He winced, knowing he sounded insane, but when he gathered his courage to look up, he saw each of his friends gazing at him with trust. Oraeyn was not sure if he should be relieved by that or not. If they had doubted, he could have laughed off the foreboding growing in his own thoughts, but their belief strengthened his certainty. His heart shuddered violently as he recalled his dreams. Were they visions of what would happen, or merely specters of what might be? He set his jaw; visions or no, he would not let them become reality. He refused to lose these people, this family. They would find and rescue Dylanna and Leila, wherever they were. How that would happen he did not know, but he did know he would not give up until the people he loved were all safely back together again.
“But who? Who could have done this?” Zara sagged against her husband who put his arm around her for support.
Oraeyn and Kamarie looked to Brant, but Brant shook his head and Oraeyn’s heart plummeted. He had hoped desperately that Brant, who knew so much of the world, might be able to lay his mind at ease once again, but Brant was as much at a loss to answer this question as any of them. But the answer came suddenly from an unanticipated source.
“An enemy so powerful none can stand against him,” Kiernan Kane’s voice sounded very loud as he appeared in the doorway. The words rang out against the silence, shattering it into tiny fragments.
Everyone started in surprise at the minstrel’s unexpected materialization. No one had heard him arrive and none of them even noticed his presence until he spoke. Oraeyn was honestly surprised the minstrel had not arrived sooner. His obvious devotion to Leila should have made him as frantic as Brant. In fact, Oraeyn amended his thought, the minstrel should be decidedly more dramatic about his heartsickness than the stoic warrior from Llycaelon would ever be. It was strange indeed to see Kiernan acting so calm. Oraeyn wondered how long the minstrel had been standing in the doorway, but before he could ask about it the minstrel’s words registered.
“What enemy?” Oraeyn demanded.
“An ancient enemy, one who has slept a long time and gained power while he slept,” was Kiernan’s enigmatic response, and his usually cheerful voice now sounded soft and menacing. Kamarie shivered as with a sudden chill, and Zara leaned more heavily on Arnaud’s arm.
Oraeyn stared hard at the minstrel. The man often acted as if he were nothing but a fool, a court jester who could juggle and tell stories, but little else. He was awkward and oafish, his gangly limbs and gawky height causing him to stumble into trouble more often than not. But despite his tendency to boast about his own skill at minstrelsy, everyone liked him. Kiernan helped them laugh when they forgot they had the ability, and he brought them to tears with heartbreaking melodies and lyrics that summoned beloved memories. His skills and talent more than made up for minor annoyances. Upon taking the throne, Oraeyn had installed Kiernan as his permanent bard. Since then, Kiernan had been a constant presence in the castle, and he had become a dear friend.
As Oraeyn studied him, however, Kiernan’s face did not appear so benign. There was a shrewd look in those eyes that could turn vacant in an instant. The man stood in the doorway and Oraeyn found himself wondering how much of the minstrel’s awkwardness was a show. There was something deeper to Kiernan Kane, something Oraeyn had never paid much attention to before, but he now took very close notice of it.
“An ancient enemy, and all Tellurae Aquaous trembles at his approach,” Kiernan Kane repeated softly.
“What ancient enemy?” Yole asked.
“One that too many have forgotten, his name lost in obscurity,” the minstrel said, his tone so quiet that they had to strain to hear him. “Perhaps all have forgotten, except Kiernan Kane.”
❖ ❖ ❖
There was a warm, golden glow about the air. Dylanna stood outside on a pretty little cobblestone walkway that led up to a small, quaint-looking cottage. Where was she?
With a start, she recognized her surroundings. It was the village of Peak’s Shadow. Below her in the valley she could just see the roofs of several other cottages, and even farther away was the outline of the tiny town where supplies could be bought and sold.
