Devrin felt a tendril of respect weave its way through his thoughts, followed by a sharp curiosity. “I see. I can understand that.” Curiosity flared in his thoughts, and he couldn’t prevent the question that sprang to his lips. “May I ask what you have discovered?”
Jemson sat back and took a deep breath. “Your men hold you in very high regard. To many of them, you are a hero.”
Devrin was not sure what to say to that, and felt his throat close with emotion, preventing any words he might have come up with from passing into utterance.
Jemson seemed to understand this, and he rose. “Thank you for sharing your meal with me. I apologize if I caused you undue alarm by breaking with tradition, but I hope my findings are of use to you as you move forward. Your aid, Stephran, was kind enough to show me where I can place my bedroll. My sword is at your command.”
The young man disappeared into the evening and Devrin was left with a battle of emotions warring within. He paced around his campfire attempting to sort out this strange encounter with his king.
❖ ❖ ❖
“Kamarie will keep watch over things while I am gone,” Oraeyn said, his voice quiet.
Brant’s brow furrowed. “She will not appreciate being left behind, if that is your intent.”
“I know, but she cannot come, it’s not safe.”
Kiernan Kane gazed at him, and Oraeyn wondered what was going on inside the minstrel’s head. They had been making plans for the journey to Emnolae for several hours now, and Kiernan had yet to say a word. Oraeyn was used to the laughing, bumbling, singing minstrel, and this quiet, introspective side of him was quite unnerving.
As Brant described the journey to Emnolae, and what they could expect to find once they arrived, Oraeyn grew more curious about his mentor’s first adventure there. Brant said nothing more about it, but Oraeyn was not surprised. Brant rarely gave out information about himself.
It was strange, Oraeyn decided, how alike the two men were. Could either of them truly be known? Kiernan wore a mask of joviality and chatter, but much of it was meaningless, a façade meant to distract, while Brant’s mask was of silence, meant to discourage questions.
Just then the door opened and Yole entered the room. Oraeyn looked up, puzzled by the dragon’s sudden appearance. Consternation filled him at the unexpected interruption. He hoped Yole was not bringing more bad news.
“What is it, Yole?”
“We’ll carry you to Emnolae,” Yole said in an excited rush. “Thorayenak, Rhimmell, and I. We’ve discussed it. This Enemy is a force that threatens us all, not just the humans, and so you must get to where you are going as quickly as possible. You cannot get there any faster than by flying. In the old days, dragons carried humans all the time. I’ve taken Brant to Llycaelon a few times, it’s not difficult.”
“Yole, thank you so much,” Oraeyn said, his voice filled with gratitude. “Brant said he arrived in Emnolae by ship on his first voyage there, but he was just recommending that I ask the dragons for their aid in traveling this time.”
“We must use a certain amount of caution,” Brant warned. “Three dragons carrying humans and flying straight towards Emnolae will not be something this Enemy will ignore. He has been defeated by High Kings wielding the power of Yorien’s Gift before. He will be guarding that land with a watchful eye and it will not be easy to sneak past him. This is not a threat to be taken lightly, even by dragons.”
Yole nodded gravely. “We understand.”
Oraeyn knew Yole was a dragon, capable of taking care of himself, but he looked so young. Oraeyn had bonded with Yole when they had first met, he felt a tie of brotherhood to the boy from the beginning. Perhaps it was the Fang Blade, or perhaps it was because they were both orphans, or maybe it was because they had each discovered they were something more than they had ever guessed, Oraeyn did not know. The bond he felt with Yole could easily be explained by the simple fact that Yole looked up to him with such open admiration. Oraeyn was suddenly filled with gratitude and some emotion he could not define. He was intensely glad he had such friends around him in this time of desperate need, but at the same time he sincerely did not want to endanger any of them.
“Very well,” Oraeyn said, the words felt heavy as they left his mouth. “I don’t like asking anyone else to risk their lives on my behalf, but I understand the importance and urgency of this undertaking. Yole, if you and your friends are willing to carry us upon their backs, then the sooner we leave, the better.”
