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

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely, somewhat brokenly. “I just… I’m not sure why I did that… I…” he searched for the words, but they would not come.

  “You are no dream,” Dylanna said in a wondering tone. A teasing note entered her voice. “In my dreams, you did not stammer or apologize for kissing me.”

  “I… erm... no,” Brant shook his head. “This is not another one of the portal’s tricks. I am real, and so is all this.”

  Dylanna reached out to touch his hand, to assure herself that this was, in fact, no dream. As she did so, Oraeyn and Kamarie entered the room. Dylanna pulled her fingers back, embarrassed. She smiled warmly at her niece and the man who would soon be her nephew as they bounded to the side of her bed, relieved to see her awake. Kamarie sat down on the edge of the bed and wrapped her arms around Dylanna.

  “We despaired of ever seeing you again,” she said. “Kiernan was able to rescue Leila, but then he couldn’t find you. Brant jumped into the portal...”

  Dylanna looked confused and interrupted Kamarie’s broken retelling of events, “Kiernan Kane? Portal? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m going too fast. All will be explained later tonight. Get some more rest now.”

  Dylanna crossed her arms and glowered. “Excuse…”

  “Come on Brant,” Kamarie urged. “Kiernan said if she woke it would mean the worst is over. Come away, let her rest.”

  “But...” Dylanna tried to argue, but felt her initial burst of strength and energy fading.

  Brant nodded. His hand found Dylanna’s, and he squeezed it wordlessly. Behind the relief apparent on his face, there was a haunted worry. Dylanna noticed that all three of them looked disheveled and haggard. She wanted to ask so many questions, but found she only had strength for one.

  “Where are we?”

  “I’m sorry, we should have told you that,” Oraeyn answered. “We’re in Llycaelon, in King Jemson’s palace.”

  Dylanna allowed herself to sink into the pillows, wondering. How had they gotten here? How had they found her? Where had she been? Was Leila all right? Why were they in Llycaelon of all places?

  “Come on Brant,” Kamarie said again. “You could use some rest yourself, we all could. We will see you at dinner tonight,” she said to Dylanna.

  Dylanna nodded and the three friends left her room. When they were gone, Dylanna wiggled her toes and chuckled to herself. A sensation of freedom flooded through her and she breathed a deep sigh, letting it wash over her, lulling her to sleep. But this sleep was different from before, and it did not frighten her. This was a deep and peaceful rest; the ghosts and dreams that haunted her in the prison did not exist here.

  She did not know how long she slept, but when she awoke again, Dylanna felt much stronger. The sleep had renewed her and restored her clarity of thought. She wondered how Leila was and whether or not she was nearby.

  After a moment, she sat up and saw that she had slept straight through the afternoon. The horizon was awash with brilliant splashes of orange and purple. A pang gnawed in her stomach, and Dylanna hoped dinner would be soon. At the thought of dinner, her mind skipped to the idea of sitting next to Brant and she felt a little dizzy. She put a hand to her head and firmly told herself to stop acting silly.

  Dylanna stood up, finding her legs to be stronger than she would have expected. She walked across the room and opened the large wardrobe that stood there. When she looked inside, she found that several choices of magnificent garments had been provided for her. After a moment of indecision, she chose a pale blue dress worked with gold embroidery and laid it out on the bed.

  A maid entered, humming. “Oh!” she said, upon finding Dylanna up and about. “Would milady like me to prepare a bath?”

  Dylanna smiled. “I can think of nothing more delightful.”

  Luxuriating in the hot, cleansing water restored her spirit. However, her stomach protested that she had not eaten in far too many days, so she did not linger in the water as long as she would have liked. She emerged and slipped into the gown she had chosen. The dress was a little too long, but it fit well other than that. The sleeves were little more than strips of fabric over her shoulders though sheer fabric hung down from them and wrapped in tiny bracelets around her wrists. It was not a style she had ever seen in Aom-igh, and at first it made her feel uncomfortable, but the evening air was hot and thick, and having her arms bare was pleasant. She resolved not to let the strange style of Llycaelon bother her and turned to the mirror where she began working on her hair.

