Minstrel's Serenade

by Aubrie Dionne

  The minstrel pulled the other hooded figure close, wrapping lithe arms around her. A lock of her blond hair flew in the breeze. The taller figure bent down and pressed his face to hers.

  Danika rose up from her belly and peered around the mermaid tail spewing water in a steady stream. Was she one of her mother’s handmaidens? If so, why meet in secret? Why hide your love?

  The taller man spoke. “Come, we must make haste. ’Tis time.”

  The woman pulled away, wiping her cheeks as if she were crying. She whispered, “I cannot.”

  The man took her hand in his, pulling her toward the horse. “You must, dearest. If we are ever to be together, if you are ever to find happiness, then you must come with me this night.”

  Danika pressed her body against the stone fountain to steal a better look, but the figure stood in the moon’s shadow.

  The woman gazed at the tower above them. “She’ll never forgive me.”

  The minstrel helped her onto a horse. “Did you leave the letter?”

  “Yes.”

  “’Tis all you can do. You’ve waited as long as responsibility dictates. You’ve done well raising her. She’s almost of age to make her own choices. You must make yours.”

  The woman signed Helena’s sword in the air. “Gods forgive me.”

  The wind picked up, blowing blond wisps from Danika’s braid. The scent of cherrywood blossoms carried on the air.

  Danika paused, remembering so many memories of that voice reading to her of Helena’s conquests, of that scent mingling with the queen’s long robes after she’d gone walking in the orchards.

  “Mama?” she murmured. Her heart raced so fast, it might burst out of her chest. They’d argued over her dress fittings the night before, and she hadn’t seen her mother since. Surely, her insolence hadn’t driven her mother away?

  A scraping sound echoed behind her. She whirled around, braid flying. She’d broken the spell of the music by speaking.

  The guard wiped his eyes and stood, his sword scraping against the stone wall, and pointed the tip toward the figures. “Who goes there?”

  “Hi-ya!” The minstrel yelled, spurring both horses into flight. A cloud of dust covered the courtyard.

  “Mama!” Danika raced after her. She ran until the skin on her feet burned. Her gait fell short of the battle horse’s long stride. Collapsing on the empty road, Danika hit the ground with her fists, cursing like a warrior.

  A regiment of guards ran by her, along with the king. She stumbled to her feet and followed him to the end of the path, where the shadows of night swallowed her mother’s horse.

  “Sybil!” Her father shouted into the darkness. “In all Helena’s Grace, why?”

  Empty night pressed in. The melancholy call of skylarks answered his pleas.

  “Do you want me to go after them, Your Highness?” The head guard stood in a battle stance, his long sword raised.

  “No.” Her father’s voice cracked. “Let them go.” He collapsed beside Danika and held her close.

  “I’m sorry, my dear princess. I have failed your mother and, in turn, I have failed you.”

  His tears fell on Danika as she buried her head in his red velvet robe. She hated her mother for leaving but, at the same time, she feared she might never see her again. All of their arguments seemed petty now. She should have worn her mother’s dainty gowns instead of throwing them on the floor in favor of riding leathers.

  Bron’s voice was the only sound cutting through Danika’s grief. He stood above them, crossing his arms below his chest in a solemn pose, like a mourner at a funeral. “I searched her room and found this, Your Highness.”

  He handed the king a folded sheet of parchment, stamped with the royal crest of Ebonvale, Helena’s and Horred’s Swords crossed together.

  The king sighed and released her. He held out his hand. “At least I’ll get some answers.”

  “It’s not addressed to you, Your Highness.” Bron’s voice broke in hesitation as if he’d cried as well. Anger raced through her heart. How could a servant love her mother as much as she?

  Bron blinked his red-rimmed eyes and gazed down at her with envy. “’Tis for Danika.”

  Chapter 13

  Descending through Darkness

  Bron awoke with Valorian’s cloying songs ringing in his ears. He shook his head, ridding his mind of the flowery words.

  As much as he cursed his longwinded ballads, they allowed him to rest and protected the campsite from harm. If anything with a brain was mad enough to venture this far into the dark mountains in the first place.

