Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1)

by Kindrie Grove

  The sandy-haired guard gestured at Rowan. “The Lady Rowan found the queen, Sire.”

  As Cerebus turned to Rowan, she became painfully aware of Elana’s blood on her hands. “Hathunor and I were on our way down to the city walls when we found her lying in the middle of the corridor,” she said. “We must have found her only minutes after it happened. There was no sign of anyone, but I believe she was struck by something sharp. I am sorry that I cannot be of more help.”

  Cerebus turned back to Captain Falion. “I want everyone in the keep questioned. I want to know if anyone saw this attack.”

  Falion nodded, but cleared his throat. “What of the walls, Sire, the city’s defences?”

  “The sons of Ralor and General Preven are down on the walls, they will defend our city.”

  “Yes, Sire.” Falion saluted and strode briskly away.

  Rowan realized Cerebus was talking about Torrin and Nathel, and her thoughts flew to the defenders on the city walls. A need rose up to find her friends, to help fight at their side. There was little she could do here.

  Before she could leave Cerebus turned to her. “Walk with me, Lady Rowan.”

  Rowan looked down the corridor towards the entry hall. Then she nodded and strode after the king as he followed his wife’s stretcher.

  “Was she awake when you found her? Did she say anything to you?” asked Cerebus.

  Rowan sighed. “I am sorry, King Cerebus. The queen was unconscious when we found her, and looked to have fallen to the floor that way.”

  “I see,” he said softly. Rowan became aware of his carefully controlled breathing. “The keys to the bailey, like the one found on your attacker the other night, have all been accounted for. Whoever it was that gave the two men the key must have had a duplicate made.”

  “Then anyone who has a key could potentially be the traitor,” said Rowan.

  Cerebus nodded, a scowl on his face.

  They walked in silence toward the royal residence. Rowan had not been in this part of the keep before. The corridors were laid with intricate carpets and the walls hung with tapestries. The doors they passed were skilfully carved and stained glass decorated the wall sconces, scattering candlelight in bright colors across the stonewalls.

  They reached a pair of grand double doors, one of which stood ajar. The two castle guards who had served as stretcher-bearers for the queen were just returning to stand guard on either side of the doors.

  “I want you to admit the Rith Dalemar when he arrives. Otherwise no one save the physician or anyone that I approve personally is to get within ten feet of the queen, Understand?” Cerebus’s voice shook with anger.

  The guards saluted the king briskly as Cerebus turned to the door and pushed it open.

  Rowan hesitated but Cerebus motioned her forward. The suite beyond was beautiful with large comfortable chairs gathered around an enormous hearth. Artisans’ work from all over Eryos decorated the tables and shared the shelves with volumes of leather-bound books, including Stoneman blue glazed urns and vases and what looked like Klyssen copper-work.

  “Please make yourself comfortable, my lady. Wait here for Rith Dalemar and send him in as soon as he arrives.” Cerebus disappeared through a door.

  Rowan stood for a moment. Elana’s touch was everywhere, though there were several sets of armour – Cerebus’s collection. She recognized a Taborian suit and what looked like formal Klyssen armour, also a suit of simple bronze with a helmet that looked a lot like what she’d seen in Dendor. One she didn’t recognize; an ancient suit, it was beautifully etched and riveted.

  Turning, Rowan widened her eyes in astonishment. A Myrian suit of armour, complete with sword and shield, stood carefully displayed in one corner.

  She moved to stand before the Myrian suit. Unlike the practical, light leather she wore, this was a ceremonial suit, made of silver and bronze, etched with the scrollwork and the spiralling emblems of Myris Dar. Nevertheless, it was completely battle-worthy. Myrian men and women who wore these suits were of the highest quality – the most renowned fighters. This suit was sized for a man.

  Rowan reached out and reverently traced a finger across the etched surface of the metal. It was cool but alive somehow too. She exhaled the breath she had been holding as a childhood memory washed over her – the capital city of Mykrian where her parents had taken her and Andin to see the Myrian ceremonial guard. It had been one of the defining moments of her young life. Rowan shivered as she felt once again that sense of destiny – the absolute knowledge that she would one day wear that armour. The shining helms and breastplates had glinted in the sun like fire, the bright red plumes added to the regal effect and the guards, each standing resolute, radiated power and strength.

