Softly, the minstrel began to sing. The tune was low and haunting, and the words were grim, but his face was light, almost cheerful.
“Only two can stand before him
Only one can hope to fell him.”
He shook himself. “Ah!” he exclaimed. “When that enemy rises again, shall the fool be the wild card then? Only the minstrel remembers; does the enemy remember too? He must, he must! Does he tremble? Does he know of the strength that may well be his undoing? Shall the fool lead the king when all other bonds fail? Perhaps, perhaps.” His face took on that strangely cunning look that belied its innocent appearance, and the room dimmed.
Kiernan Kane sprang from the window and landed neatly on his hands. His agility was surprising, given his accustomed gawkiness. He chirped cheerily at the bird and flipped to his feet with cat-like grace.
“Cruithaor Elchiyl watches us all, and he would not have us fail, even when faced with an impossible task,” he whispered. Then he squared his shoulders. “Neither would he have his servant filled with doubts.”
Humming, he descended the stairs from his tower to the rooms below. As he neared the end of the hallway, he did a little dance that almost landed him in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Pulling himself upright, he stopped humming and managed to get himself safely through the door.
“I do wonder what’s for breakfast this morning?” Kiernan Kane mused aloud. He tapped a finger to his nose, adopting his tranquil and unassuming expression once more.
The eerie, discordant song that the minstrel had been humming, however, lingered about the stairwell long after he left. One by one, the candles in the room flickered and went out, and still the memory of the song remained, portending some evil. A chill wind swept across the land, but none noticed it. None, that is, except the minstrel, but he was too busy downing pancakes to be bothered by a breeze.
❖ ❖ ❖
“The border patrol cannot hold much longer,” the aethalon captain reported in a matter-of-fact tone.
“What is going on?” Jemson asked, his eyes narrowed. “The seheowks have always been a nuisance, yes, but they have never attacked in such force and numbers before.”
“There is a change in these beasts,” the captain replied. “Even Lord Brant has commented on the difference in these attacks over the past few months.”
At the mention of his uncle’s name, Jemson’s thoughts drifted. Brant had left for Aom-igh early that morning. It was a week earlier than he had planned, but Brant had his reasons. Jemson suspected that one of those reasons was the Lady Dylanna. Brant might not even realize it himself, but Jemson saw the way his face lightened whenever her name came up. It was the same look Jemson’s father used to get when he looked at his wife. At the thought of his mother, a pang of sorrow shot through Jemson’s heart.
“Your Majesty,” the captain shifted and paused. His next words came with awkwardness, as if he was reluctant to speak them, “Is there any way your uncle might lend us aid in this battle with the vile creatures?”
“He has recently returned to Aom-igh, part of his purpose for traveling there is to discuss this very concern with King Oraeyn. His heart is divided with the concerns of both Llycaelon and Aom-igh.”
“Could he not be persuaded to remain here permanently as your counselor until you come of age and take your rite of passage through the Corridor? You will be a great king for Llycaelon, but you are also the youngest to ever take the throne. Could Sir Brant...”
Jemson raised his head, his hand curling into a fist. “It won’t happen.”
“But, Sire…”
“No,” Jemson said, his voice quiet, but firm. “Brant’s heart is in Aom-igh. There is no way he would be willing to remain in Llycaelon for seventeen years waiting for me to grow up. I begged him to take my father’s place on the throne, but he refused. He told me that if he took the throne for any amount of time there was no guarantee that the people would let him step down when I came of age. He said he had never tasted the power of kingship and he did not want to start.
“No, it is up to me. All I can ask Brant for is his advice, but I can’t even make him stay here for a week at a time. If the dragons had not consented to fly him back and forth I might be able to keep him here for longer periods of time, but his heart would never be here. He cares about Llycaelon because it is where he was born and because he has happy childhood memories of this place. But his home is in Aom-igh.” And the son he would have chosen is Oraeyn, not I, Jemson did not say the words out loud. There was no bitterness in the thought, only a deep sadness.
