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

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  The celebration lasted long into the night. It was nearly dawn when Oraeyn, Kamarie, Dylanna, Yole, and Brant stole away to a cozy den where they could relax and just enjoy a few moments of peace together. They sat and stared up through the tall windows, watching the glimmering stars and basking in the welcome peace after all the noise of celebration.

  “It’s never going to be the same again, is it?” Oraeyn asked. “No more adventures.”

  Brant put a reassuring hand on Oraeyn’s shoulder. “There will always be adventures in life, Oraeyn. You and Kamarie have recently begun a brand new chapter of life. I promise, your adventures have only just begun.”

  Oraeyn pulled Kamarie close and kissed her temple. “That’s true.”

  Yole stretched. “There will be more adventures for us,” he said confidently through a great yawn, “I can feel it.”

  The others laughed, and then after a while they fell silent again, enjoying the quiet company of friends. As the Toreth began to approach its zenith, Oraeyn noticed that Brant and Dylanna were sneaking glances at each other, but trying to be inconspicuous about it. He understood their desire to be alone for a little while, so he sighed and rose.

  “Well, it has been a long day, a long several months, really,” he announced, “and I, for one, am ready for bed.”

  He took Kamarie’s hand, and she stood with him. There were hugs all around, and then Yole agreed that it was past time to be asleep and he rose as well. Brant smiled at Oraeyn gratefully.

  “Goodnight my friends. I wish you a restful night. I will see you in the morning to say farewell before you return to Aom-igh. However, I’m not quite tired yet. I think I will go walk through the garden for a bit.” He looked to Dylanna. “Would you care to join me?”

  Dylanna flushed. “I think I would,” she said. “I am not all that tired yet either.”

  Kamarie looked around. “Where is Kiernan? Shouldn’t he be here with us?”

  “Do you remember him leaving the celebration?” Oraeyn asked.

  “No,” Yole said. “I remember him playing with the musicians for a while, though. He really is as good as he claims, you know.”

  “That he is,” Brant agreed, chuckling softly. “It’s maddening. But I’m starting to appreciate it.” He rose and offered his arm to Dylanna. “Since you asked, Kiernan left quite some time ago. He told me he was needed elsewhere.” Brant gave a small shake of his head. “I will never understand him, but I am starting to get used to him.”

  Kamarie watched fondly as Dylanna threaded her arm through Brant’s and the two exited the room, heads close together as they conversed in soft tones. Then she yawned and Oraeyn suggested they retire to bed. Kamarie agreed. They had a long journey ahead of them come morning, but at the end of it all home awaited them. Oraeyn found that his heart was eager to return home. He cast a look back towards the gardens where Brant and Dylanna’s forms were mere silhouettes against the star-sprinkled sky. It was good that the world had a High King to aid in the aftermath of the ruin Ghrendourak and his armies had wrought. But Oraeyn also found that he was a little apprehensive about the future, knowing that Brant would no longer be there for him in quite the same capacity as mentor and teacher. He would need to stand on his own, now. He gazed at Kamarie and amended his thoughts. He did not stand alone. As Yole had said and Brant had intimated, the best adventures were yet to come.

  EPILOGUE

  Mandolin strapped to his back, Kiernan Kane stood outside the Hall of the High Kings. Quietly, he watched through the tall windows as the lights were extinguished, one by one. At long last, the castle slumbered and the only light that remained was the cool, silvery light of the Toreth. Humming to himself the minstrel turned and faced the road before him. He did not know where this path would take him, but he knew where he was going. He might not know the exact words of the story ahead, but he knew his role within it. He was indeed a wanderer, a teller of stories, a troubadour, but mostly he was, as ever, the Minstrel. His humming increased and then he began to sing softly,

  “When what could be

  Might have been

  We stop to think

  Then think again.

  Awaking from the dream-world

  Once more

  Methinks I’ve traveled

  This road before…”

  Ghrendourak was defeated, and the ease with which that defeat had occurred was quite telling. The Ancient Enemy had shown his hand—his chains were breaking, and he would soon be free to roam the world once more. Kiernan needed to prepare. The pieces in the game had been chosen and placed. Now all that remained was to wait for the first move.

  For now, Kiernan would wander for a while, and during his wanderings he would find them: the ones who needed his stories and songs. They might be people who had despaired so long that they had forgotten how to be merry: he would teach them how to laugh. He would seek out those who needed to remember sorrow and find a way to bring a tear to their eyes. Perhaps there were those who had forgotten compassion; he would teach them kindness. And for those who knew only fear, or who had forgotten their own nobility, Kiernan would remind them of courage and teach them justice and truth.

  And when the battle began, he would return from his wanderings and take up his place amongst the people he had come to love best. He had wandered many long years. But despite the countless faces stored in his memory, these were the ones who touched his heart. They were dearest to him of any others he had come to know in all his travels. It was at their sides he would stand when the Enemy arose for the final time.

  “And thus, it ends,” the words fell from his lips with ringing finality. “The final pieces have been chosen, the final game is begun.”

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Deep beneath the Nameless Isles, the imprisoned one shook in his chains. Staring down at the Karradoc board before him, he gnashed his teeth in frustration.

