King's Warrior (The Minstrel's Song Book 1)

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  Yole loved the music that came from the shepherd’s pipes; that music was the only thing he could remember from his past. He could not remember much, but he could remember the music. His childhood seemed a blur to him. Fragments of memories danced around inside his head of places, people, and occurrences that could not possibly have happened to him. And there was a face: it stared down at him with bright eyes that somehow seemed to be the wrong color blue. The rosy lips parted gently as though saying something in a soft voice, and a tear glistened on the soft, pink cheek before falling to his hand where he could remember playing with it like a bauble. Of course, Yole knew that part of the memory couldn’t be real. The face looked at him in a fond mixture of joy and sorrow. He believed that the face belonged to his mother, but if the truth were to be told, Yole was not sure that he had ever had a mother.

  Yole could not remember a time when he had not been on his own. Never had there been a time when he truly belonged to anyone and this nomadic life was all he knew. There were moments when he began to feel as though he had found a place and family to call home, only to find himself alone, bewildered, and searching once again. His most recent out-casting burned in his memory, and his cheek still stung from the rebuke he had received.

  Yole had hired-on to tend the herds of a generous family this Warm-Term, but he would not be shepherding in Peak’s Shadow again. Something had happened, and he had been told in no uncertain terms that he must leave and never return. There was fear, yet understanding, in Brant's eyes as he told Yole to head for the Mountains of Dusk. Yole was bewildered as to what he had done to make himself an outcast by this family and this village that he had begun to claim as his own. Yole was a bit of a loner but not one to make enemies. He took orders and did what he was told, no questions asked. He knew better than to touch what belonged to others, and he followed all the unwritten rules that came with having no heritage to speak of.

  The day was warm and slow. The type of day that makes one want to lie down in the long, cool grass and just pass the hours being idle. Yole was in the pasture watching Brant's flock, listening to the pipe music that neighboring shepherds were playing in their fields. The music intertwined and danced over the ground to where Yole was sitting. Pipe music was like that: it was light and floating, and the wind could carry it farther than most other types of music. Yole had always wanted to learn to play the pipes, but he had no one to teach him. As he listened, Yole felt perfectly content watching the sheep and letting the music wash over him. The longing was still there, of course, the longing that never quite left him, but Yole managed to ignore it.

  The music enchanted and mesmerized Yole. He remembered falling asleep, but had no idea how long, or deeply he slept. He did know that he had a flying dream and was now awake in a cold sweat of fear. Yole loved these dreams of flying, loved that feeling of being up so high that no one in all the world could reach him. He loved waking with vivid recall of soaring through the skies, yet he also knew with every such dream, that anger, fear, and confusion soon followed.

  Yole did not have to wait long. Within moments he heard shouting from all directions. He lay still; knowing, with that deep, insightful knowledge that possessed him at the most inopportune times, that the shouts meant trouble, and they were meant for him.

  “Father, I found him!” Brant’s son called out loudly.

  Schea was Brant's oldest child, only a few years younger than Yole himself, but for some reason he was frightened and would come no closer until his father arrived. Brant himself had no such hesitancy. He walked over to where Yole was lying and grabbed him by his tunic, lifting him to his feet. Yole opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but he did not get the chance. An unexpected slap across his face rendered him speechless for a moment; the blow did not hurt, much, but it did take him by surprise.

  “Wh-what was that for?” he asked.

  “That was for putting my family in danger!” Brant’s voice was quiet, but deadly. “How dare you come into my home and endanger my family in this way? How did you dare to presume that you were under my protection?”

  Yole stared into Brant’s dark, angry eyes in bewilderment. “I-I-I…”

  “No excuses! Go back to where you came from, this town will not tolerate your presence here any longer!” Brant said with force. “You must leave, I cannot protect you.”

