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

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  The wall swung outwards and a bright beam of light shot down the tunnel from outside. Yole gave a cry of delight and they all rushed out into the open air once again. After so many days underground, wandering the tunnels of Krayghentaliss, the fresh air was pure joy. The Dragon’s Eye beat down upon them, warming them and washing away the coldness of the caves.

  Kamarie fairly danced out of the tunnel, so great was her delight at being once again above ground. She spread her arms wide and spun in circles, as if trying to gather up the warmth of the Dragon’s Eye into her arms and never let go of it. She laughed in pure pleasure, and fell to her back on the soft green grass, soaking in the colors and the brightness.

  Oraeyn strode out of the tunnel, envying Kamarie’s reckless abandon. For a moment he wished he could show his delight with such passion. As he left the tunnel, his envy faded and he felt refreshed and renewed. His restlessness vanished, and he breathed deeply of the fresh air. Then he laughed out loud as joy swept over him.

  Yole’s eyes brightened, and his face flushed as he left the tunnels. He looked healthier than he had in days. Even Dylanna and Brant seemed relieved to be back above-realm. As they left Krayghentaliss, the door swung shut behind them.

  “What was that you said?” Kamarie asked Dylanna, looking up from where she lay on the ground.

  “Arach Deiseal?” Dylanna asked. “It’s Old Kraïc for ‘open.’ Actually, it was just a guess, my Old Kraïc is just a touch rusty.”

  “What’s Old Kraïc?” Yole asked. “Is it magic? This might be a little strange, but I sort of understood you. Not really the words themselves, but what you meant.”

  “No wonder, young Yole,” Brant smiled. “Old Kraïc is not magic, rather it is the language of the dragons.”

  Yole fell silent, his face troubled.

  “Where are we?” Oraeyn finally asked, getting past the wonder of being outside again and taking notice of their surroundings.

  Brant blinked. “We are just outside the Pearl Cove, past the storm,” he said, then he pointed, “right there is the bound....”

  They turned to look, and Dylanna gasped. The border was gone. With an unspoken agreement they took off running to the place where the wall of illusion had been and stopped short, surveying the ruin of Pearl Cove.

  Kamarie remembered the place as being dazzlingly white, sparkling with life and energy. She remembered it as though there had been a silver glow emanating from everything within the Cove. There had been something magical, some strong presence within the Cove that had made it what it was, but now that magic, that strength, had vanished. The sand was still white, but it no longer sparkled like crystals. The sky above them was still blue, but it was just a normal sky blue, not the deep sapphire that it had been in their memories. The air around them no longer shimmered with life or magic.

  “What happened?” Yole asked, afraid of the answer to his question.

  “The Keeper is gone.” Brant’s voice was sad.

  A single tear slid down Dylanna’s cheek and fell to the ground. The tear hit the white sand and disappeared without a trace. A few seconds later a tiny, delicate, silver shoot poked out of the ground. The others gasped in surprise at its unexpected appearance.

  “It will grow into a tree, straight and tall,” Dylanna murmured, “it is the last and best thing that I have to offer to Calyssia, this small memorial of all that she accomplished. It will offer shade and a place of rest for the weary, it will bear fruit for the hungry. It will neither be buffeted by the strong winds nor cut by the woodsmen, but it will be found by all who need it; just as Calyssia was.”

  “Where is Calyssia now, Dylanna?” Yole asked, tugging on her sleeve and looking distraught.

  Dylanna looked down at the youth, an expression of kindness and deep sorrow on her face. “She has returned to the sea she so loved… and she has returned to our mother.”

  “Your mother?” Kamarie asked.

  “She was of the mer-folk.”

  “A mermaid?” Kamarie’s voice rose an octave. “What else about my lineage haven’t you told me?”

  Dylanna shook her head. “Now you know everything,” her eyes darkened and she refused to say any more on the subject.

  “What about the people who lived here?” Oraeyn asked in concern.

