The Raken had been about to breach the doors when they had mysteriously stopped. She had watched from the balcony above the square, leaning over the edge as it ended.
Elana walked through the dark streets, searching, marking each dead soldier’s face. The guards lowered their torches so she could see – so many valiant men. She saw women among the dead too, swords still griped in their slim hands.
Rowan. Had Rowan and Torrin succeeded?
There was no sign of the Raken, only the huge bodies of the slain ones. A soldier limped toward them, looking dreadful, covered in blood and grime. He stopped before her and bowed slowly, barely keeping from falling over.
Elana coaxed him upright. “Now is not the time for such formality. What news of my husband? Is the king alive?”
“Yes, your majesty, he lives. He is down near the walls. He sent me to see if you were safe and to find out if the keep was breached.”
Elana released the breath she had been holding, relief flooding through her. “Thank you. The keep was not breached, but it was close. Please, take me to the king.”
Exhausted soldiers walked among the bodies of the slain, looking for wounded, calling out for aid when someone was found alive. Elana finally saw Cerebus, standing with General Preven, among a knot of soldiers and horses near the city gates. She almost didn’t recognize him. He looked dead on his feet – covered in blood with his armour gone.
The battered city gates stood open, and along a path cleared through the debris streamed the Klyssen cavalry and Taborian infantry.
Captain Kreagan stepped forward from the knot of soldiers surrounding Cerebus and hailed the Klyssen officer riding at the front of the column of cavalry. The man smiled widely at his kinsman as he dismounted. He clasped forearms with Kreagan and then moved forward to speak with Cerebus.
Elana threaded her way through the gathering crowd of soldiers towards her husband. The men fell back respectfully when they saw her and some murmured honorariums. Most, though, simply looked on in utter exhaustion.
She reached Cerebus’s side and slipped her arm through his. He turned at the touch and his eyes flooded with relief at the sight of her; he reached over and squeezed her hand, smearing blood on her skin.
Captain Kreagan stopped in front of them. He bowed to Elana and introduced them to the man beside him. “King Cerebus, Queen Elana, may I present Captain Welan of the Royal Klyssen Cavalry.”
Cerebus reached out and shook the man’s hand. “We thank you, Captain Welan, for responding to our call for aid. You arrived when our need was dire. We are most grateful to you and your riders.”
Welan nodded. He was a stern looking soldier, much like Kreagan in bearing, but with age and experience tempering that stiff Klyssen demeanour.
“King Cerebus, on behalf of Klyssen and King Andeus in Wyborn, I commanded fifteen hundred cavalry, to come to your aid. We lost many good men and horses today against the Raken beasts. I hope their deaths were not in vain and that Pellar’s hard-won freedom is not taken for granted.”
Elana watched Cerebus’s face carefully. He closed his eyes briefly and she squeezed his hand in reassurance – she no idea how he was still standing on his feet. Cerebus opened his eyes again. “The people of Pellar are thankful for the sacrifice of the brave people of Klyssen. Rest assured they will not be forgotten, nor will Pellar squander its freedom.”
Welan appraised Cerebus for a moment and then bowed low. They were a proud people, the Klyssen.
Cerebus turned to another man who had dismounted and stepped forward. The man was shorter than the Klyssen officers were but his bearing was just as proud. He wore the golden of Tabor and his silver overlapping armour was covered in spiralling scrollwork. He looked up at Cerebus, passing a hand over the short reddish beard that jutted from his chin. He bowed smartly with a clicking of heels. The Taborian ignored Captain Welan completely and received little more recognition in return, but Kreagan nodded respectfully to the man. The Taborian’s eyes widened in surprise and he frowned at the greeting – he had probably never received such an honour from a Klyssen.
“Captain Feryell, at you service, your Majesty,” the Taborian said with a flourish.
Cerebus clasped the man’s hand as well. “Welcome to Pellaris, Captain. You brought us hope when the battle seemed lost.”
Feryell gave a curt nod. “We met with the Klyssen just to the south and knew our best strategy would be to combine our forces. It appears that we were just in time.”
“Indeed.” Cerebus replied. “It is well that your two kingdoms set aside your disagreements in order to meet a common threat. These Raken and the one controlling them would not have left the rest of Eryos unmolested once they were finished with Pellar.”
A huge man, wearing a bearskin cloak, his red leather armour creaking, stepped past Welan and Feryell. His small grey eyes cast a hard look over Cerebus and Elana. “Where is the swordswoman from the island of Myris Dar?” he asked gruffly. “I have a message for her.”
Cerebus blinked in surprise. “Rowan Mor Lanyar is not here, but I believe this battle was truly won by her and a small group of warriors that left fifteen days ago to venture into Krang to confront the Black Rith Miroth. It was he who controlled the Raken and commanded them to attack. The reason that Pellaris was not lost this night was because the Raken were released from Miroth’s spell. That could only have happened if they made it to Lok Myrr and stopped or killed Miroth.”
Welan’s blue eyes sharpened. “I remember them. Rowan was not easily forgotten, with her sword and her odd band of mercenary friends.”
“You met Rowan and Torrin?” asked Elana.