“It is still hard to believe that Brant had no desire for the crown at all,” the captain said. “I am old enough to remember the rumors, the whispers of the prophecy. Everyone was intent upon giving the throne to Brant.”
Jemson shook his head. “Brant is the most loyal man there is. He never had any wish to take what he saw as his brother’s right.”
The captain nodded, his expression filled with respect. “I understand. What shall we do about the seheowks, Sire?”
“We fight, as we always have,” Jemson said, as he set his chin with a determination that belied his twenty-three years. “Take as many men as needed. Every king before has held our borders safe against the vile creatures and I am sworn to do so as well. I will not fail in this charge. My own sword is committed to this fight if need be.”
The captain nodded sharply and saluted with the customary fist over heart that was reserved only for the king. The warrior turned on his heel and strode from the War Room. Jemson took a deep breath and then turned to other weighty matters that required his immediate attention. He was a king, trapped in his palace, while his warrior’s heart longed for the freedom of the battlefield. His thoughts were never far from his aethalons, though his many duties kept him from them, for now.
CHAPTER
TWO
Again and again the aethalons beat the seheowks back into the sea, and again and again the evil creatures surged forward. The men were exhausted and the seheowks could sense it. They uttered chilling shrieks of triumph as their tireless ranks renewed their attacks once more. The aethalons met these enemies with equal ferocity, but theirs was a battle of desperation. The men knew how precarious their position was and were aware that the seheowks, with steady deliberation, had forced their ranks to retreat to this specific location.
Llycaelon had a natural defense from sea attacks with its sheer, rock-faced cliffs which bordered much of the nation’s perimeter. The cliffs often ended in sandy beaches or dunes that sloped down to the sea. The cliffs themselves were unassailable, but there were breaks in this mountain wall, and it was towards Caethyr Gap, the largest of these breaks on the Northern border, that the battle now raged. No longer were the cliff walls at their back, but rather the open fields, homes, and towns of their countrymen. The aethalons knew their strength would soon fail, and they understood the consequences of this defeat.
The seheowks had been a recurring problem for centuries though their presence had always before been a mere nuisance. They were predators, with blueish-black scales and long, wiry limbs that ended in clawed hands and feet, perfect for ripping into their prey. They were shorter than most humans, but much stronger and swifter. Their faces were elongated like a lizard’s, but they had long, sharp teeth like a wolf or a bear. It was a rare occurrence for seheowks to slip past the Border Patrol, but when they did, they killed everything in their path: sheep, cows, dogs, birds, bears, and people. They were most eager to kill humans.
They were not pack animals and usually did not appear in companies larger than three or four. The Border Patrol had been created to keep on the lookout for the creatures and deal with them. But in the past few months, the seheowks had begun to work like an army. Their attacks were coordinated, cunning, and precise, and their numbers were staggering. The Border Patrol members were no longer fighting a senseless creature for ownership of a beach. They were fighting a purposeful, organized enemy for
dominion of their country and their future.
“We’re losing ground, Sir!” one of the Aetoli warriors screamed to his captain over the roar of the seheowks. The shouts of men could be heard on every side amidst the clash of battle, and the ever rolling, thundering waves of the sea created a steady, deafening rumble. The sand churned beneath the hooves of horses and the clawed feet of the seheowks. “We cannot hold this ground!”
“We must!” the captain yelled back. “If defeated here, we lose our country.”
“Sir, this is a senseless sacrifice of good men,” the warrior called out.
“You are an aethalon. You knew the perils when you chose to serve here!” the captain’s commanding voice rang out above the clamor of the battle. “We defend the border at all costs!”
“At the expense of our lives?” the warrior yelled, gesturing at the troops as he fended off another beast who had leapt onto his horse’s flank. “Would the king truly order such a sacrifice? You know as well as I that we cannot hold our position, and when we are dead, the seheowks will march over our lifeless bodies to complete their invasion. Our people will have no warning and our deaths will serve no purpose.”