Mount Theran loomed up over the rolling fields and homes of the village like a massive guardian. Dylanna felt herself relax. Of course she knew where she was, this was her home. She had grown up here and now she was beginning a family of her own. She and Brant had decided to stay in Peak’s Shadow after they married. She was glad of the decision, there were so many happy memories for her here in this village.
It was here she had met Brant, he had ridden into town to sell crops he had grown in a town to the south. His village had been going through some hard times, and Brant made the trip to Peak’s Shadow in search of better prices. Her father took an interest in the young man and invited him to dinner. By the time dessert was served Brant was working for her father.
She remembered the first time she saw him. She had known instantly that there was something special about him, and mysterious… she shook her head. Where did that thought come from? There was nothing mysterious about Brant.
Bordering the walkway on both sides were gorgeous flowerbeds filled with every color of blossom imaginable. Dylanna had insisted they would add just the right touch, making her little cottage feel brighter and more cheerful. Brant had simply agreed with her in his quiet way though his lips twitched with amusement at how excited she was about flowers. With a sigh of contentment Dylanna turned to go back inside. Supper simmered over the fire and she had to be careful not to leave it too long unattended. Brant would be home from the fields at any moment and she wanted to make sure she was not late getting food on the table.
As she turned to enter the small cottage, Dylanna hesitated. She bit the tip of her tongue, trying to figure out what was wrong. Something was definitely wrong. She should not remember this cottage. She chuckled lightly at herself, feeling silly. Why should she not remember her own home?
But in spite of her laughter she still hesitated. What had she thought when she first came outside? That she recognized where she was? That was an odd thought about a place she knew as well as she knew her own name. No, it was something else, something more ominous. Something darker… darker… dark… something about Dark Warriors? But no, that could not be right, there had been no warriors in Aom-igh for centuries. Her thoughts crashed against a stone wall and she rubbed her arms, trying to dispel the uneasiness growing in her heart.
The day grew gloomy and menacing. Out of nowhere a cool breeze sprang up, causing Dylanna to shiver and pull her cloak tighter around herself. She hurried inside, forgetting whatever she needed to remember.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Devrin looked up at the sky warily. He had divided his men into teams to keep the wall of flame alive. Groups traveled back and forth to the nearby Iron Wood to gather fallen timber with which to feed the hungry barrier they had created. Others tended the fire, their faces glowing in its light while their bodies dripped with sweat due to the heat and the exertion the task required. Because of their efforts the flames continued to crackle between the cliffs, but the seheowks were not defeated. They had retreated, but they remained just outside the firelight, biding their time. Devrin’s best and only course of action was a defensive posture, but the admission grated against his very nature. He would prefer no battle at all, but to wait for one that was certain to come was unbearable.
And then there were the storm clouds.
“Captain,” Stephran said, coming up to stand behind him, “those clouds mean rain.”
“I know.”
Stephran swiveled between Devrin and the wall of fire a few times. He hesitated a moment more, and Devrin could tell he wanted to say something, but after a silent struggle the man sighed and retreated. Devrin watched him go, he appreciated Stephran’s difficulty, but he was already aware of the peril posed by the coming storm. He had not spoken of it because he had no answer to it, yet.
Stephran continue
d on his way after leaving the captain. He came upon two patrolling officers, who stopped and acknowledged him.
“Rain coming,” the first man said.
“Keep the fires hot,” Stephran said. “And a sharp lookout for any activity out of the ordinary.”
“Yes, sir,” both men nodded and returned to their patrol.
Nearby, Stephran could hear snatches of quiet conversation from several warriors who were resting on their bedrolls. Most of the tents had been used up in the initial fire, but the men had adjusted without complaint, especially since their new captain was also without a tent.
“Think we can hold out?” one man asked.
“The creatures have become uncanny in their strategy and ferocity,” another man answered. There was a pause. “I cannot be the only one who sees it?”
“We’ve all seen it,” a third voice spoke up. “We’re not just fighting senseless brutes any longer. This is an intelligent enemy intent on driving us back. Captain sees it, too. You can tell the way he’s always got that thoughtful look, like he’s calculating future strategies.”