  “Many of them died here,” Brant said in a low voice that sounded almost detached. They turned and looked over the Cove, their eyes falling on what Brant had already seen. Bodies lay strewn across the white beach.

  “Did any survive?” Kamarie asked.

  Brant nodded slowly and pointed to the ground. “It looks as though quite a few passed this way, perhaps the people had warning and were able to send the women and children to safety?”

  “Calyssia would have warned them, she had strength to do that, at least,” Dylanna replied.

  They stood in silence for a moment, honoring the memory of the Cove and its Keeper. Then they walked around the Cove a little, but saw no sign of life anywhere.

  Suddenly, Kamarie gave a start, “Tor! The horses! Where are they?” she asked, looking around frantically.

  “I would guess that Calyssia sent them home,” Dylanna said, her tone lifeless. Her grief was too great to care about anything else, “either that or they were killed or stolen by the Dark Warriors.”

  The look on Kamarie’s face was very close to that of panic, so Oraeyn spoke quickly, “It’s more likely that Calyssia sent them home. Horses can always find their way home you know, and Tor is very smart. Calyssia knew how much Tor meant to you, Kamarie, and I’m sure that she would have done anything in her power to keep him safe for you. She was your aunt, after all.”

  Kamarie brightened a bit at Oraeyn’s words, hearing the truth in them. “I always said Tor was a magic horse. My Aunt Leila gave him to me... of course, that was before I had any idea my aunt was a wizardess.”

  Dylanna spoke quietly. “Before we leave, do you think we might go down to the shore, I want to say good-bye one last time to my sister.”

  They nodded and walked slowly with Dylanna down to where the waves gently rolled up onto the sand. Dylanna slipped off her shoes and strode out until she stood ankle-deep in the water. The wind blew gently through her brown hair, and the waves lapped quietly over her feet. The others stood back at a respectful distance and looked on quietly, all of them feeling the loss of Calyssia very deeply in their hearts. Even the air seemed to grow still and cold, joining in the mood, mourning alongside them.

  Dylanna stared out at the sparkling blue-green ocean and felt the wind on her face. She had always feared the sea, heeding her father’s stories about it and her mother’s people more closely than her sisters had. However, as she watched the rolling waves and saw the sparkle of the light from the Dragon’s Eye dancing across the water and smelled the tangy salt smell that washed up in the breeze, she began to understand why her sister had so loved the sea. She could almost feel Calyssia’s touch in the water and she understood why Calyssia had built her domain so close to the water’s edge, and why now, after so many years, she made the drastic choice to turn to the ocean rather than die. In deep sorrow at her sister’s leaving, and yet with a quiet understanding welling up within her, Dylanna began to sing her farewell. The melody was low and haunting, and there was a hint of tears in her voice as she sang the tribute to Calyssia.

  The bright, broad seas’

  Silken back waves

  To and fro eternally.

  The crystal caves

  Of sparkling foam

  Echo deep beyond the grave.

  Calling you home

  With watery sighs

  The sea beckons you alone.

  Wailing winds cry

  A siren’s sad song

  ‘Cross the lonely expanse of sky.

  Away you have gone

  Beyond the deep

  To the sea you now belong.

  Dearest one, sleep

  I bid thee farewell

 
In my heart you’ll always be.

  As the last notes of Dylanna’s song faded, the others shook themselves, awaking from a trance. Her song had carried them out over the water and into the waves, and they were surprised to find themselves standing once more on the solid ground of the shore. She turned to them, and all traces of sadness were gone from her face as she smiled. They walked back up the beach in silence, wondering what had happened down by the water. None of them spoke as they left the Cove, feeling as though it would somehow be wrong to break the peaceful silence. It was not until they had crossed into the forest that any of them dared to utter a word.

  At last, when they had left the silence of the Cove and were once again in the woods beyond the border, Kamarie dared to speak. “Well, I for one am not looking forward to walking all the way back to the castle, but I suppose there is nothing else to do.”

  Dylanna shook her head. “There is something else that we need to do first.”

