Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1)

by Kindrie Grove

  Leaning against the wooden table, Rowan glanced back to Torrin, then closed her eyes. Black tunnels and the moonless night filled with Raken enemies played across her mind’s eye; through it all Torrin’s whispering voice threaded like a song. She opened her eyes and took a deep breath, working to clear her wits for the meeting ahead. The message would be delivered tonight; she must focus on the end of her goal.

  Footsteps echoed down the stone stairs and Rowan looked up; her friends rose from their seats as the soldier came pelting down into the cellar, gasping for breath.

  “The king would like to have his guests brought to the citadel,” he gasped, “with honour guard for the Messenger, and her friend.” He glanced up at Hathunor. An honour guard. Rowan smiled grimly. Of course they would never be allowed to walk freely through the city with a Saa Raken.

  The captain nodded. “Get the escort ready then, Corporal.” He turned to Torrin again as the soldier dashed back up the stairs. “It would seem you are known to the king and welcome, but the Raken,” he paused to look up at Hathunor, “will be watched. If he tries anything, he will be killed.”

  “As you say, Captain,” replied Torrin smoothly.

  The captain measured Torrin for another moment before nodding. “Follow me please. I will take you to the king.”

  Rowan led her horse up amid the clattering of hooves. Roanus suddenly went down on one knee as his iron shoes slid with teeth-grinding screeches on the flags. Rowan gave him the rein as he struggled to get his legs under him. He righted himself and she patted his neck, looking back to see that two men had been left to guard the old iron door. No more unexpected guests.

  Rowan emerged from the tight stairwell with the others into a brightly lit hall. From here there was a direct route out onto the cobbled street, where she took a deep breath of fresh air and looked around. An escort of Pellarian cavalry was standing ready with torches guttering in the darkness.

  Torrin was there then, tightening the cinch of her saddle for her. “Whatever you need, Rowan,” he said quietly, looking her in the eye, “we are here for you.” Rowan swallowed and nodded her thanks. He stood back and held the reins formally as she mounted. Then he turned to mount as well and the cavalry formed up tightly to escort them through the city.

  People appeared at their windows and in doorways, no doubt drawn by the sound of so many horses. Some gasped and pointed at Hathunor, but most stared silently. The darkness concealed the toll the Raken siege had taking on the city, but it showed plainly in these haunted faces.

  Rowan studied the men around her – their armour and bearing. She looked for a resemblance to Torrin and Nathel and found it in their size, colouring and the strength of their prominent features. They were tired; their serious faces wearing the pragmatic expressions of soldiers.

  Torrin rode beside her, torchlight playing over the angles of his face. His inscrutable expression masked anything he might be feeling at this homecoming. Was he glad to be back? She suspected not, although she truly hoped he would one day come to terms with his past, she may never know.

  Rowan took a breath to steady herself as she approached the crossroads of her path. A rush of affection flooded her chest as she glanced at her companions. She didn’t think she could ever repay them for their help and friendship. And now it was almost done – she would stand face to face with King Cerebus, unburden herself. How strange, to no longer be traveling toward Pellaris. The words of the Mora’ Taith came back to her “Your quest here is but a beginning. It is meant to prepare you.” Rowan shivered.

  The cobblestone street widened onto a huge square, lined with shops and houses. The buildings were larger with grander entrances and surrounding gardens. The huge keep of Pellaris loomed above, its lit windows bright in the dark city. The big main doors stood open with torch light flooding the stone steps leading up to them.

  The escort stopped; Rowan and her friends dismounted as sleepy stable boys came forward to take their horses. She took her saddlebags down from Roanus, and gave the horse a pat. “A well deserved rest my friend,” she whispered to him. His ears twitched and he nuzzled her palm in response.

  They were led up the steps and through the grand archway of the entrance. Pellarian castle guards pulled the massive doors closed with a boom. Rowan blinked at the blazing candelabras and sconces which lit the soaring foyer. Their escort led them through the spacious entrance hall, hung with rich tapestries, to the end of the foyer where a broad stair swept up to a high corridor.

