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

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  Yole knew the other dragon was speaking of Calyssia and he bowed his head in respect of the Keeper’s memory. Then he spoke again, “So Shentallyia just left? Where did she go? I need to find her.”

  “We don’t know,” the other dragon’s voice held a note of sympathy. “I’m sorry I can’t be more specific. Why did you need to find her?”

  Yole growled. Shentallyia would have been eager to help, and might have been able to persuade others. Now, he was at a bit of a loss. Though he was accepted by the other dragons, he knew they regarded him as barely older than a hatchling. Many felt he should not be allowed so much freedom, and most believed he spent far too much time with his human friends. He studied Thorayenak, pondering. He must start somewhere, and his mentor was one of the wisest dragons in Aom-igh. Thorayenak also tended to speak highly of humans, and had mentioned Kiernan with respect in the past, though why the older dragon would esteem the bumbling minstrel was a true mystery to Yole.

  He decided it was worth taking a chance. Yole began to speak, raising his voice as he related all Kiernan Kane had said. As he spoke, a few of the dragons basking on the warm rocks lifted their heads to listen. Several others landed nearby and stood around Yole, their necks craning, their claws scratching at the mountainside. A few of the older dragons revealed glinting teeth as their mouths opened in silent snarls; they had heard parts of this story before.

  As Yole finished, Thorayenak stared at him, the older dragon’s eyes wide and unblinking. “I will come,” the other dragon spoke in grave tones. “I do not normally involve myself in the affairs of humans, but to work alongside the Minstrel is an opportunity I dare not refuse.”

  Yole bowed his head. “Thank you, Thorayenak.” He burned with curiosity about Thorayenak’s choice of words, but it would be an unforgivable breach of etiquette to question the offer of help. A younger, more naive Yole would have blurted out questions, but he knew now that voicing those questions might cause the offer of aid to be rescinded.

  A smaller dragon with green scales—Rhimmell, Yole recalled her name after a moment—moved forward, her body serpentining across the craggy mountain face.

  “I will come too,” she announced. “This threat is not to be ignored.”

  Yole nodded. “From what Kiernan Kane said there is no greater threat in all Tellurae Aquaous.”

  Thorayenak nodded gravely. “The Minstrel would know.”

  Yole wondered at that comment. Like Oraeyn, Brant, and Kamarie, Yole had been surprised by Kiernan’s sudden appearance in the doorway and spellbound by his cryptic tale. Yole found himself wondering just who, or what, Kiernan Kane really was.

  Yole had been the first of the group to meet Kiernan Kane, and because of their adventures together on the way to the Harshlands, he felt a kinship with the entertainer. But later he found out that he was like the man in other ways, too: Kiernan Kane was accepted among their group of friends like Yole, but he was also an outsider in some inexplicable way, different from the others. Yole supposed he had always sensed that though he had never truly pondered it before. He thought perhaps he had glimpsed a bit of that difference today though it had left him more confused than anything else. But Thorayenak did not act surprised at all. In fact, the older dragon appeared to take it for granted that Kiernan Kane would have the knowledge necessary to explain what was happening in the world. Yole pondered again: why did Thorayenak consider it such a privilege to get to work alongside Kiernan Kane?

  But instead of asking, Yole merely bowed his great neck. “Thank you both,” he said to Thorayenak and Rhimmell as the other dragons dispersed. However, in spite of everything, he could not help but ask the most important question that burned in his mind before he returned to inform Oraeyn that he had a method for reaching Emnolae: “Thorayenak, you’ve spoken highly of the minstrel before. May I ask, how do you know Kiernan Kane?”

  Thorayenak bared his teeth. “The dragons all know the Minstrel well. We have ever deemed him a friend. You will learn more as you grow into your heritage.”

  “What do you mean?” Yole asked, more confused than ever.

  Thorayenak spread his wings. “I must make ready for our journey, and the Minstrel deserves to keep his secrets. He will tell you what you need to know, nothing more.”

  “But...” Yole began his protest.