  He sat up and scanned the camp. Mist rolled off the backs of the Darkenbite range, settling over the placid lake and concealing the entrance to the caverns below. Nip and Danika slept peacefully, and Valorian perched on a rock, plucking his lute in minimalist notes. The minstrel’s head turned toward him. He acknowledged the warrior with weary eyes. “Good morrow, brute.” Although the taunt danced in his words, a hint of a smile played across his lips.

  “Good morrow, yourself.” Bron stood, stretching his legs. The ground stiffened his back, making swordplay laborious. If Darkenbite lived up to its reputation, he’d need agility and strength for this day’s quest. He unsheathed his claymore, swinging the blade, as silver as the lake behind him. The tip crested in an arc above his head, reflecting dawn’s early light.

  Valorian struck a sweet chord with one dissonant note. “From slumber to swordplay. Looks as though someone is trying to impress his company.”

  “I practice like this every day, whether in this campsite or outside the soldiers’ barracks in Ebonvale.” Bron sliced the air, gaining momentum with each swing. His sword danced like quicksilver in the air. “Best if you catch a few hours rest.”

  Valorian cast him a skeptical look.

  Bron raised an eyebrow. Only a fool would cast off rest before venturing into Darkenbite. A fool with too much pride. “Suit yourself. I’ll be roasting the last of the hare within the hour. We leave when the morning mist clears.”

  Valorian strung one last chord and swung his lute over his back, strutting toward his tent as though sleep were his idea. “Wake me when the princess rises.”

  Bron stiffened. Now he wasn’t trustworthy enough to spend time alone with her? He lunged, jabbing his claymore into a tree to release his anger. The bark split and flew around his blade, raining on his leather boots.

  Valorian waited for a reply as Bron pulled the blade free, calming his raging heart. The warrior did not wish to sacrifice Danika’s honor for his pride. “Of course.”

  After completing his ritual training session, Bron started a fire and hung the last scraps of hare over the flames. His stomach grumbled, and he poked at the tender meat with a stick, thinking of how he used to fight over the largest portions of meat with Hule. He wondered how his brother faired at the farm. After the queen had chosen Bron for the Royal Guard, Hule knew he had to stay home and look after their parents. His brother had married, expanded their family’s land and had children, even a boy Nip’s age. Now Hule had too much to lose to yearn for battle and a warrior’s nomadic life.

  Would he ever settle down? Bron glanced at Nip’s tent. Have children?

  “Do you ever sleep?”

  Bron turned from the fire, his gaze resting on Danika wrapped in furs to stave off the morning chill. Desire filled his chest, and he pushed his yearnings away. “I slept all night. Valorian protected us with his song.”

  Danika glanced over at Valorian’s tent with doubt crinkling the skin around her eyes.

  “He took to his tent not long ago.” Bron pulled a piece of meat from the fire and set the hearty ration upon a traveling plate. As much as he wanted time with Danika before they entered the caverns, he had to keep his word. “He said to wake him when you rose.”

  Danika sat beside him, poking the meat with one of Bron’s cooking sticks. “Let us give the prince some time to rest, shall we? If he’s played this whole night--as you’ve said--he deserves h
is sleep.”

  “I take orders from you first, my lady.” Bron handed her the plate. “’Tis not our usual dining fare.”

  “’Tis sufficient.” Danika wrapped her elegant long fingers around the edge of the plate.

  Bron’s gaze met hers. Hollowed, dark skin lined the bottom of her eyes. “Did you sleep well, Your Highness?”

  Danika pulled the furs tighter as if fending off ill memories in the mist. Her gaze steeled, and he feared she’d closed her heart to him. She picked a piece of meat off the plate and studied the pink center as if her answer lay in the hare.

  Bron made a plate each for Nip and Valorian before taking the last few pieces for himself. “My apologies. It’s not my place to ask.”

  “No. It’s not.”

  Embarrassment spread like fire in his cheeks. Bron’s gaze shot up to hers and her face softened as a small smile curved her lips.

