Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1)

by Kindrie Grove

  Raken scrambled over and leaped down, cudgels and swords swinging. The men nearest were sent flying like dolls. The soldiers trying to hold the breach fell back quickly.

  Torrin leaped forward into the fray. Rowan charged after him with her friends around her. The bright flash of golden-fletched arrows whipped past Rowan and she saw a streak of thin blue Rith fire arc overhead to hit the top of the ladder where it exploded the wood. Raken still leapt over the wall, but at slower intervals. Rowan’s sword hummed in her hand and she pulled her dagger from her waist. Hathunor bounded past, crashing into the smaller Drae Raken – a boulder rolling into pebbles.

  A soldier near them aimed an arrow at her friend, mistaking him for an enemy. She rushed forward and grabbed the man’s arm, pulling it downward just as he reached full draw. “The big Raken is an ally! Do not harm him or you will die by my sword!” she yelled over the din. “Pass it on.”

  The man gaped at her in disbelief.

  “Pass the word along!” she shouted again. Rowan waited only long enough to see the man nod before she turned to help her friends. They were in the thick of the fighting where the line had been breached.

  A Raken dove from the fiercely burning ladder and rolled past Hathunor. The beast stood up with its skin smouldering and turned to attack the nearest man, a Pellarian soldier with his back turned as he fought desperately with another Raken.

  The man turned just in time to see the huge beast bearing down on him, but could not raise his sword in time to parry the giant’s blow. Rowan’s sword hummed as it sank into the beast’s side. The Raken flinched and twisted toward Rowan, its red glowing eyes focusing on her. It lunged and Rowan jumped to the side to avoid its rush, her dagger slicing up into the throat. The beast recoiled and Rowan drove her sword through its chest.

  Another beast roared and charged. Rowan raised weapons to meet it. But a soldier pushed her out of the way. “Get out of here woman, before you get killed!” The shouted words were filled with disbelief and contempt.

  Rowan growled in irritation. The soldier met the Drae Raken, but wasn’t strong enough to trade blows with the beast. His sword was ripped from his grasp; the Raken’s free hand whipped out to rake down the soldier’s breastplate, knocking him backward. The beast bellowed and sent its mace flying at the man’s head.

  Rowan jumped forward and deflected the weapon with her sword. Sparks glittered as the metals met. She sliced down with her dagger, severing tendons. The Raken lost its grip and snarled in pain-filled rage. Its warm breath blasted her in the face as she killed it.

  She turned to find the soldier staring at her in shock. Rowan picked up his sword and tossed it to him. She pointed with her blade to the breach where her friends still battled. The man watched her with wide eyes as she moved past him but he followed her into the melee.

  Rowan reached Torrin’s side and helped him drive a Drae Raken back towards the smoking remains of the scaling ladder. Torrin spun his great broadsword around him as if it weighed nothing. The Raken he fought roared as his blade cut into it. The beast made a last charge before it died with both their swords in its chest. They shoved it from the wall and Torrin turned to face her. He was blood-splattered and his eyes were fierce. “I told you to stay close!”

  “I was close. Close enough to watch your back.”

  Torrin scowled.

  Borlin heard and barked out a laugh. “Well said, lass.”

  Nathel, Hathunor and Dalemar gathered beside them to look down at the broiling mass of Raken below the wall. Arynilas rained arrows down with precision, picking off Raken that climbed too high up the nearest ladders.

  In the brief respite, Rowan looked at the soldiers around them – all eyes were staring at Hathunor.

  A horn rang to their right. Rowan turned to see a frenzied skirmish further along the wall as more Raken made it to the top and rampaged through the defenders.

  The beasts were being killed but several men were down in the stillness of death. A bronze-clad warrior among the silver of the Pellarian soldiers caught her eye like a beacon.

  “Isn’t that General Preven?” she asked.

  “And the king,” said Torrin from beside her.

  Rowan looked past the general to a knot of defenders led by a warrior in exquisitely wrought armour.

  “Come on! We’re not done yet,” said Torrin.