  It was a woeful mess of knots, and at first she despaired of ever working them out, but she eventually had it tamed. She pinned it up on top of her head, allowing a few tendrils to escape and frame her face. Then she gazed at herself in the mirror with a critical eye. Her cheeks were sunken and her face was too pale, but on the whole she felt that she had come through her ordeal better than she had any right to.

  Kamarie entered the room. She was wearing a dress similar to Dylanna’s in style, but it was a light shade of lavender with no embroidery, just a little fancy stitching at the neckline, and it fit the princess perfectly. Her hair was down, flowing around her shoulders in a cascade of silk, looking both casual and elegant at the same time. Dylanna was amazed to notice how grown up her niece appeared. It was hard for her to remember that Kamarie was no longer the wild little girl with rips in her dresses from climbing trees and mud on her knees from playing out in the fields with the squires.

  “You look lovely,” Dylanna said.

  “Thank you. And you look quite well yourself. There isn’t anybody that you’re trying to impress is there, Aunt Dylanna?” Kamarie’s eyes twinkled with a teasing light, and a smile danced about her mouth.

  Dylanna tried to hide the blush that rose up in her cheeks, Kamarie was just as impish as ever, she reflected. But then, that was what made her Kamarie.

  “If you had been trapped for days on end with no hope of escape, you’d feel like dressing up a little when you got out too,” she said loftily, but there was no sharpness in her tone.

  Kamarie just nodded knowingly. “Well, I came in to tell you that dinner is ready.”

  Dylanna looked in the mirror one last time. “And I am ready for dinner.”

  Together, the two women made their way to the small dining room. Brant, Oraeyn, and the dragons were already there when they arrived. The dragons had taken human form for convenience’s sake—so they could fit at the table—and also so as not to burden their hosts overmuch with filling dragon-sized stomachs. A few seconds later, Leila appeared with Kiernan Kane. Compared to Dylanna, Leila still looked quite shaken. Her cheeks were hollow and sunken and a haunted look resided deep in her violet eyes. She clung to Kiernan’s arm and took slow, faltering steps. She brightened a bit when she saw the others, however.

  Hugs and greetings were exchanged as the group entered the dining room. Yole greeted everyone with his usual enthusiasm. Thorayenak and Rhimmell hung back at first, but Dylanna put them at ease by offering them hugs as well and thanking them for their part in her rescue. Leila relaxed noticeably, but she still hovered near Kiernan. Kamarie thought this strange since Leila had never quite seemed to care for the minstrel anywhere near as much as the minstrel claimed to care for Leila. She looked over at Dylanna and saw that her aunt had noticed Leila’s strange behavior as well. They shared a worried look, but there was no time for more than that because dinner was being served and its arrival made all other thoughts fly away. The room filled with the delicious aroma of warm food, and all conversation halted.

  A tall, regal woman entered the room. Her hair was white as sea foam and her face was heavily lined, but her back was straight and she was dressed in an elegant gown of deep maroon. Brant crossed to greet her, and the two embraced, then he led her into the room on his arm.

  “Please let me introduce my mother, Queen Fiora,” Brant said, his voice filled with more warmth than any of them could ever reme
mber hearing before.

  The old queen gazed around at the party, her expression soft. “It does my heart good to meet these friends my son has spoken of so often and with such fondness. You are the family that took him in when his own had turned its back on him, and for that I thank you. I am sorry my grandson could not be here this evening, but he had urgent business at Caethyr Gap with the Border Patrol. In his stead, please, allow me to welcome you to our home. I hope your stay is comfortable. If you need anything, just ask one of the palace staff.”

  Brant led her to the head of the table and helped her sit. Then he turned to the others.

  “I am happy to have you here, in the home of my youth. I know we all have questions, but I’m sure everyone is hungry, so let’s eat.”