  A tall, dignified elderly man stood waiting for them at the bottom of the staircase. He wore a black scull cap atop his white hair, and his trim white beard framed his face. He was dressed in long elegant blue robes, and despite his apparent age, stood straight, watching them with silent composure.

  Nathel exclaimed in surprise. “Galen!”

  The old man nodded his head as his eyes passed over them, pausing on Rowan and Hathunor. “Indeed, Captain Nathel, it is I.”

  Nathel looked as though he would like to pick Galen up in a hug, but deemed it wise not to ruffle the old man’s dignity.

  Galen turned to face Torrin. “It has been a long time, Commander. Welcome back to Pellaris. Your presence will lift the king’s spirits greatly.”

  Torrin nodded in return. “Galen, it is good to see you.” He turned to indicate Rowan. “This is Rowan Mor Lanyar, a messenger from Myris Dar and emissary of her people. She has traveled a long way through much hardship to reach Pellaris and deliver her message to King Cerebus. Rowan, may I present Chancellor Galen.”

  Galen bowed formally to Rowan. “It is a great pleasure, my Lady.”

  Torrin turned to the huge Raken at Rowan’s side. “This is Hathunor, also a messenger of sorts.”

  Galen’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the Saa Raken. He inclined his head but said nothing.

  Torrin introduced Dalemar, Arynilas and Borlin, and Galen nodded to each politely in turn. “The king is waiting for you all, if you will follow me please.” He turned and proceeded up the wide stairs.

  Rowan climbed the stairs with the others, trying to take it all in; noting their escort of soldiers was still with them. Galen led them down a broad corridor, lined with more tapestries, huge mirrors and marble tables set with lanterns and sculptures. High windows at the end of the corridor were dark now but Rowan guessed they looked out over the ocean. Its salty smell made her think of home; she was looking forward to seeing the great water again.

  Galen turned before the high windows to follow a smaller corridor. They walked through a set of carved double doors, depicting cavalry bearing standards and entered a large audience chamber. More high windows looked out over the north and hearths, crackling with fires, stood at either end of the room. The carpet from the corridor proceeded up the middle and ended at the foot of a small dais upon which two carved and elegantly upholstered chairs stood. A man occupied one of the thrones – the King of Pellar. He was surrounded by a group of men dressed in armour.

  “Please wait here.” Galen walked up the aisle toward the dais.

  Rowan took the opportunity to study the king. She could see only a little of him as the men around him shifted and moved. He sat looking down at something on the floor; a man on his left squatted down to point at what he looked at. The king spoke a few words and the men around him bowed and turned to leave. The crouching man picked up a large map, which he rolled swiftly in his hands as he bowed to the king and followed the others.

  Two men remained standing before with the king. An older, thick set, blond warrior wearing bronze battle armour; the other by contrast, was slim and dark and robed in black.

  When the officers had filed out through a door near the back of the room, the king sagged back into his chair and covered his face with a hand. Rowan felt a tug of sympathy – it was a gesture of utter exhaustion.

  Galen approached the throne and the two men standing in front of it turned toward him as he spoke. The king looked up from his hands and his eyes traveled to the doors wher
e Rowan and her friends stood waiting. His demeanour changed and he drew himself up as if finding a reserve of strength.

  Galen returned and beckoned them to follow. “The king will see you now.”

  Rowan stepped forward. The king was a handsome man; the heavy mantle of worry and exhaustion had transformed his face but there was strength in the set of his shoulders. His eyes met hers and any doubts she might have had about him fled. The care and weariness that marked his features had touched his eyes too, but had been absorbed into the far stronger intensity of who he was. They were the kindest eyes she had ever seen. Rowan was reminded forcefully of her father – she did not want to disappoint this man.

  Galen stopped and bowed. “My King, may I present Commander Torrin Ralor; Captain Nathel Ralor; Lady Rowan Mor Lanyar, the Messenger of Myris Dar; Hathunor; Dalemar the Rith; Arynilas of Dan Tynell; and Borlin of the Black Hills.”