  They ran to reach the beleaguered defenders. The soldier Rowan had saved ran beside her. He watched them as though afraid to miss something important. Rowan was reminded of her younger brother following her to the practice yard. She shook her head and raised her sword.

  And then they were in the midst of the fighting. Hathunor once more charged to the ladder where he ripped into the Raken as they tried to gain the wall. This time the companions kept together, following in the huge Saa Raken’s wake. Rowan watched to make sure nobody mistook him for an attacker again.

  The flow of Raken coming over the wall ceased with Hathunor hurling them back. Rowan fought with her sword and dagger in the close press. Men’s shouts sounded behind her and she turned to find General Preven down on the paved stone of the wall with King Cerebus standing over him, keeping the Raken at bay. The general was struggling to gain his feet but the Raken kept him pinned. King Cerebus took a blow to the shoulder, but it glanced off his armour and he kept his balance.

  Rithfire streaked through the press and blasted into the Raken trying to kill the king. Four more Raken materialized and closed on the king and general; they came simultaneously from different directions. Rowan ran forward to intercept one of the beasts.

  “To the king!” Torrin bellowed from beside her as his sword slashed a Drae Raken in the chest.

  Nathel took a cudgel on his shield and thrust it aside, his blade swept across the Raken’s flank. Rowan’s attack on the Raken nearest Preven gave the general time to struggle to his feet. She deflected an over-head blow from a mace, stepped to the right of the Raken and its weapon whipped past. She sliced in quick succession and the Raken went down. The humming of Rowan’s sword had increased – its cutting edge razor-sharp.

  Preven stepped up beside her as the next Raken came at them. Working together Rowan and the General stepped away from each other as the beast blasted toward them. It had to choose a target. As it veered to assault the general, she dispatched it.

  Rowan glanced around in the moment of stillness. She took in Torrin and Nathel battling next to King Cerebus, Dalemar was next to the ladder, sending Rithfire down over the wall. Borlin fought with hew and hack next to Arynilas who danced through the remaining Raken with his blades. Hathunor moved like a black wraith, torchlight flickering on his scaled skin. The smaller Draes were no match for him and soon there were none left to fight.

  As the last of the beasts were felled above, the horde at the base of the wall turned away suddenly and retreated out of arrow and sling range. Preven shouted orders and the massive trebuchets were stilled to conserve ammunition.

  Amid the carnage Rowan stood as her breathing slowed. What had been dull to her perception during the heat of battle now seemed appallingly vivid. She stilled her sword and sheathed her dagger, her palms sticky with drying blood.

  Torrin stood, his back to her as he scanned the battlements, turning until he found her. Their eyes met and relief passed over his face.

  A man groaned at her feet and she look down to find a soldier with a deep gash in his left side and the helm on his head staved in. Rowan knelt to gently remove the helmet and he looked up at her through pain-hazed eyes. She could hardly see his features through all the blood on his face. His breath came in shallow pants.

  “Are you the blessed Goddess?” He whispered. “Are you come to take me into the next life?”

  Rowan wiped some of the blood from his forehead. “Nay soldier, I do not think your time has come yet.” She looked up, searching. “Dalemar, Nathel! There is a man here who could use your skills.”

  Rowan made to stand but the soldier grabbed her hand. Nathel ar
rived to look at the man’s injuries and Rowan pried herself free. “Rest now soldier. You have defended your king and city well.”

  Hathunor was gently lifting his brethren and carrying them to the edge of the wall where he dropped them over. When he turned from his last grizzly task, she reached up and placed a hand on his arm. “I am so sorry for your loss, my friend.”

  Hathunor rumbled in response and his sad red eyes looked out at the distant army of his kin, illuminated by fires yet burning out on the plain.

  Torrin, Borlin and Arynilas gathered next to them. Torrin passed a cloth to her so she could clean the blood from her weapon. She wondered strangely where he had found it.

  “It would seem that we have a friend wearing the enemy’s face,” said a deep voice behind them. They turned to find King Cerebus watching them. He was blood-spattered, his face was grey with exhaustion in contrast to his resplendent armour. “My thanks, Hathunor, for your courageous deeds.”