  Thorayenak shook his great head and with a mighty leap he took to the sky. “Tell King Oraeyn we will meet him near Fortress Hill,” Thorayenak called down to him, and then he flew away.

  Yole turned to Rhimmell, but she merely moved her tail back and forth in a dragon’s version of a shrug. “I have no answers for you, youngling,” she said, and then she beat her wings and was gone as well.

  Yole stared after them for a few minutes, wondering. Rhimmell had not denied knowing the minstrel. There was a long journey ahead of them; perhaps he would gain some clues about Kiernan Kane along the way.

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  Brant bounded into the cottage, the door swinging open with a startling thud. “Food smells good,” he commented as he strode into the kitchen. His strong arms encircled Dylanna in a hug. He picked her up and swung her around, causing her to gasp with surprise and laughter.

  “It ought to smell good, after the time I spent preparing it,” Dylanna replied through her merriment.

  Together they sat down at their small table. Dylanna gave a satisfied sigh; everything was as it should be. She did not immediately begin her meal, but looked around, content to just observe her own life for a moment. The cottage was warm and homey, the man she loved was sitting across the table enjoying the food she had prepared, life was complete and as it should be. Except… there was that strange sensation again, the thought that something was out of place. Brant looked up and noticed the small crease of her brow, a tiny wrinkle just above her petite nose.

  “Are you all right?”

  Dylanna nodded. “I think so. I’ve just had this strange aura of confusion around me all day.”

  “What do you mean?” He put another bite of food in his mouth and leaned forward on the table, interested.

  “Well,” Dylanna began, then she hesitated, fumbling with how to articulate her thoughts. “I’m not sure. I almost feel as if I don’t belong here, but of course, that’s silly.”

  Brant reached out and placed his hand over hers. “You’re working too hard, that’s all. It’s just your imagination, don’t worry about it.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  She took a bite and chewed, savoring the flavors of the vegetables. They were fresh, from her own garden. She had been so proud of her harvest this year. Which was strange since she didn’t have a garden.

  Dylanna stopped chewing, wondering where that thought had intruded from. She stared at her husband across the table, suddenly suspicious. His response did not feel right either. He should have been more concerned, or tried a little harder to figure out a reason for her uneasiness. The Brant she remembered would have put more stock in her anxiety whether it sounded silly or not.

  Dylanna shook her head. The man at the table before her was Brant. And yet, he wasn’t. He sat at the table almost too easily. No cares rested on his shoulders, no burden weighed him down. That was not right, Brant was always a coiled spring, ready to leap into action at a moment’s notice.

  “Where’s your sword?” Dylanna asked.

  Brant looked up from his plate, confusion written across his face. “What do you mean?”

  “You never go anywhere without your sword,” Dylanna said, the words bursting up from somewhere deep inside herself. “Why don’t you have it now?”

  Brant crossed his arms and leaned back against his chair, amused. “Dylanna, I’ve never owned a sword in my life, what are you talking about?”

  “No, this is all wrong,” she mumbled. She got up and stumbled back from the table. Her chair fell over when she pushed it away, but she did not pay it any heed. The room began to spin, and she felt
dizzy.

  Brant rose as well and moved forward as if to catch her. “What’s all wrong? This is our home, everything is as it should be.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s wrong!”

  Brant reached for her. “You’re scaring me.”

  But Dylanna continued to shake her head, sobs rising in her throat. “Everything is as I wish it could be,” she said, and tears now trailed down her cheeks. “But it’s not real, it can’t be real.”

  Darkness swirled up around her, and she cringed away from it. She was frightened of the place from which she had come; she did not want to go back to it, but the dream frightened her more. It was a dream, she realized now. Her memories rushed over her in an overwhelming flood. She reeled back under their force. Familiar faces returned to her: Kamarie, Yole, Oraeyn, Leila, Zara, Arnaud, and Brant…. She looked up at the Brant who stood before her and felt tears wind their way down her cheeks.