  Galen turned to the companions. “I present King Cerebus of Pellar.”

  Rowan bowed with her friends.

  The king sat silently looking over his visitors, then he stepped down. “By sweet Erys, I never thought to lay eyes on the pair of you again!” Rowan raised her eyebrows as Cerebus clasped hands with Torrin and Nathel. His voice was deep and affectionate and his warm smile eased the exhaustion on his face.

  Nathel wore a wide grin as he pumped the king’s hand.

  “It is good to see you again, King Cerebus,” said Torrin. His tone was courteous but his face tight.

  Cerebus looked closely at the big swordsman, searching. “It has been a long time. It is good to have you back among us, both of you. The sons of Ralor have been missed in Pellaris.” The king turned to the two men in front of the dais who watched Hathunor warily. “Gentlemen! I give you two of the best swordsmen in Pellar!”

  The man in bronze armour stepped towards them. He was hawk-nosed with a grizzled beard above a barrel chest. “I need no introduction to these two.” He clasped hands with the brothers. “It’s about time you boys decided to come home.”

  Nathel chuckled. “General Preven. We figured you could have gotten on well enough without us. Are you trying to prove me wrong?”

  The general barked a laugh. “Same old rascal!”

  “General.” Torrin nodded. Again he received an appraising look.

  The man standing next to General Preven stepped forward and Galen introduced him. “Tihir N’Avarin, Priest of Erys.”

  Rowan shifted, disturbed by the fevered gleam of disapproval in his dark brown eyes as he looked at her. Her attention was snagged by the heavy gold medallion, embossed with the image of the Goddess, that hung centered on his thin chest. His long black robes hung from sharp shoulders and his face, entirely devoid of softness, wore an ascetic expression that pinched his features.

  Torrin spoke and Rowan was relieved to have the priest shift his gaze away from her. “We came as soon as we received your summons, but we were far in the south and it has taken us a while to make the journey.”

  Cerebus sighed. “Many have come to offer aid. It is welcome. I thank you for answering my call.” He turned to Rowan and bowed. “My Lady Rowan, it is an honour to meet you. The fabled land of Myris Dar is mostly forgotten here in Eryos, and I am proud to be the first king in centuries to welcome a Myrian to Pellaris.”

  Rowan smiled, surprised to find Cerebus familiar with her homeland. “I thank you, King Cerebus. I am relieved to finally be here.” The king looked at her curiously, noting her clothing and sword, but said no more. He moved on to the other companions, greeting each one in turn.

  “Rith Dalemar, your presence is most welcome. It is heartening to know that the world of men is still of some importance to Rithkind.”

  Dalemar smiled sadly. “Alas, your majesty, I cannot speak for Rithkind. I have not been home for many years and I doubt those of Rithkind would listen to my council.”

  King Cerebus nodded in acceptance and stepped in front of Arynilas. “Arynilas of the Great Greenhall; you honour us with your visit.”

  “Your Highness,” replied the Tynithian with a graceful bow of his head.

  “Many Pellarians believe your people exist only in myth. Is that not so, N’Avarin?” Cerebus turned away from Arynilas to look at the priest.

  N’Avarin watched Arynilas and the king uncomfortably, dark eyes glittering. “It is true, your highness. Perhaps when those who do not believe see your guest, they will change their minds.”

  Cerebus turned his back on the priest and moved to stand in front of Borlin. “Borlin, be welcome; your coming is like the addition of ten men.”

  The Stoneman bowed his head and coughed self-consciously. He smoothed his beard, his brown eyes sparkling with pride.

  When the king reached Hathunor, who towered over him, Rowan saw their armed escort inch closer, hands upon weapons. “Hathunor is it? I will be interested to hear what you have to say regarding your friends outside.” The warmth was gone from Cerebus’s voice.

  Hathunor bowed his head and drew a clawed fist to his chest. “Hathunor does not like what has happened to little brothers. Hathunor will help if possible. But Hathunor’s first duty to Rowan.”

