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

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  “How will it end, Kiernan?” Kamarie asked, breaking the silence.

  Night drew close and the travelers were exhausted: physically by their battle with the whyvren, and emotionally by the loss of their companion. It was strange, Oraeyn thought, that they were not more eager to leave the ominous forest path. But then, it was the whyvren who had tried to kill them, not the forest itself. Besides, Brant believed that they need not fear the woods, and he had traveled here before.

  “How will it end?” Kiernan’s face was filled with sorrow. “With death and blood and tears, the way that wars always end, king’s daughter.”

  “Do you think it is wrong to fight, then?” Brant asked.

  Kiernan shook his head. “I did not say that. Sometimes those deaths and tears are needed to wash us clean, but that does not make it any more pleasant.”

  Oraeyn felt himself nodding. He stared back at the path they had travelled and wondered how he had gotten to this spot. He remembered the day King Arnaud had charged him with protecting Princess Kamarie on her journey to Peak’s Shadow. It had been just another day. How differently things might have turned out if another had taken his place back then. Oraeyn wrapped his arms around himself. The air was not cool, but he shivered anyway.

  “Brant, do you think we will encounter any more of those whyvrens?” Kamarie asked.

  Brant nodded solemnly. “I would assume so, but let us hope we have not alerted them to our presence. Come, let us continue a little ways. We can rest soon, though I think none of us will sleep well this night, weary as we may be.”

  They left their sorrowful work at the cairn with a few murmured words of farewell. Thorayenak and Yole lingered a few moments after the others had gone. The air of Emnolae was cool and filled with mist and gray clouds. As the small company continued wearily down the path Rhimmell’s face floated in Yole’s memories, haunting him as he trudged through the never-ending forest. She had not spoken much, but when she did her words had been sharp and keen. She had a way of getting at the heart of things and making him re-evaluate his stance and choices.

  He hadn’t known her very well though he felt a kinship with her because of their shared journey. His mind reeled in shock regarding recent events. Rhimmell had been a dragon. How could she be gone? How could any creature kill a dragon so effortlessly? Since discovering his true heritage, Yole had begun to believe himself invulnerable. Surely, as the largest and most powerful of the myth-folk, dragons were invincible?

  He had spent so much of his life alone and afraid, a lost little boy. The revelation of his birthright changed everything, at first. But lately he had been feeling a little lost again. He did not fit in either world. His human friends had their duties and responsibilities, and the dragons were occupied with restoring their place in Aom-igh. In dragon terms, Yole was still a youngling which might have been fine, except that there were very few other younglings for him to befriend other than the hatchlings that had been born since the dragons moved above-realm, but they were just babies.

  Thorayenak had taken Yole under his wing and filled a gaping void in the young dragon’s heart. And it was because of Yole that Thorayenak’s friend was now dead. If he hadn’t asked them to come on this quest, Rhimmell might still be alive.

  He wanted to speak to Thorayenak, apologize, but he did not know what to say. Thorayenak’s obvious grief pierced Yole through the heart. He trailed along, listless and sorrowful, wishing there was something he could say to make it better, knowing that he never could.

  “I barely knew her,” Yole whispered brokenly, falling into step with the older dragon. “But she came on this mission because I asked her to. She offered me counsel when I needed it. It’s my fault she’s dead.”

  “It is not your fault,” Thorayenak replied. “She comprehended the risks as well as we. She had her own reasons for joining the quest. You cannot blame yourself.”

  “Thorayenak?”

  “Yes, Youngling?”

  “I have seen death and cruelty before. And I have faced foes who wished to kill me and my friends. But this is the first time I’ve ever been truly afraid.”

  “There is no shame in that,” Thorayenak said, his voice kind. “I would be worried if you were not afraid.”

  Yole nodded, and they turned to follow the others. The older dragon turned his head to the side.

  “Have I ever told you about my daughter?” he asked, a strange quality in his tone.

  “No,” Yole replied, startled.