“We are ready now,” Yole’s voice was eager.
“I recommend we set out at first light,” Brant said.
Oraeyn nodded. “At first light.”
At his words the door burst open again. Oraeyn spun in surprise, startled by the loud noise. When he saw the figure standing in the doorway his heart sank.
Kamarie stood there, her hands on her hips. An icy fist of dread clutched at Oraeyn’s heart. He knew without asking why she was there. Everything in him screamed against it, he could not risk her life, he would not, but he also knew she would not back down. He stared at her, begging her not to speak, but she refused to meet his gaze.
“I’m coming too!” Kamarie’s voice was quiet, but the words somehow filled the entire room.
In a flash, Oraeyn was caught in the midst of his dream again; he remembered watching Kamarie fall, recalled the awful knowledge that he could not save her or keep her from slipping away. The terrible helplessness he had felt as he came to that realization gripped him once again. His face twisted at the remembered pain of the nightmare. He could still see her face as she stared up at him, her expression a mixture of dismay and resignation, he could feel the horrible clenching in his stomach as her hand slipped from his grasp. Even though it had only been a dream, it was not one he ever wanted to experience in the waking world. Determination filled his heart. He did not know if he could be the High King Kiernan had spoken of, nor did he know if he was capable of the task required of him, but he did know he would do everything in his power to protect Kamarie.
“No,” he said firmly. “I cannot allow it, Kamarie.” It wounded him to say it, everything in him resisted the idea of leaving her. A chasm of grief opened in his heart as he spoke.
Kamarie lifted her chin stubbornly, never backing down an inch. It was as though she knew how much it cost him to say those words. “You can’t tell me not to come, because I’ve already made up my mind. You need me. I won’t let you go off alone, where you go, I go.”
“You’re right, I do need you. I need you to stay here and take care of Aom-igh while I am gone. I need you to do this for me. I need you to stay here where it’s safe.”
Kamarie tossed her head and Oraeyn knew he was in trouble; her blue eyes flashed with ire. “Justan can take care of things here. You told me you’d trust him with your life. Or my father. Don’t give me any of this ‘safe’ nonsense, Oraeyn; with an enemy like the one Kiernan described on the loose, no place is safe anymore.”
“The place we’re going is far more perilous than here,” Oraeyn argued.
“What about the prophecy?” Kamarie asked, turning to the others who all refused to meet her gaze. The tension in the room was uncomfortable.
“The prophecy?” Oraeyn asked.
“‘The love of a sylph shall bind his heart,’” she quoted. “That’s me, right? It means I have to come with you.”
“‘And gives him strength when they must part,’” Oraeyn shot back. “That means you stay behind.”
“Brant?” Kamarie asked, turning to the warrior.
Brant ran a hand through his hair, his expression thoughtful. “If it is a prophecy—if there really is such a thing as a prophecy—it could mean you stay behind,” Kamarie opened her mouth to object but Brant put up a hand, “or it could mean there will be a need to part later in the journey. I’m not an expert.” He turned to Kiernan. “Well, Minstrel?”
Kiernan cocked his head, listening to a sound nobody else cou
ld hear. Absent-mindedly he mused, “Prophecies are tricky.”
“Kamarie,” Oraeyn said, his tone pleading, “please don’t do this.”
“You need me,” she said, her mouth set in a stubborn line.
“No!” Oraeyn shouted, his desperate need to keep her safe making him speak much more loudly than he meant to. “I don’t.”
Anguish filled Kamarie’s face and Oraeyn realized what he had just said. The look of stunned pain in his beloved’s eyes broke his heart.
“Kamarie,” his voice was soft, “I didn’t mean… that’s not what I… I’m sorry.”
After a moment Kamarie looked up; tears swam in her eyes but did not fall. Her expression was fierce. “I am coming with you, because you do need me, whether you think you do or not. I am honor-bound as the First Aelan to go with my king and defend him if I can and die for him if I must. It is part of my oath, and I take it very seriously. You cannot deny me the right to perform my duty.”