  Cerebus turned to look at Rowan with wide eyes. “You have the loyalty of a Raken?” He walked over to stand in front of her, regarding her anew. “Galen said you were a messenger, Lady Rowan. Tell me, what message do you bring to us in this desperate hour?”

  Rowan met the king’s gaze. Torrin and the others shifted, subtly gathering at her back. Cerebus noticed and his grey eyes traveled over them. His bearing stilled.

  Rowan took a deep breath. “I was sent by the Seers of Danum with a message for you, King Cerebus of Pellar. I have traveled far to reach you and would not have made it but for these friends.” Cerebus’s glance flicked to Torrin. “I was sent to find you in Pellar,” Rowan continued, “because the Seers believe Pellar is where hope of victory against a grave threat to the world is to be found.”

  Cerebus’s eyes narrowed. “You speak of the Raken invasion?”

  Rowan shook her head. “Unfortunately, your highness, the Raken outside the city are only a small part of this threat.”

  “Small part?” protested Tihir N’Avarin. “Dear girl, have you seen the host beyond the walls?”

  Cerebus’s gaze never left Rowan’s face, his eyes held a look of resignation. “Tell me.”

  At that moment an alarm bell began to toll stridently in the distance. It was echoed almost immediately within the walls of the keep.

  Preven turned to stride away, barking orders to the companion’s escort, sending men running.

  King Cerebus closed his eyes briefly. “Forgive me, my lady Rowan, but we must continue this meeting later. The Raken attack and I must look to the defence of the city.” The king turned to the chancellor. “Galen, will you please see to the comforts of our guests.”

  Torrin stepped forward. “Your highness, we came here to answer a summons for aid.” He glanced at the rest of his friends and his blue eyes stopped at Rowan with a regretful look. “I speak for all of us when I say we would not sit within the keep while the city fights for survival.”

  Cerebus sighed wearily and nodded. “I thank you all. Preven will see to where you will be most helpful. I must prepare for battle.” Cerebus turned away as a young squire came running through a door behind the dais with the king’s armour.

  Rowan’s heart pounded as she and her companions followed General Preven from the audience chamber. She cast a glance back at the king – she would not be delivering her message this night after all.

  *

  Rowan was breathing heavily when they reached the walls. A booming resonated from the assault on the solid iron doors of the main gates. She could not make out a single call amid the deafening noise from atop the walls. Torches burned at close intervals, casting movement on the battlements in an eerie glow.

  The escort of Pellarian soldiers was with them but the men were now as preoccupied with the battle atop the walls as they
were with keeping and eye on Hathunor. The weariness Rowan had felt earlier was gone now, swept away in the tension and turmoil.

  Rowan felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Torrin looking at her with concern. He said something but his words were drowned out. He leaned down with his face close to her ear, his warm breath on her cheek. “You still have not delivered your message. It would be better for you to stay away from the fighting.”

  Rowan shook her head. “I’ll watch your back if you watch mine.”

  He frowned, leaning down once more. “Stay close then. No heroics. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  They mounted the stairs to the top and Rowan, choking at the stench of blood and burning pitch, took in the wide space above the gate. Soldiers at the edge of the wall fired arrows down at the enemy. Several scaling ladders had not been repelled and Raken were scrambling over. Men drew swords and archers tried to fire at close range. Raken tumbled backwards from the wall. Screams and shouts filled the night punctuated by the clash of steel and roars and snarls of the attacking Raken.

  A creaking moan sounded beside them accompanied by a great whoosh. Rowan ducked as a massive sling send forth a barrel of burning pitch. It whistled streaking through the darkness to land among the Raken army with a deadly splash of fire. The soldiers manning the huge weapon turned the cranks fiercely, drawing the sling back to be reloaded. Rowan looked down the wall and saw the massive slings set at even intervals, launching in alternating succession.

  A scaling ladder hit the wall in front of the companions. A soldier fell unconscious to the stones as the weight of it struck him. The defenders hurried to place long poles against the top rungs and strained to push it away. One pole splintered suddenly and the ladder twisted violently to the side. The remaining pole slipped from its place and the heavy ladder cracked back down onto the wall.