycaelon, Kamarie understood that the battlefield was not the place of glory she had dreamed. When Kamarie was offered the honor of becoming the first woman to attain knighthood, therefore, she declined, preferring instead to become the first female warrior of the Order of the Shield. Instead of calling themselves “knights,” Kamarie had spoken at length with Brant about names and had settled on Aela, an archaic word in Llycaelon’s history that meant “rampart.” In Kamarie’s mind, the name stood for the idea that their role in a battle was to defend, to buy time, to protect their people in order to survive another day, another dawn. The women who joined were first called Shield-Guardians and could rise through the ranks to become full-fledged Aelan.

  Kamarie was selective and demanding. Age or class distinction did not matter, but courage, character, and love for Aom-igh were paramount requirements. Induction into the Order of the Shield was only possible after a minimum of two years of intense training. Then the women were required to claim their oath: that they would follow the rules of the Shield which included upholding the king and defending the weak, that they would conduct themselves with honor, and that they would never take a life except in defense of themselves or someone else.

  Kamarie’s main concern had been that the Knights of the Realm would be opposed to her work. Her worries were quickly relieved. Upon learning of the rules of the new order, the knights became the most ardent defenders of the idea; they even offered to help train the first group of women until there were enough full members of the Order that their aid would no longer be needed. It did not hurt that they bore the king’s approval, nor did it hurt that Kamarie was respected and beloved by everyone.

  “Forgive the interruption, Sire,” the servant’s tone contained the faintest hint of exasperation; Oraeyn was starting to believe it was a requirement for servants to always sound just a bit irked with the world at large.

  “Yes?”

  “Lord Brant has just arrived. He awaits your presence in the Grand Hall.”

  Oraeyn’s spirits lifted. “He’s not supposed to be back for another week.”

  Together Oraeyn and Kamarie made their way to the Grand Hall. Brant was leaning against the doorway as they entered the room.

  “Brant!” Oraeyn cried. “What are you doing here?”

  The warrior’s hair was a bit longer than usual, and windblown from riding a dragon all day. His square jaw was set in a grim expression, even as he stepped forward to clasp Oraeyn’s hand.

  “I come with urgent news from Llycaelon,” Brant’s words were quiet, but they carried a great weight. “The seheowk annoyance has grown in the past months to a sizable threat. They attack in great numbers and with a coordination and intent we have never before seen. I must speak with you about the possibility of sending reinforcements.”

  Oraeyn’s joy at seeing his friend and mentor dimmed. “Of course, whatever Jemson needs.”

  “I may need to meet with King Rhendak, as well,” Brant continued. “Warriors would be welcome, but dragons could really make the difference. Jemson had just received a report from the Border Patrol when I left; it sounds as if the situation out there is growing desperate.”

  “Do we need to worry about seheowks here?” Kamarie asked, her voice worried.

  “I do not know,” Brant replied. “They don’t usually venture this far east, though it has been known to happen a time or two.” He raised his eyebrows at Kamarie. “I once stood with your father and beat them back from your shores many years ago.”

  “My father fought seheowks?” Kamarie’s voice was filled with wonder.

  “Your father was quite a warrior when he was younger,” Brant replied with a quirk of amusement about his mouth.

  “You must be weary from your travels. Won’t you sit down?” Oraeyn gestured to a smaller room off the Grand Hall.

  Brant and Kamarie followed Oraeyn’s lead. As they settled themselves, Oraeyn pulled on a cord that rang a bell in another part of the castle.

  “Is it simply dragons the seheowks are scared of?” Oraeyn asked. “It must have been something else all these years protecting Aom-igh, the dragons have only recently come back to the upper realm.”

  “I believe Calyssia was partly responsible as well,” Brant said after a moment of thoughtful silence. “She took her duties as Gatekeeper very seriously.”

  “Calyssia did a lot more than most people realize,” Oraeyn’s voice was thoughtful.

  “That she did,” Brant agreed. “She was the most powerful being I have ever met. I am convinced she was a mage.”

  “I thought she was a wizardess?” Kamarie said.