  The others voiced their agreement and together they sat down. Servants glided around the table, filling their plates with food. Several of the dishes were unfamiliar, but all of it was delicious. Dylanna and Leila devoured their food with a hunger borne of days without a meal. The rest of the company ate heartily as well although not with quite as much zeal.

  When dinner was complete and everyone’s hunger had been satisfied, Brant suggested they move to the adjoining room to relate their stories, answer questions, and determine their next course of action. Queen Fiora bade them good night and retired to her chambers. Brant kissed her on the cheek before she left and she pulled him close for another hug.

  “Your wizardess is lovely,” she whispered.

  Brant looked startled and the old queen’s lips twitched with a hint of amusement.

  “Jemson has told me all about her,” she said. “I want you to know, Son, that I approve.”

  Brant cleared his throat. “I see. Thank you,” his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Good night, Mother. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, my son. Good night. Don’t forget to say goodbye before you leave.”

  “Never.”

  The company retired to a charming, comfortable study that was furnished to encourage relaxation and conversation. Oraeyn sank down into a couch with a grateful sigh, though he felt a pang of homesickness for the Cottage Room back in Ardura Palace. For a long, awkward moment, nobody knew quite what to say. The silence grew decidedly uncomfortable, so Kamarie spoke up.

  “Well, let’s start at the beginning then,” she said, “when we discovered that Dylanna and Leila were in trouble.”

  She related to the two wizardesses everything that had occurred in the past two weeks. She spoke at length, and nobody interrupted, content to let her tell the story.

  “Brant staggered out of the portal carrying Dylanna, and then collapsed,” Kamarie said as she concluded. “With Dylanna, Leila, and Brant all unconscious, we knew we had to go somewhere we could rest. Oraeyn suggested Llycaelon, so here we are.”

  “So,” Brant said, when Kamarie was done speaking, “what of your side of the story?” He looked first at Dylanna and then Leila. “How did you end up in that portal out in the middle of the ocean?”

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  Myth-folk gathered atop Fortress Hill in a carefully organized pattern of circular power. Those with the greatest strength were furthest from the center, while those with lesser, but perhaps finer, strength were near the core where they could control their attempts with a deftness and a delicacy the strongest could never hope to equal.

  King Rhendak, in dragon form, hung in the air overseeing the entire effort. Justan watched with mounting curiosity, wondering what the endeavor would look like, wondering if he would even be able to see was happening. Zara and Rena stood together on either side of the stone from which it was said Artair had retrieved the legendary sword once upon a time. Rena held the dragon pipes in shaky hands, a look of quiet resolve on her pretty face.

  Rhendak had agreed at once with Zara’s assessment of the situation and he insisted they should do everything in their power to counter the disease that crept across their land and drive it back. He had summoned the most powerful creatures under his rule to Fortress Hill where the greatest magic in Aom-igh still slept. Now, with everyone assembled, Justan realized that he was useless to this great gathering. He possessed no special abilities and had little to contribute to this particular fight. The time might come when his sword was needed, but here, all he could do was watch. He felt both excited and helpless as he stood at the outskirts of the circle.

  “Take care of Kitry,” Rena said to him, just before she went to join Zara at the center of the assembly, “in case...” her throat closed on the words. “Just in case.”

  Justan’s throat was dry. He wanted to ask what could happen and what she was afraid of, but he could not. He simply nodded, his heart full of fear for her; she kissed him and turned away. He watched her walk among those gathered, her head high, her step never faltering. Nothing of her outward appearance betrayed any of her hesitation.

  Now the dragon king looked at her. “Rena, Song Bearer, will you begin?”

  Rena’s outward expression was calm, though her heart hammered out a steady beat of nervousness within her chest as she lifted the pipes to her lips and began to play.

  The music welled up into the air. The song spun around the circle of myth-folk and then spiraled up into the sky. At first, everything about this experience was different from the previous time; this song was more controlled, more directed.

  Rena could feel the power of the myth-folk as they directed the song where they wanted it to go. She could feel their hands as they sent the magic into the ground in an attempt to heal the land, and as they formed the shield they would place over all of Aom-igh when they were done. Like skillful weavers they caught the notes as they left the pipes and wove them into an intricate and predetermined design. For an instant, Rena allowed herself to relax and believe that all would be well.