  Brant paused and seemed for the first time to notice Yole's confused and frightened expression; his tone softened and he laid a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Now listen to me. I will not harm you and I will not let them hunt you. I will not have you caged or beaten or killed while I can prevent it. The longer you remain here, the greater your danger. I have known these villagers for many years and they have seen hard and desperate times. The King's protection does not always reach this far. They are not cruel or vengeful, but they are very, very serious about protecting their families and their livelihoods; they will do whatever that requires, so you must leave and leave quickly. I lost five sheep today and I can ill afford to lose any more. I will provide you with provisions for a fortnight and then you will fend for yourself. Head along the north end of Peak's Shadow and it will take you deep into the Mountains of Dusk. I will keep the villagers from following you, but if you are not well into the mountains within a fortnight, you will be at their mercy. Do you understand me, son?” Brant's voice was almost compassionate now. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added something Yole could not grasp, something that kept him awake at night as he puzzled over it for a long time afterwards: "And one more thing, if you must live near people, you really ought to be more careful.”

  At the time, Yole merely nodded meekly. He had discovered that it was best not to argue or complain about what he did not understand. He was expected to understand. And he was expected to obey.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Far below Mount Theran and Yole, in the village of Peak’s Shadow, Brant stared at the setting Dragon’s Eye with a hard look on his face. There was trouble in Aom-igh, and it was spreading, there was no doubt about that. What trouble, he did not know, but trouble nonetheless. He could feel it coming, there had been signs everywhere: first there had been Yole, and now there were whispers of a coming war and an increase in the number of strangers passing through villages. It could not mean anything good. Even though he was tucked away in Peak’s Shadow, Brant maintained his contacts in order to stay abreast of the happenings in Aom-igh. Just because all had been quiet for over twenty years did not mean that he could relax his guard. He wondered for a moment about Yole, the boy had been gone for almost a week now, and Brant hoped that he had made his way through the Mountains of Dusk and found some place where he could be accepted, although these days that was unlikely...

  Brant remembered when he had first come to Peak’s Shadow, the people were a friendly lot, though they did not welcome strangers readily. It had taken time to win their trust. He and his wife had made this village their home, where they became part of the quiet lifestyle that surrounded them. This was precisely as Brant wanted. He had come to Peak’s Shadow for peace and quiet and rest, and here he had found it. Life in Peak's Shadow was good, with a loving wife, two wonderful children, a strong herd of cattle, and more than enough silly sheep. They owned a quaint, smallish cottage that he had built himself on a property with a spacious pasture, watered by a charming creek that gurgled and sang to itself. There was so much that life had to offer if a man worked hard and made a point of noticing and enjoying the little things.

  He had tried to live a simple life; had tried to bury his past, although he never forgot. He had hoped to be able to work hard enough now, and for a good long time, so that he could live a peaceful, restful life when he got to that age that was considered “old.” But now, with an ominous premonition weighing in his mind, this desire for peace and solitude brought with it a vulnerability to the dangers of life he had never sensed before... had never feared before.

  “Father!” His son came running up to him. Brant looked down at
the little boy and felt a pang in his heart. He longed so to protect these little ones.

  “What is it Schea?” he asked softly.

  “Ryder and I found a lizard! Down by the creek! Come and see.” The little boy pulled on his father’s cloak and pointed.

  Brant laughed, and the dark clouds that had seemed to hang about him all morning dissipated in his merriment. He allowed his son to pull him along towards the pasture creek. His wife, Imojean, laid her hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to look at her; she was smiling. He smiled back, as her presence chased away the last of his fears. He loved her dearly.

  “Dinner will be ready soon,” she said. “Could you whistle for Kali on your way back from the creek? She’s out playing with the baby sheep.”

  “They’re called lambs dear,” he teased her with a grin on his face.

  “I couldn’t tell Kali that!” Imojean exclaimed. “Her favorite meal is lamb.”

