“What could they do?”
“They could know a dragon by touching it,” Shentallyia said, “no matter what form it took, among other things.”
“What else?” he asked, his mouth and throat dry.
“They possessed an aptitude for our language: Old Kraïc, and they were always longing for the ability to fly. Dragon wards, Riders, Links, they were known by many names, but whatever they were called, they were always bonded to a dragon. A dragon ward’s abilities come into full power as he approaches adulthood, and that is when his dragon comes to find him. The two are bonded for life.”
“What happened to them?” Devrin asked, his interest rising. “If these children provided a link between humans and dragons, why were the dragons driven away?”
“Distrust and fear of my people sent us into hiding throughout the world. As we retreated from the world, fewer wards were born. The last haven for us was in Aom-igh, but even we have seen the last of the dragon wards: she departed from our land three years ago during the conflict between your country and ours. To my knowledge, you are the first ward to call out to a dragon in over two hundred years.”
Devrin was overwhelmed. He could not contain all the information and he stood, bursting with energy. “So you believe I’m your ward. The first ward in more than two centuries. Why me? What brought you here? You come from Aom-igh?”
“The yearning led me to you,” Shentallyia said simply. “I did not know anything about you. I did not know where you lived, what your name was, how old you were or what you looked like. All I knew was which direction to fly. So I came. Yes, I come from Aom-igh. My people have been underground for a long time, in the tunnels of a world we called Krayghentaliss. I believe being underground is what has kept us from sensing our wards. The fact that you are so much older than most wards at the time of their discovery would appear to uphold that theory.”
“And what exactly do you expect me to do now?”
“I’m not sure. I did not expect it to be like this,” Shentallyia admitted. “I did not believe I could be this uncomfortable around you. I thought perhaps you were waiting for me. Not necessarily that you would know who I was, but that you would have felt something at our first meeting.”
Devrin was not sure what to think. But Shentallyia’s story inspired him and he wanted it to be true. He remembered how seeing the dragon near the palace had not frightened him, how he had longed to ride it and battle the seheowks from its back, how he had known what Shentallyia was the moment he touched her. It all added up to… to something. The only problem was that Devrin was not sure what it did add up to. He felt like he was trying to connect mismatched puzzle pieces.
“Magic has not been present in Llycaelon for many years,” he said at last. “If I am a dragon ward as you claim, then perhaps that is the reason our meeting was not as you hoped?”
“Perhaps,” she hesitated for a moment, a thoughtful look crossing her fine features. “What you say is not true, though. Magic only lies dormant in Llycaelon, waiting for something to wake it from its slumber. I wonder…” she trailed off. “It doesn’t matter. May I stay? I know the threat of seheowks, and I can help.”
“Our situation here is precarious, although I’m sure you’re aware of that, you seem to know everything else. Right now I wouldn’t turn away any offer of help. Do you need anything?”
“Thank you, but I can fend for myself.”
Devrin nodded, despite being completely confused. She rose to leave, thanking him for his time, and then she was gone.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Kamarie had never seen such a sight. In a great, red ball of flame the Dragon’s Eye sank into the sea. Its rays lingered long after it was gone, but eventually faded beneath the waves as well. The sky turned purple and stars began to blink into existence, a thousand sparkling gemstones dotting the heavens. Kamarie fancied she ought to be able to reach up and touch them.
“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” she asked Oraeyn. “This whole trip would be over if you could just fly up there and take down a star right now. Then we wouldn’t have to go all the way to Emnolae, I mean, if Yorien’s Hand really was a star, and not an enigmatic relic of power with unknown origins.”
“Sure would be easier, if Yorien’s Hand really was a star,” he agreed. “But its origin appears to be wrapped in mystery. I’d never even heard of it until a few days ago.”
The dragons glided down from the sky. Land had been spotted earlier, and they now came to rest on a deserted shoreline. It would have been easy to just camp out on the beach, but Brant insisted that they move away from the water and into a more wooded area to set up camp and spend the night.
“There is less chance of us being seen if we stay out of the open,” he cautioned.
As they set up camp, the dragons took care of creating a small fire. Oraeyn had not thought about how it would be beneficial to have the dragons along for reasons other than flying. He had never given much thought to traveling, and it occurred to him that this was the first time he had ever left Aom-igh’s borders.
He looked at Thorayenak, a curious expression on his face. “Do you know what Yorien’s Hand really is?”
“I am afraid not,” the old dragon replied. “There is, of course, the legend of Yorien that can be found in the lore of every land on Tellurae Aquaous, which gives a modicum of credence to the tale. My people have other theories, but that is all they are.”
“What are the theories?” Kamarie asked, coming up and sitting next to Oraeyn.
“Some say it is a powerful object, given to the world as a gift by Cruithaor Elchiyl himself to protect us from the Ancient Enemy,” Thorayenak said.
“Others believe it is truly a star, and that all stars possess the same power, though I think that is utter nonsense,” Rhimmell added. “Yorien’s Hand is unique, and no matter what else it is, I do not believe it is an actual star.”
“A few of the other tales reference the beings called cearaphiym in conjunction with Yorien’s Hand,” Thorayenak said, “but those are much more obscure and were written by an extremely unreliable source.”