Oraeyn sank into a chair in defeat. He could not argue with her on that point. She was within her rights to claim a place in the company on the merits of her rank in the Order of the Shield. Tears pricked, threatening to fall. He could still see her tumbling away from him, still hear her scream, the echoes of his nightmares overwhelmed him. He wrestled with his fear for a long moment, then straightened his shoulders, bolstered by a deep resolve. If the dreams were warnings, he would make sure he heeded them, if they were visions he would do everything in his power to keep them from coming to pass. In the deepest part of his heart he knew Kamarie was right, he did need her, and he was certain Brant would help him protect her. With Brant along, perhaps they would all be safer, no matter where they were.
Oraeyn sighed. “Very well. I will appoint Sir Justan to care for Aom-igh while we are gone. Kamarie will come with us. Yole, do you think there is another dragon who would be willing to come along?”
“I will carry both you and Kamarie.”
“Are you sure?” Kamarie asked, concerned.
“I won’t even notice either of you,” he promised. “You forget how big I am as a dragon!”
They all chuckled at that, even Brant, and Oraeyn suddenly felt much better. He was surprised at how glad he was that Kamarie would be there, and he realized it would not have been the same, going on such a quest without her.
“At first light then,” Oraeyn said. “I will go speak with Justan and give him the necessary instructions.”
The group split up, each going their own way to prepare for the journey ahead. They would meet again at daybreak on the beach where the dragons would be waiting. Kamarie returned home to inform her parents that she was now part of this great effort that Kiernan had revealed in their hearing. Arnaud and Zara, already aware of their daughter’s determination and tenacity, had made preparations for the journey on her behalf. Yole returned to the Mountains of Dusk to tell Thorayenak and Rhimmell when and where they were meeting. Brant retired to prepare his weaponry and ponder the many thoughts that had been stirred within him that day by the story of Yorien’s Hand.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Devrin had been on edge all day. He had no idea of the source of his disquiet, but there was a definite uneasiness building within him. He was tense and jumpy; his nerves felt like the frayed edges of an old, well-used blanket.
The weather was not helping. The threatening storm clouds remained, but the rain was not yet falling. Devrin did not know how much longer his luck would hold. He had been racking his brain to find a solution to the looming problem of rain, but so far he had not come up with any particularly useful ideas. He was frustrated with his lack of ingenuity. And then there was his other problem: the king of Llycaelon.
Jemson had proven as good as his word. The young man slept on the ground amongst the men, carried firewood, took his turn tending the barrier of fire, patrolled through the night, and did everything else asked of him. The aethalons were heartened by his presence, and Devrin had to admit a grudging respect growing in his own heart towards the young king. Jemson accepted his share of the duties without complaint, never once acting as if he thought the work was beneath him.
Devrin’s musings were cut short by a sudden commotion a few paces away. One of his men threw his sword to the ground with an angry grunt. His face was red as he shouted at two other warriors.
“Don’t know why you all think this new captain of ours is going to figure out how to keep a fire burning during a Warm-Term deluge,” the man bellowed belligerently. “It makes no sense, how everyone is falling all over themselves. He was raised to the position for one lucky move, not because he’s a genius or a tactician. There’s a long list of those who should’ve been considered first. Just because he commanded the Palace Guard doesn’t mean he knows anything about leading men into combat. Don’t know what...”
“That is enough,” Stephran’s voice rang out as he strode into the fray. His tone was tight and controlled, but tinged with anger as he put a restraining hand on the offending man’s arm.
“I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking,” the man was defiant.
“How dare you speak of your captain that way? Even at Aetoli, your rank does not grant you the privilege of disrespect. You, and you,” Stephran’s voice rose and two other men hurried over, “take this man and contain him until further notice. Captain Devrin will consider his punishment.”
Silence fell as the man shuffled off between his guards. Stephran looked towards Devrin’s campfire and saw his captain watching. The warrior pressed his lips into a thin line and strode over.