  “You knew all along, didn’t you?” he growled. “You knew the boy with the golden blade was not the one of whom the prophecy spoke. Well played, brother. Well played. But the time for misdirection has now passed. Your pieces are chosen. Let the game begin!”

  Maniacal laughter bubbled up within him and echoed around him. His host had been defeated, but he had expected no less. It was not this battle that mattered, but the war, and he was closer than ever to victory. Cracks and fissures spiderwebbed across the cobalt walls of his prison, and his chains weakened as he called his power back to himself from the empty shell of his defeated host. He had not exerted himself in this battle. Instead, he had held back, allowing a faint trickle of his power to manifest within Ghrendourak, just enough to fool his enemy.

  Soon, soon he would be able to break free of this prison and take a form for himself, and not just any form, but his own, true shape, and then how the world would tremble before him. The little mortal creatures would bow to him and serve him as he had always known they should. He would take his birthright, the right that had been denied him for far too long. And then, at long last, the glory for which he had been created would be within his grasp, and he would never relinquish it. Never. And none would challenge him ever again.

  “And as for my brother,” he allowed himself to revel in the pleasure of his fantasy for a long moment, “my ancient enemy shall occupy this exact prison for the rest of eternity. But first, I will make him pay dearly for his betrayal. I will have him see everything he loves crushed and broken beneath my feet, and then I shall banish him here to dwell in his defeat, in his failure, for all time. Let him bask in his supposed victory for now,” he whispered into the emptiness surrounding him. “The end of all he holds dear is coming. Soon….”

  GLOSSARY

  Aethelon (ay-ETH-eh-lahn): The name for warriors of Llycaelon

  Aetoli (AY-eh-TOLL-ee): The most elite rank of Aethalon

  Aom-igh (AY-ome-EYE): A small country to the west of Llycaelon

  Arnaud (ar-NAWD): Former king of Aom-igh. Kamarie’s
father

  Artair (are-TARE): A Great King who first pulled the fabled sword from the stone

  Ayollan (AY-ōl-ăn): Capital city of Aom-igh

  Brant (BRANT): Youngest son of the royal family of Llycaelon

  Caethyr Gap (KAY-eth-er Gap): A hole in the wall of Llycaelon’s defenses on the north-western border

  Calla (CAH-luh): Young Rambler girl, friend from Brant’s past

  Calyssia (cuh-LEE-see-ah): A wizardess, first daughter of Scelwhyn

  Change-Term: Autumn

  Chareel (shar-EEL): A constellation

  Colas (KOH-lahs): A middle-aged man who lives on Emnolae

  Cold-Term: Winter

  Cruithaor Elchiyl (KREW-thay-ore ell-KEEL): The Creator

  Delmar (DELL-mar): Captain of the “Silver Hydra”

  Devrin (DEV-rin): An aethalon assigned to the Border Patrol near the Caethyr Gap

  Dracor (DRAY-kor): One of the many kinds of werefolk, like shadowy wingless dragons

  Dragon’s Eye, The: The sun

  Dru (DREW): A thief and friend from Brant’s past

  Dylanna (dĭ-LAHN-ah): A wizardess, daughter of Scelwhyn

  Efoin-Ebedd (EH-foyn—EB-ehd): Country to the east of Llycaelon

  Emnolae (EMM-no-lay): A country to the south of Llycaelon

  Etharae Ocean (ETH-air-ay): Ocean between Llycaelon and Emnolae

  Garen (GAIR-ehn): Last student of Scelwhyn, knight of Aom-igh, Kamarie’s instructor and mentor

  Ghrendourak (gren-DOOR-ak): The creature being used by the Ancient Enemy in an attempt to rule the world and break free from his prison

  Hydra (HI-druh): Sea serpents that often attack unwary ships

  Ina (EEN-uh): A blind woman who has the gift of sight

  Kallayohm (kă-LAY-ōme): A country to the southeast of Llycaelon

  Kamarie Lynelle (kuh-MARR-ee lih-NELL): Princess of Aom-igh

  Kane, Kiernan (KANE, KEE-YAIR-nen): A wandering minstrel

  Kessella (KEH-sell-uh): A powerful unicorn

  Khoranaderek (KOR-uh-NAH-dur-ik): A dragon from Llycaelon

  Jemson (JEM-sun): Ruler of Llycaelon, Brant’s nephew

  Justan (JUS-tin): A trusted knight in Oraeyn’s kingdom

  Leila (lee-Ī-luh): A wizardess, third daughter of Scelwhyn

  Llycaelon (lie-KAY-ell-on): The true name of the “Dark Country”

  New-Term: Spring

  Queen Fiora (fee-YOR-uh): The queen of Llycaelon, mother of Brant

  Rena (REE-nuh): Woman from Aom-igh, has the ability to play the magical Dragon Pipes, mother to Kaitryn, wife of Justan