  The big Saa Raken sighed and rumbled, “Hathunor must help, for brothers lost.”

  “My thanks to all of you,” Cerebus continued, his eyes lingering on Rowan’s sword as she wiped it clean. “You have brought honour to yourselves.”

  Rowan shook her head. “No your highness, it is you and your soldiers who have acted with great courage and honour – to repeatedly repel attacks such as this one. No doubt they have all been as heated and chaotic. The greatest warriors of my homeland would be impressed by your perseverance.”

  Cerebus inclined his head and turned to Preven who arrived with news. The general listed out a brief casualty report and an assessment of the damage wrought by the siege attempt.

  Cerebus turned back to the companions. “There is work I must attend to. Please take your ease at the keep, if that is possible in these present circumstances. I will be convening a meeting in the great council chambers tomorrow morning to receive to your message, my lady Rowan, as well as hear the news you and your companions bring from afar.” The king eyed Hathunor. “The General will arrange an escort for you back to the keep. It would not do to have our guest mistaken for a hostile.” He turned away, torchlight glinted on his armour as he moved through the soldiers offering praise for their well-fought defence.

  *

  Rowan strode wearily through the splendid, high-ceilinged corridors of Pellaris Keep with her companions. She was completely exhausted and covered in grime, sweat and blood. A memory rose to mind – Rowan and her brother Andin as youngsters, covered in dirt from playing outside and her grandfather, chuckling as he lifted them onto his lap, wrinkling his nose and proclaiming that he had found a pair of mudlings in a silver cup. Rowan almost giggled as she looked around at the fine interior.

  Chancellor Galen paced ahead of them with his blue robe swishing around his legs. He led the companions higher into the upper stories of the citadel. The broad corridors shrank, becoming intimate and quiet. Rowan noticed that despite the smaller size, these halls were lovely and elegant with a calm, soothing air.

  Galen stopped before a broad wooden door and lifted the heavy latch. The door swung smoothly inward and revealed a beautifully appointed sitting room with a crackling fire burning in a large hearth.

  The sitting room gave way to a small vestibule with another carved wooden door. Opposite was a hall with several smaller doorways. “My lady Rowan, your room is ready for you. I have taken the liberty of arranging for you to have the largest of the suite’s rooms. The bath should be drawn and ready for you. Please feel free to ask the servants for anything that you require.” Galen gestured toward the hall across the sitting room. He cast a dry glance over Torrin and the others. “I trust that your companions will not mind sleeping two to a room? A lady should have her own space, I think.”

  Torrin’s blue eyes flicked from Galen to Rowan.

  Nathel reached out and took her hand, bowing over it. “M’ Lady,” he said with a wicked grin.

  Borlin’s face reddened as he stammered out, “g’night.”

  Dalemar smiled and patted Rowan fatherly on the shoulder. “Enjoy your rest, my dear.”

  Arynilas gave her a formal bow before turning to follow the others across to the other bedrooms.

  Rowan sighed heavily, watching them disappear down the hall, feeling as though she’d been stripped of something precious. She turned and pushed open the large door to her room.

  Once in the room, Rowan pressed a hand to her forehead. The message was to have been delivered by now. She frowned and began to pull off her armour. She supposed one more night would make little difference.

  Breakfast and Danyl the Great

  Rowan woke to the sound of bird song and bright sun streaming through the glass door of the balcony. Raising her head, she glanced blearily around the large guestroom and fell back against the pillows, burrowing back into the cozy warmth of the feather bedding, willing herself back to sleep.

  It was no good. Peering out, she focused on one of the four carved wooden pillars of the bed, tied with brocade drapes. It was the largest bed she had ever slept in. Rowan twisted and propped herself comfortably and gazed about the elegant room. In the daylight she inspected the monstrous dark wardrobe and the round table with comfortable padded chairs. The hearth was cold now and it occurred to her that she could likely fit herself into the fireplace with room to spare. She laughed softly and turned over. Despite a wonderfully restful night – the first in a long while where she had not had to stand watch – she still felt like she could sleep for a week.