“If it rains, our best defense will be gone,” the first man said, his tone glum. “The odds aren’t good, lads.”
“Captain will have a plan. He got us out of a tight spot before, he can do it again,” the third man retorted. “Didn’t I just say he’s always thinking? He’ll have it worked out before the rain comes.”
Stephran moved away, satisfied that no mutiny was brewing this night.
❖ ❖ ❖
“What do you know of this ancient enemy?” Oraeyn asked. Everyone was staring at the minstrel in surprise.
“‘Tis a long tale,” Kiernan Kane said. A pained expression crossed his face and made him look much older.
Kamarie looked up at him. “Will you tell it? If there is information in your tale that can help us defeat him...”
“Defeat him?” Kiernan interrupted, his voice full of weariness and a hint of despair. “I do not know if he can be vanquished. He can be driven away, yes, sent back beyond the edge of the world, certainly, but defeated? Who can say? He always returns. He uses different faces and bodies to do his bidding, willing accomplices that he sees as expendable, but no matter how often he is chained his power remains,” the minstrel sounded dispirited. It sent a chill through Oraeyn to hear the man who was always so cheerful sound so downcast. Kiernan sighed. “Well, then, I shall tell you the story. But it is a mirthless tale, indeed.”
There was a solemn silence, and when the minstrel began to speak he wove a spell around them with his words. His voice began in a low, whispering tone.
“Ages ago, before the war that stained the great sea, before the seheowks were created, before the wizards quarreled, before the land was split into island countries, even before there was a need for the first High King, the people of Tellurae Aquaous lived in peace and safety. The king of the dragons ruled all, but his rule was light and his judgments rarely needed. Tellurae Aquaous was young and fresh and sparkling with life. The world knew nothing but peace and all the races lived and worked side by side as friends. There was neither war nor bloodshed between them.
“But far beyond the Nameless Isles, beyond the edge of the world itself, something sinister began to gain strength. Haunting tales were told of the hazards that existed far away in those unknown lands, and thus nobody ventured beyond what was known. At that time, the lands were massed together and there were few ships and little travel upon the great oceans. Consequently, the enemy was allowed to gather power at his leisure.
“Perhaps it could have been stopped, had we heeded the warning signs. Perhaps the dragons could have done something to change the outcome, but they did not. They cannot be blamed, they knew not for what to watch. This was an evil beyond any of them, and it wished great harm upon all.
“I shall not speak his name here, but for the purposes of this story I shall refer to him as the Ancient Enemy. Eons ago, he was chained in a prison beneath the eastern edge of the world. But his power is great, and it grows in spite of his imprisonment. He bides his time until he can reach out and touch a mortal being, then he offers the promise of power to one willing to work towards his evil ends. His first victim was the dragon king, Starnaugh.”
“I’ve heard of Starnaugh,” Brant interjected. “He was the last of the dragon kings to reign over all of Tellurae Aquaous before the Order of Wizards took power.”
“Correct,” Kiernan nodded. “The Ancient Enemy possesses a power unlike anything you have ever seen or dreamed of. He is full of his own strength and hungers always for war, death, and fear. Through Starnaugh’s magic, he employed his puissance to create insidious creatures such as the seheowks and other creatures of shadow. They are not natural creatures to this world, and not even truly alive. Because of this he called them his werefolk.”
Zara made a questioning sound in her throat, interrupting the minstrel’s tale. “I thought the wizards created were-folk when they battled each other for power over the world.”
“Many were led to believe that story,” Kiernan replied. “Their true creator has worked hard to erase his existence from the memories of men. The were-folk were indeed used in that war. But even the greatest wizards possessed not the power to bring shadows to the merest semblance of life. It was the Ancient Enemy who performed that feat, and it was he who gave the wizards the knowledge required to compel the were-folk to do their bidding.”