  “My mate and I had one hatchling,” Thorayenak continued walking and Yole jogged a bit to keep up with the other dragon’s much longer strides. They were both in human form for ease of travel, though they were alert for any danger that might require the use of their true forms. “It is unusual for dragons to produce only a single offspring, but we had Elenika fifty years before our kind descended into Krayghentaliss. We did not as yet know how being underground would affect our population growth, and thus did not understand how precious every hatchling was.” Thorayenak heaved a deep sigh. “When King Graldon decided that we should retreat into hiding, my Elenika and a handful of other younglings determined to stay above-realm in human forms. They were barely old enough to make the decision, but it was agreed that we should let them follow their own course. They had to promise to remain in human form and never tell anyone of their true natures. We assured them that the doors of Krayghentaliss would always be open to them if they wished to come home, but made it clear that if they ever did change their minds and return, there could be no going back.

  “So, we left her behind, our Elenika. The light of our lives, the love of our hearts, she stayed behind and became one of the Lost. My mate and I never saw her again, the only hatchling we would ever know.”

  Yole felt a burst of sympathy for this dragon who had mentored him the past three years. “I am sorry,” he said.

  Thorayenak turned to him. “Do you know why I am telling you this now?”

  Yole shook his head.

  “You remind me of my Elenika,” Thorayenak rumbled softly. “In many ways, you resemble her.”

  Yole wasn’t sure how to respond to this revelation.

  “I do not know if anyone has told you this, Yole. But you are very odd. For instance, your eyes do not hold the same power over other creatures that most dragons possess. In many ways, they almost seem... human,” Thorayenak paused. “I do not tell you this as a slight or to make you feel uncomfortable. I do it to explain to you why you were so completely unaware of your heritage all those years. I believe you are half-human. You must understand, such a thing is unheard of, which means that if my theory is correct, you are completely unique. Beyond that, though I have no proof, I choose to believe you might be the son of my dear Elenika.”

  Yole stopped walking, his mouth agape at this unexpected information. A wellspring of emotions burst to life in his chest like a volcanic eruption. He was too overwhelmed to form words. He had been alone and confused for his entire life. The concept of friendship had been foreign to him until he had met Kamarie and Oraeyn, and though he felt included in their warm circle of friends, the possibility of family had never crossed his mind. Family was an idea other people got to experience and enjoy, but never Yole.

  Fiery heat pressed behind his nose and Yole shook his head, terrified at this unexpected sensation. Thorayenak put a hand on his shoulder. It was a strange gesture for a dragon, but Yole found it comforting.

  “I know it is a great deal to comprehend all at once,” Thorayenak said. “I should have told you a long time ago. But I did not want you to feel obligated in any way. You did not know me, and I did not wish to force a relationship. You have been independent for so long, I believed that learning of a possible family connection might make you feel stifled.”

  “Family is all I’ve ever wanted!” Yole burst out. “I never dreamed it was even possible.”

  Thorayenak nodded. “Forgive me. I knew you had grown up amongst humans, and I
guessed at your heritage long ago, but I did not understand how much of a difference that would make in the way you see the world. I wanted to tell you, but I hesitated because I was only thinking like a dragon.”

  Yole looked up, tears filling his vision. “Did you only offer to mentor me because you felt an obligation to do so? I have learned much from you, but there is so much about the Kin I still do not fathom. What is family to a dragon? You have not taught me this.”

  “Family is precious,” Thorayenak assured him. “We guard it fiercely. To answer your question: in many ways, yes. I did put myself forth as your guide because of the resemblance you bore to my Elenika. But it was not that I felt an obligation or a sense of duty towards you, but rather a ferocious hope that the resemblance was more than just strange coincidence. Then, as I grew to know you, I began to wish you were part of my brood for your own sake, and not just because I was clinging to memories of my lost daughter. I tell you all of this now, because I understand I erred in not informing you before, and because I have become convinced that my first intuition about your relationship to me is, in fact, correct. But whether or not you are my true blood, young Yole, you have become as dear to me as a son.”