“Sir?” he said, when he reached his commanding officer. “I am sorry you witnessed that. It won’t happen again.”
“He’s not wrong,” Devrin’s voice was low. “I don’t have a plan. When that rain comes, our defenses crumble.”
“That isn’t an excuse for conduct unbecoming, in any event. You’ll figure something out. Have you asked King Jemson if he has any ideas? A fresh perspective can often turn the tide of the most difficult situation.”
“What could he possibly add that we haven’t thought of?” Devrin growled, his patience snapping. “You really think a child can solve this? We don’t need more suggestions, we need it to not rain.”
Stephran’s back straightened. “Sir, all due respect, but it’s a fortunate thing for you Sir Brant was not here to observe such willful disrespect being demonstrated just now towards his nephew, and your king.”
“I mean no disrespect to the lad. But he can’t control the weather, and he couldn’t even if he had endured his rite of passage, gone through the Corridor, or faced his questioning,” Devrin’s voice rose, and several warriors stopped what they were doing to stare at him. Not for the first time, Devrin regretted burning all the tents.
Stephran’s voice was soft. “Begging your pardon, but none of that gives you the right to speak in such a way. He’s been crowned king of Llycaelon, and you took an oath to serve him and this country, just like me, just like every other aethalon here. If you can’t keep that vow, I can’t follow you, sir, and that would be a shame, because I think you do have a chance of tipping the scales in our favor. But if you can’t do that while being true to your word, then I have a duty to see you tried for treason, no matter what I think of your abilities as a captain. Just like it was my duty to have Aetoli Lance placed under arrest a few moments ago, even though we don’t have a single warrior more skilled than him with any weapon you can think of. Begging your pardon, sir, but I’ll leave you now. I hope next time we meet, your words will reflect the loyalty you owe King Jemson. You say you meant no disrespect, and our situation is dire, but we are aethalons. We are warriors. This is our duty and our life’s blood: to overcome when all seems lost. And you need to understand the kind of impact a careless word or a thoughtless phrase can have. You betray your true opinion of the king by the way you refer to him.”
Stephran turned and strode away, leaving Devrin alone once mo
re. Shame flooded through him as he watched his most loyal supporter depart. Stephran was right, of course. He did think of the king as a child. There was nothing inherently wrong with that, but in a moment of frustration he had lost his self control and allowed that opinion to rise to the surface where others could see it. That could not be allowed. Devrin sat down on the log and put his head in his hands. It was becoming clear that he could not ignore the past, but he was unsure of how to proceed.
It was dusk when Devrin at last turned to his meal. As he stirred the contents of his pot with a long-handled wooden ladle, he heard a soft step behind him and felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle. His muscles tightened, and he gripped the spoon in his fist, prepared to defend himself. A wild thought passed through his mind that whoever stood behind him must be the source of the strange unease that had gripped him all day. The thought was ridiculous, of course, but Devrin whirled, ladle raised aloft.
❖ ❖ ❖
At first light, Oraeyn made his way down to the waterfront. Brant and Kamarie were already there, waiting for him. Kiernan Kane was also present, his jaw open in a wide yawn as he stretched his neck from side to side. The man’s hair stuck up wildly and his clothes were somewhat rumpled, but Oraeyn was relieved to see him there. Brant’s face was void of emotion, and Oraeyn wondered what he was thinking. Brant was the only one who did not look tired or as if he had just awakened; Oraeyn envied the man’s cool composure and not for the first time wished he could mimic Brant’s exterior calm.
The minstrel, surprisingly, wore an unusual sword at his side. The hilt and scabbard looked old and battered and Oraeyn knit his brows together, trying to remember if he had ever seen Kiernan with a sword before. His mandolin was strapped to his back in its customary location. Kiernan never went anywhere without the instrument. Oraeyn felt comforted by its familiar presence. Even in this moment when they were about to walk straight into the inky heart of danger, in an attempt to overcome the greatest enemy ever to threaten the world, it was reassuring to know that some things never changed.
Yorien's Hand (The Minstrel's Song Book 3) Page 11