“Have you ever seen it?” Yole asked the other dragons.
They both shook their heads.
“I have seen drawings and diagrams, of course,” Thorayenak said, “but I have never been to Emnolae or seen the relic itself.”
Oraeyn felt the little ball of worry that had worked itself into a knot in the pit of his stomach twist around a bit. He did not like being blind as to what lay ahead. Though he trusted Kiernan, he wondered if Yorien’s Hand was even capable of defeating their enemies. What if it wasn’t even a weapon at all? Brant had seen it, touched it, even, and yet he had been unable to use it. What if he, Oraeyn, also failed at this task? What if he succeeded, but they were defeated anyway?
“Thank you,” he said to the dragons. “I’m going to go collect firewood.”
As he left the camp, Brant fell into step beside him. Oraeyn felt himself relax in the presence of the warrior’s strength.
“Where are we, exactly?” Oraeyn asked as they began searching for dry sticks and branches to use in the fire.
“A little island a few leagues east of the Barrier Islands. I don’t think it has a name. It’s fairly deserted, though there are a few people who like the isolation,” Brant replied. “There are hundreds of tiny islands like this all across the sea, and we may need a few more of them during the course of our journey. Even dragons cannot fly from Aom-igh to Emnolae without rest.”
They returned to the camp and Kiernan offered to prepare dinner. Oraeyn and Kamarie offered to scout around the perimeter of the camp together.
“It may be a small, mostly uninhabited island,” Oraeyn said, “but best not to take chances.”
“In any case, it is a good habit to form,” Brant agreed. “But be on your guard, this is not a leisurely sojourn. We must stay alert at all times.”
Oraeyn drew his swor
d and he and Kamarie ventured out into the forest, making sure to keep their fire in sight at all times. The night was filled with the sounds of creatures that come out after nightfall, but the noises were all familiar and comforting ones. The light of the Toreth filtered through the trees, lighting their path.
“Do you think we’ll succeed?” Kamarie’s voice was quiet.
Fears that Oraeyn had tried to leave behind threatened to overwhelm him and he gripped the hilt of the Fang Blade a bit tighter. “We have to at least try.”
“Earlier I said that this was like the way we met, but it isn’t, is it? Back then we thought we were traveling away from danger. This time, we can’t pretend that we’re doing anything but running straight into its heart.”
Oraeyn reached out for Kamarie’s hand. “I can’t tell you it will be all right,” he said, “but I can tell you that as long as we’re together, I feel more confident of our success. I realize that doesn’t make much sense, logically, but it’s the way I feel. You were right, I do need you. And I’m glad you are here.”
Kamarie’s face softened, but she had the good grace not to gloat. The leftover tension from their fight the previous day dissolved into the cool night air.
When they returned from their scouting expedition, having found nothing worrisome, they discovered that Kiernan had prepared a small meal which they ate in hungry silence. Afterwards, they rolled out their blankets and retired for the night. Brant kept the first watch as the rest of the company attempted to fall asleep. Oraeyn soon found that he could not sleep. After a long hour of restless tossing about, he gave up and went to sit with Brant. The night was still. The two men sat together, content to keep watch in companionable quiet.
“Do you think that Dylanna and Leila are all right?” Oraeyn asked after a long while.
Brant looked worried, but his tone was even, “I hope so. If they were captured, perhaps we will hear word of where they are being held on our way to Emnolae, I for one plan on staying alert.”
“I suppose that is all we can do, for now. Searching for them would be an impossible task.”
“Any more impossible than the quest we are on at this very moment?”
“At least we know where Yorien’s Hand is.”
Brant made a strange sound in his throat. “We do at that.”
“I’m worried about them, Brant.”
The warrior took a deep breath and held it for a moment or two, and then he let it out slowly. “So am I, Oraeyn. So am I.”
Both men sat brooding over a mystery that neither of them could hope to solve. They stared into the fire in quiet contemplation, each wrapped in his own worries, doubts, and concerns about the journey they were on and what it held for them all.
“Have you been here before?” Oraeyn questioned, uncomfortable with the silence and needing something to distract him from the thoughts whirling around inside his head.
“No, but we will probably visit many places I have been before this adventure is over. When I was younger I traveled through many of the lands this world holds. Not all of them, of course.”
“How long ago was that? How old were you when you traveled across Tellurae Aquaous?”
“Several lifetimes ago. I was about your age when I set out, maybe a little younger. Of course, I had lived more years, but as you know, in Llycaelon we live longer lives and we age more slowly.”
“Because of the wizard’s blood. I remember Kiernan mentioning that.”
“Yes,” Brant said the word tightly as he shot a suspicious look towards the pallet where the minstrel was sleeping. “Though how Kiernan knows that, I should very much like to learn.”
“Where did you travel?”
“Many places. The countryside of Kallayohm, the great city of Layrdon that is the heart of Yochathain, the treacherous forests of Emnolae, I even traveled to the Nameless Isles. You might say that I saw a little of everything.”
“You saw the Nameless Isles?” Oraeyn asked, awed.