  Events of the previous day crowded in and her pleasant drowse vanished. Groaning, she sat up, swung her legs over the side and stepped down onto the stone floor. She shivered as the cold seeped up through her feet and splashed water from the bedside basin over her face.

  Her clothes were neatly folded on the table by the window; clearly she had slept through the return of the servant. Rowan eyed the sumptuous bed, frowning. Fatigue and the safety of the location were no excuse for carelessness. Dressing swiftly to cover her goose bumps, she inhaled the fresh scent of laundry soap. The stains and dirt of the past weeks had been scoured away.

  Rowan stood contemplating her freshly cleaned and oiled armour, silver buckles gleaming. There was no practical reason for wearing them in the keep yet she reached for them anyway. She had a role to fill here as ambassador to her people. Although she wasn’t a diplomat, she was a warrior and that was as much a statement about her people as anything.

  Once she was dressed, she reached for her saddlebags and opened an inner pocket. She paused and took a breath, then withdrew a small cloth-wrapped bundle she had not touched since the day her cousin Dell had died. With trembling fingers, she removed a leather strip that unrolled into a v-shaped shoulder mantle. It was a simple thing, yet the gold and pale green designs were exquisitely wrought. In the center of its six-inch width, where the two sides met, was a crest with flowing script of ancient Myrian – the title of emissary.

  Rowan carefully inspected the length of the mantle. Her fingers traced the tooled lines that evoked the essence and beauty of her home. She sighed and let the memory of sun on waves wash over her. The light from the window sparkled on the gold and green dye and she saw the rich green hills of Myris Dar and smelled the moist air. Lifting it carefully, she settled it over her head and onto her shoulders. The weight of the leather was slight but she felt the heavy burden it represented. Finally, she picked up her cleaned and oiled sword and slid it into its scabbard over her shoulder.

  A knock sounded on the door as she finished braiding her hair, and she flipped the plait over her shoulder as she went to open it.

  Nathel stood on the other side, clean and well rested. “Breakfast,” he said with relish, rubbing his large hands together. His ever-present grin was especially bright.

  Rowan laughed. “What? You’re tired of travel rations?”

  Nathel leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Even Borlin can’t work miracles with only beans and dried meat. I swear my teeth have been wo
rn down to nubs over the last few weeks.” He offered his arm with a courtly bow. “Shall we dine, my lady?”

  Rowan rolled her eyes and slugged him affectionately in the shoulder. “You honestly think there is going to be much better food to be had in a city under siege?”

  Nathel moved along beside her. “Ah, but you haven’t yet met Danyl the Great.”

  Borlin, Dalemar and Arynilas lounged in the well-stuffed chairs of the common room, and Hathunor was curled near the huge fireplace, basking in the heat. Borlin eyed her green mantel, stood and inclined his head. “Well met, Lass.”

  Rowan grinned at the Stoneman and shot a mischievous glance at Nathel. “Nathel was just telling me how much he was looking forward to some real food.”

  Borlin’s brows drew down and he glowered at Nathel. “Ye shouldna bite the hand that feeds ye, Lad or ye’ll be findin’ rocks in yer stew.”

  Casting a dismayed glance at Rowan, Nathel backed away a pace from the offended Stoneman, his hands up. “Even a great artist can do little with only a single color!”

  Mollified, Borlin moved to the door with the others and Hathunor rose from his spot, giving Rowan a toothy smile.

  “Do you know where Torrin is?” Rowan asked as they walked through the corridor.

  “No,” said Nathel. “I know he slept at least some of the night, because I heard him leave some time before dawn, but I have no idea where he went.” He glanced down at her. “He just needs a little time.”

  As Nathel led them through the citadel and down to the kitchens, which were located on main level near the large bailey, they began to see servants, household staff and soldiers hurried past.

  Rowan looked around as they entered an enormous hall full of long tables and benches where soldiers and other people bent over their food. The sound of chatter and the clank of dishes reverberated through the space, but a ripple of stillness followed Rowan and her friends as people stopped to watch their progress through the hall. The huge black bulk of Hathunor held their attention. He strode, loose armed and feral in their midst, his red eyes curious.