  But then the music welled inside her and she knew the pipes were taking control of her once more. She struggled to contain the melody, but it could not be restrained. Despite her best efforts it burst forth, all of its wildness and power overwhelming her and racing through her and into the song. She could hear gasps as the dragons and gryphons surrounding her were overwhelmed by raw power that surpassed all other experiences. She could see the troubled look on Zara’s face, but it seemed a trivial matter. Rena was being carried away on the wings of that sweet refrain, and she was already out of the reach of those who surrounded her. Now she was being used; she had the strange sensation again that she was the true instrument, not the pipes. But this time she did not reject the power that rushed through her; instead she welcomed it, embracing it with her entire being.

  Rena had known before she began that she might lose control. She knew that if the rings of myth-folk failed there was no way for her to protect herself from burning up like a candle inside a dragon’s flame. She had told Rhendak not to let his people stop weaving the shield if such a thing happened. Rena would not give any less than Wessel had given. Her heart ached at the thought of leaving Kaitryn and Justan, but they had each other, and they were strong. They would face the world together, and they would hold each other up and comfort one another in the midst of whatever storms might come.

  From outside the circle Justan watched in horrified fascination. He did not know what was happening, but it frightened him. Rena shone like dragon fire. She overflowed with life and its brilliance flooded out of her. She was ethereal; light spilled from her body and she lifted off the ground, caught up in the breath of the song. She held the pipes to her lips and the beautiful, bewitching music poured out of her like lifeblood.

  A cool breeze rustled through the assembly. It was sweet and fresh and bore the tang of morning rain and fresh flowers. The scent of fruit wafted through the air. The grass covering Fortress Hill rippled and turned a vibrant green, a green that spread down the hill and across the land in every direction, pushing back the terrible rot and wilt.

  Rena felt herself floating up into the sky. She watched as the land
was healed and felt content. Then she felt a new burst of power as the shield was raised in a massive dome high above them. It glistened with her life force, and she knew it would keep the enemies at bay for a time. Not forever, but she hoped it would last at least until King Oraeyn could find Yorien’s Hand. Most importantly, it would keep her Kitry safe.

  Rena continued to play long after she should have stopped, testing the shield, searching for weaknesses. When she found none, she felt relieved. Then she saw Justan, he was standing on the very edge of the assembly. She reached down and brushed his face gently. Then she ended her song.

  Justan felt a tiny breeze brush against his cheek, and he raised a hand to his face, hoping to hold the sensation in place. He stared up at the empty sky. Somehow he knew she was saying goodbye. He reached out to stop her, to beg her to stay, and then the song ended. The pipes clattered to the ground as they fell from Rena’s lifeless hand. Zara caught her before she collapsed and laid her gently on the now-green carpet that covered the top of Fortress Hill.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  “How did you end up in that portal out in the middle of the ocean?”

  For a few moments there was no response to Brant’s question. Oraeyn began to think that perhaps the wizardesses would refuse to answer the question all together.

  Surprisingly, Dylanna spoke first. She told her story in broad strokes, without emotion, recounting the days she had spent inside the portal and how she had struggled against losing herself. As she concluded her story, she drew her brows together in confusion.

  “I do not remember how I got into the portal, though,” she said.

  “It was my idea that caused our imprisonment,” Leila said, her voice soft. “I was reading some of my father’s writings and came across several references to an obscure piece of lore that could allow two people to talk across great distances as if they were standing right next to one another. Of course, such a feat would require a lot of power and effort, especially on the first attempt. I meant no harm,” she whispered. “Magical beings of considerable strength can do this already, but I thought it would be beneficial if, for example, Brant were here in Aom-igh and needed to speak with his nephew in Llycaelon. I simply thought it would be a useful ability, especially with the new alliance. It could save a great deal of time and effort, and we could free up the dragons from their generous offer of transportation.”