“What a place of mystery that is!” Brant spoke softly, his tone filled with sorrow at the memory. “A dear friend and teacher of mine died there, I was forced to leave him.”
“I’m sorry,” Oraeyn said quietly. A moment later he stirred. “What is Emnolae like?”
“I lost a friend there, too. She did not deserve her fate,” Brant stared at the ground and spat out the words, which were filled with an emotion Oraeyn could not identify.
“Forgive me,” Oraeyn said. He did not like seeing his friend in such pain. Though he desperately wanted to know more, needed to know what they were about to face, he stared at the ground and sighed. “I did not mean to dredge up painful memories. I will ask you no more questions.”
Brant raised his head, his features softening in an unspoken apology. “No, it... it is all right. You need my memories, my knowledge of where we are going. Ask your questions, I will answer what I can.”
Oraeyn looked at him askance, but Brant’s face was once again calm. He hesitated to ask more, but he needed to know what Brant could tell him. At length, he asked, “Do you think the star, or whatever it is, is still there? You said before that you’d touched it; what’s it like?”
“I spoke truly,” Brant’s voice was strained, like he was reluctant to let the words pass through his lips. “I once went on a quest in search of it, although you might say that I was sent to find it. What I discovered was not what I had expected…” he trailed off and Oraeyn kept silent, wondering if he would learn any more. Brant looked up and saw Oraeyn, his lips quirked upward but his face was haggard and weary. “No, not what I expected at all,” he repeated.
“Will it still be there?”
“Yes, it will still be there.”
“How can you be sure?”
“The Hand of Yorien is not at risk of being stolen,” Brant chuckled a bit. “A thief would find himself dead before he even saw the star, and anyone else would be hard-pressed to get close enough to touch it. Those who make it that far are lucky, and once they reach their goal they will find that it is nothing like what they thought to find.”
“Do you think I’m the person the song speaks of, Brant?” the question crept out, timid and hesitant, but Oraeyn could not let it go unasked.
“I have no idea, Oraeyn. All I know is this: my whole life has been governed by prophecies and the cryptic words of seers and mages, wizards and dragons. I have dealt with songs of the future and words of foretelling since before you were born. I have lived my entire life beneath their shrouds, they have dictated so many of my steps, and thus, I have learned one thing about them.”
Brant leaned forward and lowered his voice slightly. Oraeyn instinctively leaned in as well.
Brant’s jaw tightened. “Listen carefully, for this is the one insight that I have gained into the workings of prophetic words and those who speak them: they are never saying what you think they are saying. The meanings are never clear. When a prophecy seems straightforward, beware, for then it is most mired in mystery, obscured behind heavy curtains, and you can be certain that events will twist around beneath your feet and the ground you thought so firm will lurch out from under you. When the words of a prophecy are their most unambiguous, you will find they are filled with guile and misdirection and the very last thing you expected to happen will suddenly be what the prophecy meant all along. Best not to think too hard on the words of prophecy, they will only confuse you.” Brant’s voice sounded tight with anger, but then he winked and the corner of his lip twitched. “Of course, that particular insight is probably less than no help at all to you.”
Oraeyn bit back a laugh, but his heart felt lighter. Brant was right, it was best not to dwell on what might happen, or on the ominous words of an unclear bit of poetry. Better to think about the path directly before him than worry about obstacles in the distance that might not even be there.
“I am afraid, Brant,” he admitted, and saying the words helped to loosen the knot in his stomach.
<
br /> “Fear can give you strength, if you do not let it control you.”
“I’m not afraid for myself, though.”
Brant glanced over at where Kamarie lay sleeping and he nodded in understanding. “I am afraid for the safety of others as well. We will watch after her,” he kept his voice low, “I am sworn to protect you both. I promise I will do everything in my power to keep her safe.”
“Thank you, my friend.”
“You should try to sleep,” Brant advised, “while you still can. We may not have many more opportunities to rest for an entire night after this. Already our Enemy may have noticed our movement. We do not comprehend the extent of his power, it may be he has already guessed that one of our company is a threat to him, or perhaps he knows nothing of us or our quest. In either case, we must continue to be cautious and remain alert.”
Oraeyn nodded wordlessly and retired to his blanket. Brant’s light touch on his shoulder halted him in his tracks. He turned and looked questioningly at the warrior. The firelight deepened the shadows that played across Brant’s face making him look more intimidating and even more like steel. His eyes gleamed like the dying embers of coal, sending a chill through Oraeyn.
“Oraeyn,” the warrior’s voice was hushed, “keep a close watch on Kiernan Kane.”
Oraeyn cocked his head quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“Be careful of him,” Brant’s voice was filled with a warning.
Oraeyn tilted his head to one side. “Kiernan is a mystery, but certainly he has proven himself to be our friend, and worthy of our trust.”
Brant did not reply immediately. It appeared that the warrior struggled with a concern he could not, or would not, share. At length, Brant gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“Just stay alert.”
“I think you worry about Kiernan too much,” Oraeyn shrugged, standing up and stretching his legs a bit. “But I’ll keep an eye on him if you want me to.”
Yorien's Hand (The Minstrel's Song Book 3) Page 13