  Perhaps it was the look on her face, half playful, pretending to be shocked and hurt, and half loving. But it gave Brant an odd feeling. He leaned closer and kissed her. He wasn’t sure why he did it, he would see her again in a few minutes, but he kissed her as though he would never see her again.

  “I’ll bring Kali,” he said. As he walked away, he was surprised to find that tears had sprung to his eyes.

  The lizard was pretty neat, Brant had to admit, all slimy looking with dark green spots. Its tongue flicked in and out, causing Schea and his friend Ryder to shriek with laughter. Brant smiled at the boys’ antics.

  “Look, look!” Schea yelled. The lizard had apparently grown tired of its audience for it was now slithering off the rock towards the water with as much dignity as could possibly be expected from a lizard.

  “That’s our cue boys,” Brant said. “Time for dinner.”

  “Can Ryder come over for dinner?” Schea pleaded.

  “No, not tonight Schea. How ‘bout tomorrow?” Brant promised quickly as his son’s face fell.

  At the promise of tomorrow the little boys brightened. “I hear my ma calling anyway,” Ryder said. “See you tomorrow Schea!” he called over his shoulder as he skipped off towards home.

  Schea turned to his father. “We have to go get Kali,” he said earnestly. “She won’t hear if we whistle.”

  “Why not?” Brant asked, slightly perplexed by his son’s suddenly serious gaze.

  “Because, she’s in make-believe world. She can’t hear the sounds in this world,” Schea said importantly as he repeated what his sister had told him.

  Brant laughed. “Oh, she is, eh? Well, we’ll just have to go rescue her back into our world. Let’s go!”

  Schea hurried along, running to keep up with his father’s long strides. Brant suddenly stopped short, overwhelmed by the scene before him. Kali was sitting in the field, the long grass matted down where she had been playing. Two baby sheep were frolicking around her and one was lying next to her with its head on her lap. She was framed with a halo of brightness. Her blond hair gently blowing in the breeze and catching the light of the setting Dragon’s Eye, her green eyes sparkled and shone as she looked up at her father and brother standing before her, entranced by the scene.

  “Papa, the baby sheep were trying to eat my dress!” she giggled, and her young voice wafted through the air like tiny wind chimes.

  Sharing this small bit of information she stood up. She was a year younger than her brother, but she was older (or perhaps wiser) than anyone Brant had ever known. She had a faraway look in her eyes more often than not. Her dreams of fairy worlds and her odd little speeches about magic endeared her to him as much as did her matter-of-fact way of saying things. Hers was a life lived without fear. Once, she had been very sick and he had been worried that she might not pull through, and it had been Kali who had comforted him. She was only three at the time, but already she was speaking in full, strangely grown-up sentences. Brant sighed as the memory came back to him in a rush; it was one he would never forget.

  He had been sitting by her bedside. It was night and she was burning up with a fever, coughing badly. The physician had treated her, but said it was too soon to tell if she would recover. The medicine was helping her sleep, but her breathing was labored and painful. Brant had put his head in his hands and whispered a prayer to Cruithaor Elchiyl when she had suddenly stirred. Her blue eyes flickered open, looking glassy in the candlelight. She touched his arm and said, “Papa, you don’t have to worry about me. If I die, don’t be sad. I’ll be in the world of the cearaphiym where everything is full of light, looking down at you and saying, ‘Don’t cry for me, it doesn’t hurt anymore, it doesn’t hurt anymore Papa.’ So I want you to promise that you won’t be sad.” He had promised in a choked voice, and had rejoiced when she had gotten well again.

  “Come on,” Brant smiled, “your mother has dinner waiting for us.”