“What is this Ancient Enemy?” Arnaud asked. “A dragon? A wizard?”
“He is nothing ever seen in this world before or since. He is a being unlike any other, unique. More powerful than the dragons, more powerful than the entire Order of Wizards combined. Neither human nor myth-folk, he is the essence of all that is evil and villainous in this world. He feeds on greed, fear, hate. He breathes envy and pride. He draws his power from all that is caliginous. In addition to thriving upon it, he also creates and grows it by twisting and tormenting the hearts and minds of all creatures.”
“But what is he?” Kamarie asked, she leaned forward, captivated by the minstrel’s words.
Kiernan paused, and his face filled with an inexplicable sorrow. “He is a monster. He is vast, towering larger than anything you have ever seen, stronger than anything you’ve ever known...”
“Stronger than the dragons?” Yole asked, his voice rising with incredulity. “Is that possible?”
Kiernan Kane nodded, his face grave. “Very possible. There are few things in this world that a dragon will cower from, and this lost soul should be one of them.”
Kamarie wrinkled her nose and exchanged a glance with her mother. She was dissatisfied with the minstrel’s answer, and could tell Zara was equally discontent, but Kiernan was speaking quickly now, delving deeper into the story, capturing them all with his words.
“Starnaugh was ultimately defeated in his attempt to gain power in Tellurae Aquaous. A brave wizardess named Shannowhyn, with the help of a few friends, created a powerful object that destroyed Starnaugh and sent the Ancient Enemy reeling back to his prison.
“The repercussions of Starnaugh’s reign were vast. Afraid of the power of the dragons, the people of Tellurae Aquaous turned to the wizards to lead them. The Ancient Enemy lay sleeping for many years, fed by the turmoil and hatred in the land above him. He worked his will on the Order of the Wizards next, not using any one individual, but corrupting the race as a whole. He whispered into their dreams. First he sent nightmares, visions that confirmed their deepest doubts and augmented their most secret suspicions. Those who listened to the nightmares grew haughty and cruel. And then the Ancient Enemy raised his voice again, but this time he spoke into their minds promises of power, prestige, and fame. The war—which Brant spoke of earlier—ravaged the land. The object of power that had defeated Starnaugh was now used once again in an attempt to stop the war. It succeeded, but it had a consequence no one could have foreseen. It shattered the land into fragments, scattering the were-folk
and isolating the wizards to a single land: Llycaelon.”
Brant looked surprised, and Zara’s hushed intake of breath made it clear that this was new information to her as well.
“Yes,” Kiernan nodded slowly at both of them. “That is the truth of why Brant’s people live twice the span of a normal human. Drops of wizard’s blood run throughout your entire race, Son of Arne.”
A deep silence filled the room as each member of the group absorbed this unexpected information.
“It was then that the dragon wards came into existence,” Kiernan continued after a pause.
“Gwyna and Keltarrka,” Yole interjected, his voice excited. “I know this story! Gwyna was the daughter of a candlemaker. One day, she was out tending her family’s bees when she met Keltarrka. His wing was hurt and he had fallen into the field and couldn’t fly away. For some reason, Gwyna wasn’t afraid. The story says she could see into his heart and saw that he meant her no harm. Either way, she tended his wing, despite the fact that his blood fell on her skin and burned her arms. She nursed the dragon back to health, and they formed a bond of friendship unlike any that ever existed before. When Keltarrka was healed, he offered Gwyna a ride on his back to thank her. It was then that they discovered the mystical link that tied their destinies together and allowed them to speak mind to mind. Gwyna became the first dragon ward, and others soon followed. None know why or how the link is formed, though a few of the older dragons think it had something to do with Gwyna getting burned by Keltarrka’s blood, but if that’s what happened nobody has ever been able to recreate it. There is no pattern, no heredity to it, all we know for certain is when it started and that the bond between dragon and ward is unbreakable.”
Yorien's Hand (The Minstrel's Song Book 3) Page 8