  Yole’s head spun, and his heart overflowed with more emotions than he could name. His throat felt tight, and a pressure in his chest threatened to overwhelm him. “And I regard you as the father I never knew,” he spoke past the lump in his throat.

  Thorayenak squeezed Yole’s shoulder, and the two dragons hastened their steps to keep up with the rest of their companions. There were no more words between them for the moment: none were needed.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  The horn of the tower guard sounded as evening fell over Aom-igh. Arnaud and the wizardesses joined Justan on the wall and together they peered out into the unnatural darkness that had come too early for nightfall. Together, Zara and Dylanna wove a light that barely penetrated the gloom, but its feeble beam did help them see what was happening below. The myth-folk were gathering outside the castle walls, and the knights of the realm were forming ranks, with the grizzled knight, Garen, at their head. Members of Kamarie’s Order of the Shield were taking their places about the castle wall itself, their duty purely defensive but no less important than those who would be in the front lines. And out beyond the border a mass of fell creatures approached. Their pace was unhurried, but they advanced steadily, creeping towards Aom-igh. The enemy had no ships, but the water proved no difficulty to them at all. No numbers could be estimated yet, but what could be seen promised overwhelming odds.

  “Will the barrier hold?” Dylanna asked.

  “It will hold for a while,” Zara replied, her voice tight. “My concern is: what will happen when it falls?”

  “Do they attack only us tonight?” Dylanna wondered out loud. “Or have they divided their forces, attacking Llycaelon as well? There was no army advancing on their shores when I left.”

  “It would be too great a burden upon our shoulders to believe this is only half of Ghrendourak’s army,” Arnaud said. “But either way, the time is past for looking to Llycaelon for help. If we had been able to communicate with King Jemson sooner, perhaps the aethalons could have come to our aid, but as it stands, the distance now is too great. There will be no hammer coming to crush the enemy against our anvil.”

  Justan straightened. “This battle is ours to be fought and won. If standing together with Llycaelon was indeed the wiser course of action, it is not a course available to us. Our men must be made aware that this is our stand, our challenge to win or lose. Arnaud, will you come with me to speak to the knights? They will be heartened to see their former king in the absence of their current one. Your added presence may well give them the courage they need to purchase the time King Oraeyn requires to succeed in his quest.”

  Arnaud nodded. “I will be proud to walk and fight at your side, Sir Justan. Our sole hope for victory lies with Oraeyn’s quest. Our part is to defend Aom-igh. We must hold this line until he succeeds.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Justan did not want to ask the question, but it sprang unbidden to his lips.

  “Then weep for the world we knew,” Arnaud said. “For this will be its final chapter.”

  Justan had no response for such bleak words. Together, they strode down to the courtyard where the knights of the realm had assembled. It was a time for grand speeches full of honor and glory. It was a time for cheers and a rallying, clarion call to arms. But Justan could not stomach the idea of speaking lies to these brave men. Instead he went to tell his men that they could not expect any help, that they must stand alone, and that if they lost, dawn may never return for free men. All he had were cold, joyless words for men facing a hopeless situation, but all Justan could do was tell them the truth and hope the courage that had won them their shields did not shatter in its icy blast.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  King Jemson had done all he could to prepare Llycaelon for the attack, and although confident in his own abilities and the courage of his countrymen, he still wished fervently that it was his uncle leading them instead. But Brant had a different duty. The hope of Llycaelon might rest with Jemson, but the hope of all Tellurae Aquaous rested on Oraeyn’s shoulders and that meant Oraeyn had more need of Llycaelon’s greatest warrior than Jemson. He realized the weight Oraeyn carried must be immense, but a part of him was still envious of Oraeyn’s position.

  “Sire,” Devrin’s voice broke into Jemson’s concentration.

  Jemson turned. “Yes?”

  “Shentallyia has returned, I thought you might want to hear of what she discovered in our brother country.”