  “I thought that might interest you.”

  Rowan blinked, pulled back to the present and turned to find the king watching her from the doorway.

  She lowered her hand, and took a steadying breath. “How is Elana?”

  Cerebus’s face was drawn. He shook his head. “The physician is stitching her wound; he says that she lost a lot of blood and the blow to her head is keeping her from waking.” The king walked to a chair by the fire and sank into it. He rubbed his hands across his face and gestured to the seat across from him.

  “Please have a seat, Lady Rowan. We’ve not yet had a chance to speak informally. Now is as good a time as any. In fact, it would help keep my mind off Elana.”

  Rowan walked forward and sat down in the chair facing the king. Cerebus looked away from the fire and focused his attention on her. “Do you recognize the armour?”

  Rowan glanced back over to the ceremonial suit and nodded. “Where did you acquire it?”

  Cerebus sat back in his chair and propped his chin in his hand. “My great grandfather bought it from a trader when he was a young man. The trader insisted the armour was a gift from the Myrian man who’d once worn it, and that the warrior was an old man by the time he gave the suit to the trader. I’ve always doubted the tale myself. A ceremonial suit that beautiful would not be simply gifted away.”

  “Actually, it is considered very honourable for a Myrian to give armour or weapons to another, especially if that gift has been used in the defence of Myris Dar. The very act itself is thought to bestow the light of freedom on those who are in need.”

  “Truly?” Cerebus’s face lit up. “What a noble idea. Your people are somewhat of a contradiction: expert in war and fighting, yet gentle and generous of heart.”

  Rowan smiled. “We are very simple in many ways.”

  Cerebus watched her steadily. “The fact that you rescued a huge Raken for no personal gain, and the loyalty of your friends, speak of anything but simplicity. Do you know there are tales circulating around the city about you? The soldiers who have fought beside you have taken to wearing a blue strip of cloth tied around their right arm.”

  “They are fine men, courageous and steadfast in the face of an overwhelming enemy. It has been my honour to fight with them.” Rowan looked down at her hands searching for her next words. “King Cerebus, I must apologize for my lack of diplomatic skill. My cousin Dell was the ambassador among our group. He would have truly enjoyed your great city.” Rowan’s voice quavered and her chest ached.

  Cerebus shook his head. “You have represented your people admirably. Many emissaries are little more than messengers. You have given us so much more than your message – a sense of the nobility and spirit of Myrians and their intention to make contact with Pellar and the rest of Eryos. You have brought Myris Dar back to shine brightly in the minds of Pellar’s people from the dim shadow of legend.”

  There was a light tap on the door and Dalemar popped his head through. His smooth face was marked with worry.

  Cerebus stood up quickly. “Come in, Rith Dalemar. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  Dalemar bowed. “How is the queen?”

  The king gestured for him to follow as he walked to the door of the room Elana occupied. “She has lost much
blood and will not awaken. Please, anything you can do for her…” Cerebus trailed off as Hathunor ducked under the doorframe and followed Dalemar into the room. Two guards, with hands on the hilts of their swords and looks of dismay on their faces, followed the great Raken.

  “Forgive the intrusion, King Cerebus, but I will likely need Hathunor’s help,” explained Dalemar.

  Cerebus nodded and dismissed the guards, leading them into the room beyond. Rowan watched from the doorway as they gathered around the bed. Elana lay still and pale on the wide pillows as the portly physician bent over her, stitching up the wound. So involved was he in the work that he failed to notice the new occupants. Cerebus lay a hand on his shoulder and he started, glancing up at Hathunor and then rising in alarm. The king gestured for him to step aside.

  Dalemar touched Elana’s forehead and sighed. “It is a grievous blow. She may not regain consciousness right away, but we will do our best.” He nodded to Hathunor and the huge Saa Raken stepped forward.

  The physician made a strangled sound and moved to intercede but a soft word from Cerebus froze him in mid-stride.