  “Yes, that was her race. I was speaking to her magical ability. In the hierarchy of power human wizards are near the bottom though unicorns are considered lower due to the fact that their power is confined mainly to healing. Mixed through the middle are gryphons, mer-folk, and pegasi. At the top, of course, are dragons.”

  A servant entered the room with a tray that held a plate of fruit tarts and tumblers of spiced wine. The three friends partook of the refreshments.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, my lords, lady?” the servant asked.

  “That will be all for now. But if you could ask the cook to prepare lunch and have it ready in the small dining room, I would appreciate it,” Oraeyn replied. The servant bowed and left the room.

  “You can see through illusions,” Kamarie said to Brant after taking a delicate bite of her tart. “What does that make you?”

  “I believe there must be some wizard’s blood in my ancestry,” Brant shrugged and took a sip from his cup. “And there is the Oath of my country, which is old and powerful. I believe it grants us strength beyond our normal capabilities.”

  “But what is a mage?” Oraeyn asked returning to Brant’s earlier comment and taking a sip from his own cup.

  “It is a being who can wield even more powerful magic than a dragon,” Brant replied. “They are very rare, but incredibly strong.”

  “And you think Aunt Calyssia was one?” Kamarie queried, fascinated by this explanation. She had never heard it put so neatly before.

  “I don’t know for sure,” Brant admitted. “I’m convinced Scelwhyn himself was a mage, or near it. Calyssia was part wizardess, part mer-folk, and a dragon ward besides. She held Pearl Cove under a protective shell for over twenty years, and she maintained wards of protection around the entire border of Aom-igh. All I know for sure, however, is that she was the most powerful being I ever had the privilege of knowing.”

  Oraeyn put his tumbler down and let his hand fall to the hilt of the Fang Blade, his fingers brushing the steel pommel. Ever since he came to possess the great sword magic had intrigued him. In that same adventure that had given him the weapon, Oraeyn had also had a strange encounter with a wood nymph that had shaken him to the core.

  “You have other abilities besides seeing through illusions,” Oraeyn commented.

  Brant’s face took on a thoughtful expression. “True. I learn languages easily and can hear what most people cannot. For instance, I understand tree-speech,” he chuckled at the incredulous looks that
he received from both Oraeyn and Kamarie. “Yes, even the forests have a language of their own.” He stared at Oraeyn through narrowed eyes. “Are you still trying to solve the riddle of the Fang Blade?”

  Oraeyn sighed. “Besides the wood nymph, no one else can tell me if I actually have my own magic. To tell the truth, I kind of hope it was all the Fang Blade.”

  “That sword is an extraordinary weapon,” Brant said, “but only a living creature can hold and retain magic. A sword, ring, or other device is merely a catalyst. However, I have long thought that perhaps the Fang Blade responds more to the goodness in the heart of the one who wields it than it does to magic. Llian was never attributed with any extraordinary powers, but all accounts agree that the Fang Blade blazed brightly for him and helped him protect his country in the face of overwhelming odds. That is power of a kind though not the sort that wizards and dragons wield.”

  Oraeyn made a face, but accepted Brant's words. He brushed a few crumbs from his lap. “Dylanna said much the same,” he replied, his voice wry. “You are right. Mostly I'm just curious; I don't like thinking there are things about myself that even I don't know.”

  “I can understand that,” Brant replied.

  “Yes, yes, breakfast was most delicious,” Kiernan Kane’s cheerful voice rang out as he entered the Grand Hall with a servant. “Oh! Our hero has returned early, welcome, welcome!” Kiernan bowed to Brant as he neared the three friends. The act of bowing nearly landed the gangly minstrel on his ear, but he managed to catch himself in time.

  “Breakfast?” Oraeyn asked. “It’s time for lunch.”

  “Oh, hurrah!” Kiernan jigged a step. “I’m starved.”

  Oraeyn laughed. “But you just finished breakfast.”

  Kiernan’s face took on a pained look. “Majesty,” he complained, “look at how thin I am! I have many years of starvation on the road to make up for, this is the first job I have held in a very long time that has provided me with three good meals a day.” The minstrel’s face was a perfect mask of sorrow, but his tone held a hint of laughter.