  “However, I’m grateful for your concern.” She placed the meat in her mouth, chewed and swallowed.

  Bron thought she’d dropped the subject until she spoke again. “Seeing my mother again has brought back ghosts I didn’t want to face.”

  His ghosts invaded his dreams each night. The dead army of Sill never let his mind rest, and in the center of the horde stood the king, the man he’d sworn to protect. Bron knew the pain of reliving the past over and over again until one questioned every decision he made on such a fateful day. “We all must face our ghosts in this life.” He gestured toward the lake with playfulness in his eyes to lighten the mood. “Perhaps some of them lay in wait for us in the mist.”

  Danika made the sign of Helena’s sword in the air. “Let’s hope not. I’ve seen enough for a lifetime.”

  “As have I.”

  The mist rolled in, wispy tendrils playing around their feet. They sat in silence. Bron was content to share each moment with her, whether they spoke or not.

  Danika turned. “Here comes a little ghost right now.”

  Nip’s head peeked out from his tent. His mop of unruly hair stood up like an ill-tended thicket.

  “He must have smelled the meat cooking.” Bron smiled as Nip caught his gaze. The boy scurried from his furs. Rubbing his eyes, he joined them by the fire.

  Danika handed a sleepy Nip his plate. “I trust you slept well?”

  Nip nodded, accepting the plate. He walked to the lake and sat on the shore, nibbling on his piece of hare.

  “Doesn’t speak much in the morning,” Bron sighed. “’Tis like squeezing water from stone.”

  Danika laughed, her eyes finally looking alive again. She tapped her finger on her chin. “I wonder whom that reminds me of?”

  Was she teasing him? Bron opened his mouth to reply and closed it again, gritting his teeth together. He had sworn an oath to protect her, not provide pleasant company. Why would she make such an observation? Did she wish for him to say more?

  Before Bron could inquire further, Valorian emerged from his tent, glaring.

  “Looks as though I’ve angered him.” Bron bit off a piece of meat. Amusement and guilt mingled in his heart. He should have woken the minstrel as he’d promised. Warriors did not fare well at kingdom relations.

  “I’ll make amends.” Danika set her half-eaten plate aside on the grass. She rose and met him before he reached Bron.

  Bron chewed his breakfast, trying not to watch them too closely, yet still keeping an eye on Danika. What could they possibly speak of for so long?

  The royals’ talk should not concern him. To occupy his time and his wandering mind, he started to pack their supplies, securing the rice to a wheeled platform the minstrels had given them. Their quest hung in the air like a foul stench, and he intended to focus on the plan and usher them through harm’s way and back again unscathed.

  * * * *

  “’Tis black as death,” Nip complained as Bron lit a torch, burning off tendrils of mist. They stood before a stone archway made from a crack in the mountain’s base. Symbols from a strange language were whittled along the frame. A stone carving of Helena and Horred ushering a young child into the caves was carved on the right side.

  “Who’s that?” Nip pointed to the depiction of the boy his age carrying a sword longer than he was tall and a bulging sack.

  “Halfast, Helena’s and Horred’s son.” Danika traced the pictures with the tip of her finger. “During the rise of the dead, they hid him in these caves to live on in their name. He started his own underground society, and they lived apart from the people of the surface, developing different physical traits to combat life in darkness.”

  “Why have I never heard this tale?” Nip traced where Danika’s fingers left off.

  Danika looked to Bron. This boy was his apprentice, after all. The warrior nodded and stepped in. “Some temple monks don’t tell his story because they consider any link with the cave dwellers sacrilege. Others say the traits were a curse for shunning fate.”

  Nip held his sword to mimic the boy’s pose. “Why?”

  Valorian spoke from behind them, surprising Bron with his openness. “They want you to think our race dominates this world. That our gods favor us over all others when, in fact, we’re from the same flesh as the albinos. Every creature has a right to coexist: people, albinos and even wyverns.”

  Nip ran his fingers along his sword. Confusion saddened his eyes. “Is it right for us to kill them then?”