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  When Kamarie finally entered the Long Hall, she noticed that it was crowded for a private dinner. She frowned slightly and then wiped the expression from her face and smiled pleasantly, mentally counting how many people were assembled. As she wound through the courtiers and greeted them with smiles and a few soft words, she realized that almost all the nobles in Aom-igh had been gathered for this dinner. She saw that Sir Garen was also in attendance, as well as the other senior knights, and she knew that something was wrong. This was obviously not going to be a private dinner with a would-be suitor. For a moment, Kamarie felt a sense of panic. Surely her father wouldn’t have pledged her to Prince Elroy without her permission. She glanced around frantically, expertly concealing the wild emotion she felt, looking for her father. She found him already near the head of the table. He was speaking in low tones to one of his senior knights and his expression was grave; he looked more serious than Kamarie could ever remember seeing him. Concern tugged at her thoughts as she noticed that in the midst of all the people assembled in the Hall, Prince Elroy was nowhere to be seen. She tuned into the mood around her and felt at once both relief and apprehension. There was tension and expectation, but mostly there was uncertainty. This audience had not been gathered to hear of an engagement, but something much more serious. Something more ominous.

  King Arnaud straightened and raised his chin, signalling for all to be seated. A servant blew a short blast on a tiny trumpet and the courtiers quickly and gracefully flowed to their tables, waiting to be seated. Across the room, King Arnaud caught his daughter’s eye and, with a slight motion of his head, invited her to sit next to him and her mother, Queen Zara.

  Kamarie moved across the floor in something like a daze. Questions tumbled together in her head. Normally, she would have felt extremely awkward to be walking across a huge room with so many eyes suddenly turned on her. The only thing that kept her mind alert were the whispers as she passed through the gaze and scrutiny of supposed friends.

  “She's certainly grown in the past year, do you remember at the Cold-Term banquet last year when she tripped over the fountain and fell into the punch bowl?" one “lady” whispered to the next.

  “Oh yes, but my favorite story is when she dressed like a peasant, parading into this Hall carrying a wooden sword!”

  Then came the snicker. No, courtiers were too mannerly to snicker, so it must have been a cough. Kamarie kept her temper under control and smiled directly at the ladies who were whispering behind their handkerchiefs, causing both of them to jump conspicuously and curtsy respectfully. Oh yes, there were advantages to knowing how to play this game, Kamarie thought pleasantly. Besides, the event with the wooden sword happened eleven years ago.

  As she took her place between the King and Queen, the princess congratulated herself on how far she really had come. Most of her lessons could be dreadfully dull and boring, but she could recite every one of them flawlessly. To her parents’ and tutors’ delight, she had seen her mistakes as challenges to be overcome and had taken great pains to learn how to dance without landing in the punch bowl, sit down without knocking o
ver the table, and walk through a room of snickering guests without tripping over her own dress. Though Kamarie still could not see the use of these arts, except as a tool to avoid whisperings and ridicule, she had set out to master them, and master them she did.

  Her mother whispered, “Beautifully done, my daughter.”

  Kamarie squeezed her mother’s hand. “What is going on?”

  “Prince Elroy sent a message to tell us that he has been unavoidably detained and will not be joining us tonight, or perhaps ever.”

  Kamarie had never seen her mother frightened, yet Queen Zara’s tone struck a chord that sent a chill through her. She glanced at her mother questioningly.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Zara smiled for the benefit of those nearby, and whispered, “You must be brave now, darling.” Then she turned away, leaving Kamarie confused and questioning.

  King Arnaud stood and raised his hand. A hush filled the room. Kamarie noticed the underlying tension that filled the Long Hall. This uncertain feel was present when she arrived, but she had been so focused on not embarrassing herself that she had not fully appreciated it. Now, in this eerie silence, it was the only thing she was aware of.

  Her father held up a small piece of parchment and said, “Prince Elroy has declared war on Aom-igh.” Arnaud's words fell like stone in the tomb-like silence of the hall, and then cautious whispers rose to the rafters as questions of alarm tumbled together.

  King Arnaud raised his hand and spoke again, his calm silencing the whispers. “I have sent trusted men to Roalthae to learn the meaning of this threat. We do not know but we can guess that Elroy has allied himself with the Dark Country.”