  Jemson liked the term. Whispers of it had started shortly after what the Border Patrol was calling the “first flight of the dragon ward,” when Shentallyia and Devrin had secured the defeat of their seheowk enemies. Aom-igh truly was their brother country now. The link began with Brant, but now that one of Llycaelon’s soldiers was ward to one of Aom-igh’s dragons, there was no doubt as to the ties that bound the two lands together.

  “You thought correctly,” Jemson replied. “Where is she?”

  As Devrin led the way, Jemson thought back. Was it only days ago they had essentially been enemies? It seemed years. In an incredibly short time, Devrin had become one of his most trusted soldiers, Captain of the King’s Helm, the King’s Champion, as it were. The Helm did not yet exist, of course, since Jemson had only just reinstated them a few days ago. But Jemson was glad Devrin was now an ally, nonetheless.

  When they reached Shentallyia, the dragon quickly explained the barrier that had been forged around Aom-igh. “They know it cannot endure a prolonged assault. Their primary hope is that it may buy time for Oraeyn.”

  “Buying time for Oraeyn seems to be the only option remaining for Tellurae Aquaous,” Jemson said after hearing all that Shentallyia had to report. “Aom-igh has a shield, and Llycaelon has a dragon and her ward, not to mention the dragons Khoranaderek says are on their way here to assist us in the defense of our nation. Who can say which will be most effective? At any rate, it is our only hope.”

  “So it would seem, Sire,” Shentallyia said. “But there may be one other hope as well. I do not believe the Song Bearer sleeps. The barrier itself may become a weapon before this war is ended.”

  “The Song Bearer?” Devrin asked.

  Shentallyia explained, “One woman created the barrier by playing music on a set of shepherd’s pipes that the dragons crafted centuries ago. A High King of Tellurae Aquaous once came to the dragons and asked for aid in a time of great peril. The pipes were fashioned and presented to the king with the warning that he must not play the pipes himself, but was charged with finding the one to whom they belonged. That person alone would awaken their power.”

  “What happened?” Jemson was intrigued.

  “In his search, the High King stumbled across a young woman, nameless and homeless. He took pity on her, caring for her as a daughter. He asked her name
and she told him that she had none, or none that she could remember. This was a mystery to the king, who lived in a world that still comprehended the power of names. So he asked her what he should call her and she replied, ‘You may call me Song.’

  “The High King wept for joy, because he knew he had found the one who would help him in his quest. He brought the woman to his household where she was cared for and restored to health. Then he asked her to play the dragon pipes. She played them and the enemy that threatened their world fell before the power that was unleashed in the music.”

  There was a pause. “But what happened to the woman?” Devrin asked.

  “I do not know,” Shentallyia replied. “There is no more mention of her in the histories, though some believe there was a flaw in the design of the relic, and that though Song won the battle, she did not survive to see its outcome.”

  “And you say that Rena now lies at the edge of death,” Jemson said. “Let us hope the legend about Song does not imply that this gift cannot be used without the sacrifice of an innocent life.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-THREE

  Ghrendourak’s forces arrived off the North-Eastern coast of Aom-igh in the night. They swam and flew up to the barrier and stopped, a massive horde of horrible creatures. Above them all flew Ghrendourak atop his mount, his power forcing the monsters below to batter themselves against the barrier. After several long hours of testing the shield and finding no weaknesses, Ghrendourak swooped through the ranks and called for his creatures to rest from their assault. Then he rose up into the air on the back of his great werehawk and raised his arms.

  Blinding light poured from his hands, crackling against the shield and sending a wave of sparks skittering across its surface in all directions. A roar of sound followed, and those inside the barrier clapped their hands to their ears. The roar was followed by a tidal wave of flame and then a rain of hailstones. The wind outside the shield whipped up, throwing waves of water crashing into the barrier. But the shield held strong. A battering ram of solid darkness came next, pounding against the shield again and again, but still the shield did not waver.