  “I wish you were real,” Dylanna said. “But you cannot be.”

  “You could stay,” he whispered, a note of pleading in his voice and his eyes filled with a sorrow that mirrored her own.

  “No,” Dylanna’s face crumpled in anguish as she turned away.

  “Please, Dylanna, don’t leave! Please stay!” his voice grew frantic. “Please stay! I love you!”

  Dylanna began to run. Brant clutched at her arm but she tore away from him. She reached the door and plunged outside.

  Dylanna awoke once more. Silent sobs wracked her paralyzed body. Frustrated tears rolled down her face and their salty flavor exploded in her mouth. The darkness laughed at her, she could almost hear its scratchy, cackling voice. She wanted to hunch her shoulders and wrap her arms around herself like a little child and hide. Nightmarish terror welled up in her heart and she could not push it down beneath the surface any longer. The horror of how she had almost allowed herself to be captured overwhelmed her and her heart shuddered.

  She knew how narrowly she had escaped being caught in her own dream. It would have been so easy to stay there in that blissful semblance of life. The dream was her deepest desire, her every wish come true, and leaving it had cost her so much, but she knew that remaining in its clutches would have cost everything.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Shentallyia was not certain where she was headed. She knew little about her ward other than that he was far away and in peril. She knew which direction to fly, but that was where her intuition ended. She did not know how far she must travel. She had no idea of his name or what he looked like. She did not know how she would find him or even how old he was, she merely knew she would recognize him the instant she saw him. So she flew in the direction of her ward, following her yearning, filled with excitement, but also battling a rising anxiety.

  Not for the first time, Shentallyia wondered if being underground had kept the dragons from being able to sense their wards. Certainly, she had never before suspected that she had one until after she emerged from the tunnels of Krayghentaliss.

  What would it be like, she wondered for a moment, to meet him? Did he feel, as she did, the ache of being incomplete? Was he waiting for her, puzzling over what was taking her so long? Then a horrible thought occurred to her, what if he was afraid of her? Shentallyia banked and wheeled, flying in a helpless circle. She had already flown beyond the borders of Aom-igh, what if he belonged to one of those fearful countries that did not believe in dragons anymore? But the call was stronger than her disquietude. If he lived in such a country she would simply take human form until she discovered how he felt about dragons. Yole had lived as a human for most of his life: certainly it could not be very difficult.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Jemson’s arrival in the camp of the Border Patrol caused a chaotic stir and a myriad of mixed emotions. Some were honored that their king would grace them with his presence on their battlefield, and heartened by his display of courage. Some, however, grumbled at his approach, believing they were being inspected, thinking he had come to search out their weaknesses and berate them wherever they might be lacking.

  For his part, the young king was elated to be out on the field. He rode through the camp, surveying his men’s work and congratulating them on it. Bit by bit, he dispelled the objections of those who did not want him there. By the end of the first day, the warriors had warmed to him considerably. Most had never met the young king, and had no idea what to expect, but Jemson was every inch the man Brant believed him to be. His three years on the throne under Brant’s guidance had aged him and given him a confidence and a maturity not present even in men twice his age.

  Jemson ended his tour of the camp at Devrin’s headquarters. A pot hung over the fire, and Devrin sat on one of the logs that surrounded the small blaze, stirring the contents. Jemson cleared his throat as he approached and Devrin rose.

  “Welcome, Sire,” Devrin saluted, but his heart was not in it. He was not sure what Jemson’s visit meant, and did not like that the king had abandoned protocol and not come to him before inspecting the camp.

  “You have done well in your command here,” Jemson said, taking a step forward.

  “I do not look for your approval,” Devrin replied, his voice terse. Then he bethought himself and cleared his throat. “Forgive me, we are all weary, and I am remiss in my duties. Would His Majesty like to sit? Are you hungry? The stew is ready.”

  Jemson stepped over to the log opposite Devrin and sat. He looked up at the sky and then back at Devrin.

  “The story goes that the wall of flames over there was your idea.”