  Dalemar placed one hand against Hathunor’s black, scaled arm; his other hand, still on Elana’s forehead, began to glow softly. Even from the doorway Rowan could see the wound on Elana’s head shrink slowly and disappear, leaving only a smear of blood and the dark thread the physician had been using.

  Elana’s color became healthier, the blue circles around her eyes faded and her shallow breathing expanded.

  Dalemar swayed on his feet. Rowan hurried forward and placed a hand under his elbow. The Rith acknowledged her wearily. “The wound was grievous. She will be fine but I cannot say how soon she will wake. Her body needs to rest now to regain the blood that was lost. I will send Nathel with a dose of Winoth root to speed the rebuilding of her strength.” He sagged against Rowan.

  The king, who was beside Elana now stroking her head where a terrible wound had been, nodded. “My deepest thanks, Rith Dalemar.”

  The royal Physician was staring at the Rith with an open mouth, the curved stitching needle still between his bloody fingers.

  Rowan and Hathunor helped Dalemar to the door and through the sitting room beyond. She glanced back through the open door at the queen. What, if anything did Elana know about who attacked her — and why?

  The Sons of Ralor

  Torrin ducked. He couldn’t get his sword up in time as a Raken’s club descended. It struck his shoulder guard and glanced down the metal rings to a chinking halt. He gasped as the shock splintered along his upper arm. There was nowhere to move in the press of bodies and the Raken had surprised him from behind. Torrin swore. He barely heard his own voice above the staccato snarls and roars, the shouts and screams of men. How had they gotten behind the line?

  Pulling his sword arm free, he stepped forward and stabbed the Raken. It flailed its arms, knocking a soldier down in its pain. Torrin yanked his weapon out and re-swung, cleaving the beast between neck and shoulder.

  Nathel was a few paces away, his blond-hair stark against the black as he battled against the sudden onslaught of Raken. The beasts had focused their attempt to take the wall in one spot and the Pellarian defenders were being pushed back at an alarming rate. Torrin glanced around, taking stock of his friends among the soldiers. General Preven, wounded earlier, had been forced to retreat from the fray.

  Torrin silently thanked Erys that Rowan was not here.

  The line of defenders was ragged but they were holding, barely.

  Further along, a man slipped and went down. Then another tripped over him and was killed by a Raken. As Torrin watched, a hole opened and the Raken streamed through.

  He launched himself along the wall and hit the first Raken before it had a chance to turn on the soldiers from behind. “Hold the line!” he bellowed. “To me! Hold! For Pellar!” The battling men around him solidified. Shouts rang out among them, echoing his call. The breach was slowly closed – inches and feet won in blood.

  Torrin swept his sword up to meet a curved blade, then pivoted it into the Raken. He kicked out, hitting it squarely in the gut and sent it plummeting off the back of the wall. He smiled grimly. Rowan would have approved.

  Another huge beast leaped for him. Torrin stepped sideways, raising his blade and closing the distance. The Raken was too late reacting. The next was upon him and all he saw was the red glare of its eyes. It spun lightning-quick to avoid his sword thrust. Torrin grunted with the effort of blocking its spear. The wooden shaft splintered, and his next thrust took the Raken in the heart.

  Torrin looked quickly around, his chest heaving. There were no more Raken behind the lines. Turning back, he dove into the crush of battling men and Raken, careful of swinging weapons as he pushed through to the front.

  The men around him were tiring, faltering. Torrin spotted Nathel as his brother worked his way closer through the melee. They needed to give the soldiers a chance to regroup above the gate. Borlin and Arynilas were closing in on the dense pocket as well.

  The four of them came together at the head of the mass of Raken and, battling for Pellar, they cleared ground. Protecting each other’s backs, they fought seamlessly – Borlin roaring, smashing his targe and cutting deftly with his short sword; Arynilas, spinning silently, knives flickering; Nathel beside Torrin, his teeth gritted, his sword and shield wet with gore.