“You are dismissed,” the captain shouted over the body of the seheowk he had just slain.
“What?” The warrior stared at his captain in open amazement and disbelief. His sword faltered. A seheowk jumped on what it thought was an opportunity, leaping through the air with a powerful bound. The Aetoli’s presence of mind was the sole thing that saved him, he thrust his weapon up and his sword pierced through the creature’s neck just in time.
“What is your name?” the captain demanded in harsh tones as he pulled his horse back a little from the fray.
“Devrin of House Merle.”
“Courageous hawk?” the captain shouted in disbelief. “You were ill-named, lad, I have no place for a coward in my command, you are dismissed.”
“Sir, you don’t understand, if you would only listen…”
“Not one more word, you are dismissed.”
Devrin glared at the captain and then shook his head in disgust. He turned his roan charger and kicked the horse into a gallop. A haze of red fell across his vision as he rode away from the battle.
“Dismissed as a coward,” he muttered to himself wrathfully. “If the captain would have listened, this task could have been made easier. Well, it’s just you and me, old boy,” the warrior patted his horse’s neck. “Come on, they can’t hold that gap much longer. Yah!”
Clapping his heels to the red horse’s sides Devrin leaned low over his steed’s neck and raced up the hill to where the warriors had pitched their camp. A plan was already formed in his mind, and he meant to put it into action, with or without permission. He knew how to keep the seheowks from crossing through the gap. The Border Patrol needed a better weapon, and Devrin planned to provide it.
“And when this is over I shall call our boy-king to account for every man dead in this fight,” he growled to himself. “Too long has the fate of Llycaelon been ruled by the pride of kings. Too long have good men felt the sting of dishonor because of the House of Arne!”
The camp was set back from the gap, but in clear view of it. Tents and carts were scattered throughout, with small cooking fires dotting the area. Devrin dismounted and raced over to the largest tent. He quickly dismantled it and dragged it to his mount where he tossed it over the horse’s hindquarters in a heap, then he clambered back up into his saddle. The roan danced a little but settled quickly and accepted his master’s odd behavior and the additional burden with long-suffering stoicism. Next Devrin rode over and grabbed one of the long torches that was stuck in the ground and used to light the camp after nightfall. He thrust the end of it into a nearby cooking fire until it burst to life.
Holding the torch high and balancing the mounds of canvas behind him, Devrin raced his horse back down the beach towards the gap and the fighting.
The drums of the seheowks were pounding as he neared the battleground and he knew he must hurry. He tugged on his horse’s bridle, urging the beast to greater speed. The tent flapped and wobbled as they raced towards the battle. Every moment was precious, and Devrin could sense his time running out.
The aethalons were all but defeated when Devrin reached the battleground. The seheowks surged forward, and the aethalons fought and fell where they stood. The great warriors battled desperately, but with a sense of resignation. All hope had been drained hours ago, and the seheowks reveled in this hopelessness. There was an arrogant disdain for their enemy in the seheowk’s every move, as if they knew that victory was near.
Devrin rode up to a weary aethalon and shouted at him. “I need your help!”
“We all need help,” the weary young man whispered back through cracked lips.
“I have a plan!” Devrin shouted, ignoring the man’s comment. “But I can’t do it alone. Come on! I’ll show you what needs to be done.”
“Must… keep the seheowks… from getting through,” the warrior mumbled back mechanically, making no move to follow Devrin’s lead.
Devrin seized on the warrior’s words. “Yes! We must keep them from getting through. I have a plan that will keep them from getting through! Help me with this.”
The man stared at Devrin in confusion. “What?”
“Fire,” Devrin said grimly, “the seheowks are terrified of it. With fire we can force them back into the sea where they belong. But I cannot do it on my own.”