  “What is that, Dylanna?” Oraeyn asked.

  “We must travel to the Harshlands to see my sister Leila,” Dylanna said firmly.

  “Now wait a minute,” Oraeyn argued, “Dark Warriors came through here less than a day ago. I know the Queen asked us to enlist the aid of your other sister, but surely the situation has changed? Surely we should warn the castle?”

  “No,” Brant said quietly, “I made a promise to Queen Zara. We must travel to the Harshlands.”

  With heavy, yet determined hearts, they made for the Harshlands. As they headed east, Kamarie felt a puzzling sense of discontentment. She wanted to be heading for home again. And yet, the Harshlands beckoned and promised adventure and challenges she could only guess at, and her heart leapt at the prospect of the unknown.

  And perhaps, Kamarie thought to herself, perhaps we will even find a way to strike a blow to the enemy whilst we journey back and forth across Aom-igh.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Rhendak’s eyes turned into two menacing slits as he glared fiercely at the two sentries who had dared to oppose his wishes. He was already angry, and now he seemed to be glowing with a fiery orange light from inside. Smoke was billowing out from his great nostrils and he bared his teeth, the shiny, sparkling rows of sharp daggers were a vision that would strike fear into even the bravest souls.

  “You will do as I sssay or you will regret being born,” he hissed, giving them one last chance; a chance they did not deserve.

  Rhendak almost hoped that they would not take it. He needed to destroy something, and, although they did not know it, he had a very loose and slipping grasp upon his already inflamed temper. He was sick with grief at Shalintess’ death, and he believed that he knew who was responsible. He suspected these two rebellious guards were now following Nnyendell and Mystak’s orders, that they had probably been in on the plans for the murder. Rhendak began to see red, his temper raged hotter and his control slipped even more.

  The Elders watched the scene in fascination, waiting to see what Rhendak would do. They had never seen their King like this before. Several of them were old enough to remember Graldon’s reign, and many of them missed it. Graldon had been a good king, but he had also been a tough king. Graldon was the type of king who had no patience for disobedience or dissension in the ranks. He had been fair, but his word had been law, and he had ruled with an iron grip. These two traitors would never have talked back to Graldon the way they were speaking to Rhendak now. They would have been too terrified of being roasted on the spot.

  The two sentries weighed their options, then decided that Rhendak was not really as fearsome as he appeared, and the older one cleared his throat nervously. “No,” he said, but not as firmly as before.

  Rhendak instantly lost every bit of the little control he had managed to maintain upon his temper. His green scales changed color and seemed to turn liquid silver in his fury. His eyes went glassy and a red fire burned deep within them. Several of the Elders cheered inwardly. All the Elders liked Rhendak, they had all thrown their support behind him when Graldon died, but all of them agreed he was a little too soft, a touch too forgiving. They hoped it was simply a reflection of his youth and that he would become tougher and stronger with time and experience. Each and every one of them was watching now to see whether or not Rhendak was going to follow in the great footprints of Graldon.

  “Then you are traitors and spies, disloyal to your King and fellow dragons!” Rhendak roared. His head came back and sparks came out of his mouth as he asked, “You know what the penalty for treason and disobedience is?” His voice rose at the end of his speech, but it was far more a statement than a question.

  They had brought their own destruction upon their heads. There was nothing they could possibly hope to do that would change Rhendak’s course. He was in a blood rage and ready to lash out at the first living thing that dared to cross him. The two sentries now looked at each other in fear. Nnyendell and Mystak had assured them that King Rhendak was weak and that his grief over Shalintess’ death would weaken him even more. The two traitors had assured the sentries that there was no danger at all in their job. The sentries had believed them; they had not expected this vengeful, powerful king of a dragon who was now standing before them.

  When neither answered, an Elder spoke up, trying hard to cover his delight at Rhendak’s sudden transformation, “The penalty is death, traitors cannot be allowed to live, lest they be granted the opportunity to cause even more trouble and bring harm upon others.”