  Devrin shrugged, ladling stew into two bowls.

  “Word is you started it by setting fire to your commanding officer’s tent,” Jemson continued. “Is that true?”

  Devrin handed him a bowl and hesitated, wondering where the conversation was heading. “It is.”

  Jemson laughed. “I hoped it was true. Brilliant move on your part.”

  “I saw what needed to be done, and I acted,” Devrin replied, his words clipped and angry in spite of his relief at Jemson’s favorable reaction. “It was no more than anyone else might have done.”

  “But you were the only one who saw it, the only one who acted,” Jemson returned.

  Devrin opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He gave his head a small shake and put a bite of stew in his mouth, a scowl turning his lips down. Jemson watched him, curious. The man extended every courtesy, but something had him on edge. Jemson took a bite of his own stew and nearly gagged on the soggy, lumpen mess. With an effort, he managed to swallow the bite. He put his bowl down and wondered where the nearest stream was.

  “Water?” Devrin raised a canteen without looking up from his bowl.

  Jemson took the canteen and drank. The canteen stank like ashes and the water was warm, but it served to wash away the remnants of the stew. He took another swig and handed the canteen back. Devrin chuckled a little and continued to eat until his bowl was empty.

  “It’s better than nothing,” he commented, taking a drink himself, and then using the rest of the water to rinse his bowl clean. “You’ll get used to it, unless you’re not staying long.”

  “I suppose I’ll get used to it, then,” Jemson replied, his tone even as he took another bite, this time, he managed to swallow without needing water to wash it down.

  Devrin looked up, shock written across his face. Jemson saw, to his great surprise, that Devrin was younger than he had first assumed. The scowl aged him. The man ran a hand across his shaggy hair.

  “What does that mean?” he demanded.

  “I came to add my sword to your ranks,” Jemson replied.

  “Your Majesty cannot be serious,” Devrin’s tone was flat.

  “The situation here has gotten out of control,” Jemson returned. “It is high time the king of Llycaelon gave something to the men who have given so much for their country. I am here to fight the seheowks, Captain. I know the men believed I was here to inspect the ranks and give a critique,
or perhaps they thought this was an appearance meant to boost their morale. They were mistaken. I am here to offer my sword, my arm, my bow, and even my life if need be to defend my country. It’s time Llycaelon rallied behind a fighting king once again!”

  Devrin felt his heart lift at Jemson’s words. They were words he wanted to shout himself, but the earnest way the king said them left a bitter flavor in Devrin’s mouth. He squashed the hope flickering to life in his chest and stood abruptly. He paced a few steps and stood with his back to the young king for a moment. It was unfair of him to be so angry at the kid, none of this was his fault, but Devrin couldn’t help it.

  “Devrin,” Jemson’s tone was serious. “Why did you ask to be transferred to the Border Patrol?”

  Surprise made Devrin turn to look at the king.

  “I thought I recognized your name on the report informing me of your appointment to command here,” Jemson explained. “But I wasn’t sure until I saw you.”

  Pent up emotions swirled in Devrin’s thoughts. Part of him wanted to sit down and explain, unburden his soul to this insightful young man. Another part of him wanted to stalk off into the gathering night and leave the kid wondering forever. The duty-bound soldier within him would let him do neither, of course. He raised his chin.

  “I felt I could be of more service to my country here, Majesty.” The words felt stiff as they left his lips. Jemson gazed at him pensively across the embers of the cook fire. Devrin felt his shoulders tense, but Jemson did not press the matter.

  Suddenly restless, Devrin took a step towards Jemson. “May I ask a question?”

  “Of course,” Jemson replied.

  “Why did you come to me last?”

  A muscle in Jemson’s cheek twitched. “You requested a transfer the day before my coronation. That request was the only indication I had of how you felt about me. I am aware that the protocol in this situation would have been to come to you and have you at my side as I spoke with your men, but I must confess that I wanted a less biased report from them on your leadership, especially considering the unconventional way you came to hold that position.”