  “The wyverns threaten the balance. They push their territory into ours when we’ve left their islands alone. Just like the dead army of Sill, they must be stopped.” Bron placed a hand on his shoulder. “We must defend what is rightfully ours.”

  “Come.” Danika took Bron’s torch and led the way into the darkness. “We have no time for philosophical discussions. We must hurry.”

  Bron didn’t know what was worse: leaving the boy with the carriage or taking him with them into the caverns below. Danika had insisted he stay with them, and Nip claimed his father had spoken of the tale so many times, he knew the way. At least he could watch the boy instead of wondering if he wandered into trouble.

  Water dripped from a ceiling lined with furry bittle bats, their pale hides glowing faintly white in the shadows. Pink salamanders scurried underfoot, hiding in cracks between the rocks. The air stank of mold and the tang of wet earth. Bron dragged the small wagon with the rice behind him by a rope tied around his wrist. He felt like poor old Wafty, their family’s mule back at the farm. Named for his wafting stench, he always struggled with the heavier loads. Bron used to help the old mule by carrying half of the bushels. Wafty wouldn’t have liked this load one bit.

  Soon the dim light from the entrance faded to a memory and the darkness enveloped them whole. Danika and Valorian carried torches, and the two blazing lights bobbed like fireflies at night.

  The bobbing from Danika’s and Valorian’s torches stopped, and Bron increased his pace. When he caught up, they stood before a three-way fork in the tunnels. The right and left passages jutted down, while the middle passage remained level.

  “What should we do?” Danika turned to Bron. The firelight brought out the high angles of her cheekbones, making her face strikingly beautiful.

  Bron lifted a finger, testing the wind. Although he preferred the more level path, he knew fate would probably choose against him. “Nothing.”

  Valorian strummed his lute. He struck three vibrant chords, allowing the echoes to dissipate into the shadows. “Every passage rings the same.”

  Nip threw a stone at the ceiling and a bunch of bittle bats squeaked, dropping from the sky. Danika shrieked and shielded her head with her arm as they fell toward her. Bron thought he’d have to pick them out of her hair but the bats took flight, diving farther into the cavern.

  Danika’s gaze blazed as she turned back to Nip. “Why would you ever--”

  Bron brought up his hand. He pointed to the cavern on the right. “That way.”

  “How do you know?” Valorian peered into the darkness.

  “Because, t
hat’s where the bittle bats went.” Nip sprung forward, strutting like the winner of a contest. “Come on.”

  “Excellent work, little one.” Valorian patted the boy on the back as he followed him into the darkness.

  Danika shot Bron an inscrutable look. “In Horred’s name. Bittle bats telling us the course?”

  Bron smiled. “You were wise to bring him along.”

  “Wise or foolish, which one, I’m not certain.” Danika shook her head.

  “All wise men were once fools,” Bron muttered to himself as he picked up the rope, pulling the heap of rice forward. He hoped he’d passed the “fool” stage as a boy and that every day he grew wiser.

  The passage sloped and Bron braced the wagon with all his weight, lest the wheels roll sprawling into the darkness. The ground grew uneven and their footsteps began to crunch.

  “Stop.” Danika raised her hand.

  Bron shifted his feet to hold the weight of the rice from spilling on top of them. His muscles strained, but he’d hauled far heavier loads.

  Arm shaking, Danika lowered her torch.

  Valorian grabbed her arm before the light from the flames hit the floor. “Please, Princess, trust me. You don’t want to see.”

  Bron stiffened as the minstrel touched her. Valorian’s overprotectiveness showed how little the minstrel knew the princess. Danika yanked her arm back. “Nonsense. I need to know what we face.”

  Valorian held his hand to his chest as if her rejection had physically stung. “We must hurry on. There’s no time for study.”

  While they argued, Nip brought up a piece of the floor. Silence fell as the boy held a giant man’s femur to the firelight. “Bones.”

  Danika’s eyes widened. “I thought the albinos ate rice.”

  “They do.” Nip shook the bone in the air. “I saw him with my own eyes. My father did not speak of this.”