  Rhendak stared at each of the sentries in turn until they dropped their eyes and shifted uncomfortably, then he spoke again. “Do you have any last words? Any desire to turn away from the leading of Nnyendell and Mystak and once again swear fealty to me?” He gave them one final chance, but doubted if even a plea for mercy and promises of good behavior would be sufficient enough to cause him to grant them their lives. The only reason he hesitated now was that he still hoped to get information about who the masterminds behind this plot were.

  The two sentries stared at each other, then the older one snapped, “No!” Then he hissed at the younger one, “He won’t do it, he’s weak, he’s spineless, not a real king at all.”

  No sooner had the sentry stopped speaking than Rhendak lashed out with his right claw. His talons hooked under the older sentry’s scales and slid upwards into the soft flesh beneath, silencing him forever. Then Rhendak spat out a huge burst of searing orange flame. The fire engulfed the sentry, whose death had come so quickly he had not even had time to utter a sound. The flame was so large and so hot that when it died out, it left nothing behind; not even a pile of ashes to mark the spot where the sentry had stood only seconds before.

  The younger sentry backed away, his eyes wide and round as he stared at the place where he had seen his fellow sentry engulfed in a merciless blast of flame. Then he looked back at Rhendak. In a split second, he had made up his mind, for Rhendak was still angry and looking ready to kill again.

  “Mercy, King Rhendak, mercy, Sire!” he cried, lowering his great body as close to the ground as was possible. “I know I don’t deserve it, but please, grant me the chance to swear allegiance to you again, grant me the chance to prove my loyalty!”

  The plea for mercy cut through Rhendak’s haze, and he stopped. Rhendak cocked his head, as if weighing the words of the young sentry.

  “Why should I believe anything you say?”

  “I am ashamed of my actions, Sire, but what is a dragon of such a young age to do when his elders give him orders? I knew nothing of the plot against your mate, I swear it. Only let me live, or at least let me tell you what you need to know before you kill me, that I might die with a shred of honor yet.”

  The fire in Rhendak’s eyes dimmed at the young sentry’s speech. “Speak!”

  “Nnyendell and Mystak plan to kill the humans that came down here and they also plan to retrieve the Charmed Pipes. They have no other followers, just myself and…” he gulped and nodded at the spot where the other sentry had
been standing, “they hoped to gain a following by using the Pipes. They believe you to be too soft and merciful to lead the myth-folk and they came up with this plot to discredit and dethrone you, but I swear to you, Sire, if they were the ones behind Shalintess’ murder, I knew naught of it.”

  Rhendak nodded, thinking quickly, “We will go now and hopefully save the humans, but I have a feeling that our help will not be necessary; they seemed rather self-sufficient. I do not believe that our two traitors are expecting their victims to be as resourceful or as strong as I know that they are. So, although we will go quickly to offer any assistance that we may, our purpose is to bring back Nnyendell and Mystak to face trial and punishment for their acts of treason.”

  chapter

  ELEVEN

  Dark Warriors were apparently swarming all over Aom-igh and King Arnaud had not yet seen one of them. There were reports of crops, livestock, and villages being destroyed, but as of yet, no living person could actually report seeing this enemy. Kamarie and the others had been gone for far too long. Arnaud felt deep down in his heart that their mission had ended unsuccessfully; he knew that the dragons were not coming.

  Arnaud sent knights throughout the realm to respond to the reports, and yet always they were too late. He well understood he was playing into his enemy’s hands, spreading his forces thinner than he could afford and thus leaving Aom-igh defenseless when the main attack should come. He knew he did not have the resources to match the Dark Country. He had hoped his studies would provide an edge that would neutralize that superiority. His ships were too few to bring the attack to Roalthae, and yet he could not simply endure these seemingly disconnected attacks on his people without response. His people were being threatened and killed and his efforts thus far to protect them had proven futile.

  What was so frustrating, was that Arnaud understood he was losing a war that he could not see. He pounded his fist against the wall in frustration at his helplessness.