The young warrior’s face lit with sudden hope. “If we can build a pyre big enough…”
“And keep it burning long enough…” Devrin encouraged.
“We might yet win this day!” the warrior finished Devrin’s thought. His eyes lit with excitement and renewed hope. He burst into action as Devrin indicated the mound of oiled canvas, seizing upon the small hope that was proffered.
Together they rode through the battle, each of them holding onto an end of the bulky tent, trampling seheowks as they went until they had reached the front line. The gap was thirty or forty paces wide, and the tent would not fill even a quarter of it, but it was a start. Devrin thrust the torch into the tent. Flames darted towards the sky and the seheowks nearest to it screamed and tumbled away from the sudden heat and light.
The aethalons paused to stare and Devrin seized on the opportunity.
“Get the tents! Get the carts! Get everything that will burn!” Devrin shouted. “Burn the camp, fill the gap with fire!”
A full score of aethalons wheeled their horses away from the fighting and raced across the sand. The wait was interminable. As he swung his sword again and again, Devrin could see their chances slipping away with every second that passed. But the men returned shortly, carrying torches and tents. Behind them came more men wheeling carts. The flames grew as more pieces of the camp were added to the fire, and the seheowks retreated, recoiling from the hated blaze.
Devrin directed the men as they created the wall. He sent several men into the nearby forest with a travois and instructed them to return with as much wood as possible.
As he gave them their instructions, he reminded them, “Our hope lives only so long as we can keep this fire stoked. With this fire we will hold the gap until the king sends reinforcements.”
To himself, Devrin thought, If the king even knows that we need reinforcements.
The aethalons grasped Devrin’s words like starving men grasping for a loaf of bread and threw themselves into their work with an energy restored and a purpose renewed. They raced onto the battlefield brandishing fiery weapons. When the seheowks saw their enemy rushing towards them with flaming branches, they fell back in dismay. Sensing alarm and seeing their enemies’ hesitation, the aethalons surged forward and now it was the seheowks who were bewildered and overwhelmed by a sudden attack from a foe that had been defeated mere moments before. The monsters retreated as the aethalons attacked, wielding weapons that struck terror into whatever passed for a seheowk
’s heart. With a loud roar, the men fell towards their enemies, brandishing swords and torches. The great pyre grew larger, and the fire burned hotter with every passing moment as the warriors worked feverishly to build a wall of flame that would keep their border safe for yet another day.
At long last the pyre stretched across the width of the gap and the fire sprang brightly into the darkening sky. The aethalons backed through the tiny gap that was left and then threw more wood on the fire, completing the wall of flame. The seheowks were contained between the fire and the sea and the aethalons raised a cheer at their success. More warriors returned with wood and they were immediately set to work keeping the wall of fire in place. It was a temporary solution, but it would hold for now.
Devrin felt a thrill surge through him as the final pieces of the wall were put in place and the seheowks were cut off completely. It was a good work, he thought. Even if it was his last work as an aethalon.
“Devrin,” a warrior came rushing up to him, “are you Devrin?”
Devrin turned. “Yes?”
“The captain, he’s asking for you.”
Devrin’s shoulders slumped. “Take me to him.” He rode behind the other man, wondering if he would be allowed to keep his rank. He had worked hard to attain the coveted Aetoli title. There was no escaping the dishonor of being dismissed, but he hated the thought of giving up his rank.
The other warrior led Devrin to the back of the line where the captain was waiting. But it was not the reception Devrin had expected. The captain was lying on the ground, his face pale. He had a blanket draped over him, but Devrin spied the bloody rags in the hands of the man sitting next to him and knew the captain had been wounded.
He dismounted and knelt on the ground next to the man. “Sir?” Devrin asked. “You wanted me?”
“I was wrong,” the captain whispered, his voice rasping with the effort. “You are no coward. I saw what you did. That was... brilliant.”
Yorien's Hand (The Minstrel's Song Book 3) Page 2