  Eventually the Raken’s advance slowed, finally stopped. The Pellarian soldiers took advantage of the lull and surged forward to push the beasts backward. Scaling ladders tumbled back down to the field below. Raken were shoved from the wall, plummeting down and taking others with them, clawing for purchase.

  As the Raken below began to turn in unison away from the city, Torrin shouted, lifting his sword and pointing down into the retreating Raken. “Archers!”

  Soldiers scrambled to take aim.

  “Fire!”

  Bowstrings thrummed and a wave of the foe fell. Torrin called orders to fire again while ruthlessly thrusting down the sympathy that rose in his heart for the Raken.

  The beasts swiftly moved beyond arrow range, leaving behind newly fallen and turned once again to stand facing the city walls.

  Torrin assessed the battlements, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Their losses were many. The top of the wall was littered with bodies; far too many of them were Pellarian soldiers. Men had already begun the gruesome task of dispatching the Raken still alive. Wounded soldiers struggled to stand.

  Arynilas materialized beside Torrin. The slight Tynithian looked to have barely broken a sweat.

  “You’ll need to fletch more arrows after today, my friend,” said Torrin darkly. “We barely held them.”

  Arynilas cocked his head. “The defence held. It might not have though, if you hadn’t closed the gap.”

  Torrin looked for Nathel and found him already moving among the wounded to apply field dressings with Borlin’s help. The black-robed priests of Erys were also there and the young one who had offered Torrin water the day before looked up just as Torrin’s glance passed over him. Thaius locked eyes with him for a moment and they nod to each other.

  Torrin accepted the strip of cloth Arynilas passed to him. He looked over the Raken army as he wiped the blood from his sword. They were blackness covering the plain. He shook his head and shoved his blade into its scabbard. The Raken could have easily won through this afternoon if they had just kept coming.

  “I need to find Preven and give him a report.” Torrin turned to find the general himself stalking up the steps to the top of wall, his arm in a sling.

  Preven reached them quickly and he scanned the army below the city and the carnage atop the battlement. “My gratitude to you and your companions for a battle well fought. This attack was the strongest yet. I only hope we are given enough time to recover before the next assault.”

  “Agreed,” said Torrin. “How is your arm?”

  Preven glanced down and wiggled the fingers peeking out of his bandaged arm. “
It’ll do. These old bones don’t break that easily. I’ve received word from the King, though. Queen Elana was attacked. She suffers from a grave head wound. The lady Rowan found her.”

  Torrin’s skin went cold, tiny prickles running across the back of his neck. He had been relieved Rowan wasn’t in the battle, while up at the Keep she might have been in worse danger. He cleared his throat and swallowed. “Have they sent for Dalemar?”

  Preven nodded. “I was told the Rith was on his way to her.”

  “Do you know who attacked her?”

  The general shook his head in frustration. “There were no witnesses, and Queen Elana remains unconscious.”

  The general moved off to take command of the wall and Torrin raked a hand through his hair. An attack on the queen in the middle of the afternoon in Pellaris Keep was akin to an act of war. Were the attacks on Rowan and Elana related?

  Of course they were.

  The certainty of it chilled his heart. Whoever was behind it all was getting bolder, or worse – desperate.

  Torrin turned and frowned up at Pellaris Keep, perched at the top of the hill. Desperate men were always far more dangerous than bold ones.

  The Temple of Erys

  Galen strode across the vast, austere marble floors of the Temple of Erys. It was late; nothing stirred in the vaulted chamber. Starlight and a pale glow from the twin moons bled through the high clerestory windows, illuminating the massive dome with silver. He was used to the sight and did not pause to look upwards with awe as so many did.

  At the back of the circular Temple, behind the glittering alter of Erys, was a small door of polished wood. Casting a glance over his shoulder, Galen inserted his key and swiftly passed through, locking it again behind him before climbing the spiral stairs. At their top, another small door provided entry to a large room—as yet unoccupied. Galen sighed in relief. He needed time alone to clear his mind, time to think. He must be calm.

  Two lanterns glowed at either end of the chamber. He considered lighting more, but the dimness was an appropriate backdrop for the seriousness of the deliberations held here. Tonight’s business would usher in the next era for the priesthood.