  Rhendak (rem-dak): King of the dragons

  Rhoyan (ROY-ehn): Brant’s name when he was a child

  Scelwhyn (SELL-win): A wizard

  Seamas (SHAW-mus): Jemson’s father and Brant’s older brother

  Seheowks (SEE-owks): Dark creatures of magic, another race of werefolk

  Tellurae Aquaous (TELL-yure-eye AH-kway-ose): The world

  Toreth (TOR-eth): The moon

  Warm-Term: Summer

  Whyvrens (WIV-rehns): Another race of werefolk, have deadly stingers, are extremely powerful, and can spray darkness like a web

  Yochathain (YAW-kah-thane): Country west of the Nameless Isles

  Yorien (YORE-ee-ehn): A constellation

  Zara (ZAR-ah): Former queen of Aom-igh, mother of Kamarie

  Read on for a sneak preview of the final book in The Minstrel’s Song

  MINSTREL’S CALL

  Coming Soon

  It was dawn when my brothers and I awoke for the first time. Brightness assailed my eyes as I stared about, blinking in confusion and curiosity. I was aware of others about me, but my attention was drawn solely to a single presence that filled me with joy and awe. I glanced about, exercising my new eyesight. A blinding light slashed across my vision, making it necessary to cover my eyes. I lifted my wings to my face. Astonishment thrilled throughout my being to find that I had wings. I stared for a moment at them, blinking as they shielded me from the incredible brightness that had nearly taken my newfound sight from me. My wings were a deep golden hue, with flecks of red and orange dancing through them. They were filled with moving energy and covered in feathers of flame that danced in dazzling, mesmerizing patterns. When I had overcome the wonder of seeing my wings I found that I could see through them, and now that my wings stood between myself and the source of the great light I could see clearly the one who had awoken me. His face was full of such power, compassion, and wisdom that I quickly covered my feet as a sign of respect with another set of wings. It was then I discovered that I had a total of six wings. As I looked into the face of the one who had awoken me, self-awareness and knowledge of who it was that stood before me filled the core of my being. It was as if I had gone from infant to adult in the blink of an eye.

  “My dear one,” his voice was beautiful and terrible and I shuddered to think that he was addressing one so lowly as I, “thou shalt be called ‘Aloysius’ which means ‘Guide to mankind and Warrior of the Lord.’ This name gives you great honor and places on you a great task if you are willing.”

  There was a moment of choice, and my heart quailed at the unknown task laid before me. I trembled, but then I looked into his eyes and drew courage, “Yes, Lord. I do accept this task, and I thank thee for the responsibility.” There was bright joy on his face and my spirit soared at his smile.

  “The time is not yet, dear one, but it will soon come, when thou shalt leave on thy errand.” He spoke gently, but I must confess that I was terrified.

  “Leave, my Lord?” I asked timidly.

  He nodded silently, but said no more. He turned from me to greet my brothers. The knowledge of the burden I must someday carry weighed heavily on my heart, but it also filled me with a thrill of excitement. There was a strangeness to the way He had spoken, though, some quality in his tone I did not understand and could not place. Little did I comprehend that my Creator had spoken with sadness in his voice, for I was not yet acquainted with sadness. I only knew the joy of His presence and the wonder of praising Him. All too soon would I learn sorrow and anger and pain.

  I listened and heard my brothers being named: Malachi the glorious, Stanislaus the steadfast, Gaebreil the strong, Haeronymous the one chosen for glory, and many others; their names were powerful, but a question formed in my mind as the naming continued. I nearly felt impatience as I waited to ask my question. I did wait, however, until all had been named and then I cried out in desperation.

  “Lord! Tell us your name: that we might proclaim your praises better.” I do not know what made the words pour from my throat, and I wished that I had held my tongue. I did not know fear, and I did not know shame, but I did wish that I had remained silent. But then he was there, lifting my face and looking kindly into my eyes. There was no rebuke in his face, merely love and joy.

  “You were well named, guide of mankind,” he beamed, and the glory of his smile nearly blinded me, even through the shield of my fiery wings. “You will serve me well and teach the ones I will create. Your task will be to guide them into knowledge of me. Your question is good, my child, for how can you teach who I am if you do not know my name? I have many names, but in this time and in the place to which I will send you you will call me Cruithaor Elchiyl, Almighty Creator Lord; for that is the name by which I would be recognized.”

  It was then that my brother Haeronymous began a chant of praise and we all joined in, knowing the words well for they were written on our hearts. I do not remember how long the chant lasted, but the chorus repeated again and again. Each verse was new and beautiful, and as our voices blended together Cruithaor Elchiyl spun amazing things into existence. It was a delight to declare his praises! Joy made my spirit soar into the limitless vastness of the heavens and I felt wondrously complete. I could have remained forever, watching the creativity of Cruithaor Elchiyl, but alas, it was not to be.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jenelle Schmidt grew up in the northern-Mi
dwest. She now resides with her husband and their three adorable children in the wilds of Wisconsin. Jenelle fell in love with reading at a young age during family story-times when her father would read out loud to her and her siblings each night before bed. Her imagination was captured by authors such as Madeleine L’Engle, J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, and Lloyd Alexander. It wasn’t long before she began making up her own stories and sharing them with her family. To this day she enjoys creating exciting adventure tales filled with poignant themes and compelling characters in the fantasy and sci-fi genres.