Welan stroked his mustache, lost in a memory. “I did indeed. They make quite an impression. You say they went into Krang to assault Lok Myrr? To kill a black Rith?”
Cerebus nodded, then turned back to the large man in the bearskin. “Forgive me, you are?”
The man turned his head and whistled. Mounted Horse Clansmen trotted forward adorned with red leather armour and bows across their backs, spears couched in the stirrups of their saddles. The big man turned and mounted. “My name is Brynar, Clan Chief of Shorna.” he said as he settled himself. “The horse clans did not come to fight for Pellar; we came to fight for Clan. Many great horses were lost this night and the men who rode them fought bravely. Rowan of Myris Dar was the reason the Horse Clans came, for the Mora’Taith saw her path shadowed in darkness.”
“We can only hope that she and her companions will return to us safely,” said Cerebus. Everyone bowed their heads respectfully, murmuring agreement.
The big Chief pointed up at the moons. All eyes followed his gesture and Elana gasped when she realized what she was looking at.
“It is an omen,” said Brynar. “A sign of the great deeds that have taken place this night. Rowan of Myris Dar is welcome among the Clans. You tell her that if ever you see her again.” He turned his horse and with a clatter of hooves the Horse Clansmen filed back out the gate.
“The message, from the Seers of Danum,” whispered Cerebus as he gazed up at the two moons melded as one.
Cerebus sagged and Elana tried to steady her exhausted husband. She turned to the nearest soldier. “Find a horse for the king, we will return to the keep to see to the damage there.”
Cerebus nodded wearily, the deepest sorrow in his eyes. The city had survived, barely; it would be a long time before Pellaris recovered from the struggle. There was still the Priesthood and its treacherous leadership to contend with.
For now, Elana was content that Cerebus was safe and the people of the city could finally, truly rest without constant fear of impending doom.
Epilogue:
A New Beginning
Torrin took the steps two at a time up through the hatch to the deck of the rolling ship. He glanced around at the activity in the bright sunlight. The white sails snapped in the brisk wind and nimble sailors ran across the scrubbed planks to tighten ropes and trim the canvas sheets.
He searched for his wife – found her at the rail, long, loose golden hair draped over her back, the wind lifting it in waves. He watched her for a moment, enjoying the sight of her lean figure, the curve of cheekbone. Her hand upon the wooden rail looked delicate, but he knew how strong and capable it was. She was looking down at the water next to the prow of the sleek ship, a smile lighting her features – watching the dolphins swim. Ever since they had entered these southern waters the fast, playful creatures had been escorting them.
A laugh sounded behind him and he turned toward it expecting to see Nathel. It wasn’t him, though, only a sailor joking with his mates. Torrin’s chest tightened, he swallowed hard as fresh grief washed over him. It was like that these days, caught in the happiness of the present only to be pulled back suddenly into the pain of loss.
Nathel.
All his years, his younger brother had been a constant in his life. They had been as close as brothers could be. They had fought together, laughed together, slept together in the cold mud to keep from freezing. They had grieved the loss of their parents together and hauled each other out of trouble. Nathel had saved Torrin’s life countless times and Torrin had saved Nathel’s as many.
But not this time.
Torrin looked at Rowan again, moving across the deck toward her. They were so far away from Pellar and Eryos now – it seemed another life.
As he leaned against the ship’s railing and wrapped his arm around her, Rowan turned and smiled up at him. He brushed back strands of her loose hair; she wore it down most of the time now. It was a Myrian custom, she told him – a symbol of new beginnings.
There were new beginnings of many kinds. The passing of Miroth from the world coincided with a transformation taking place in Eryos. Tabor and Klyssen had finally opened treaty negotiations and a tentative truce had been agreed upon. Thaius, the young priest Torrin had met in Pellaris was leading the Priesthood of Erys through the Restoration – had begun moving the teachings out of the political arena and back into the province of spiritual pursuit. The companionship had split, each moving toward new endeavours. With Nathel’s death something had been lost – when the mortar that binds a stone wall fails, the rocks fall and scatter.
Torrin and Rowan stood together for a while and looked out over the sparkling water.
Rowan leaned into Torrin, her hair caressed his cheek. “Do you think Dalemar and Hathunor will manage to find all the Raken?” she asked.
Torrin shrugged. “They will certainly learn a lot from each other while they search.”
Rowan smiled. “I imagine Dalemar will be very powerful when next we see him. I miss them already.”
“So do I.” Torrin hoped they were successful for Hathunor’s sake.
“Arynilas and Borlin must be very near Dan Tynell by now too,” said Rowan.
Torrin nodded and reached into the inside pocket of his tunic, withdrawing a slim leather-bound folder. He opened the cover to reveal an intricate ink drawing of Eryos done in Dalemar’s precise hand. Together they looked at the map the Rith had given them for a wedding gift. It detailed the journey the companions had taken together. There were tiny drawings of places they had seen, people they had met and battles they had fought.
Torrin traced his finger down the page to where Ren and the Black Hills were outlined in black ink. “Borlin will have a way to travel once he leaves Dan Tynell, but Arynilas promised to provide and escort to get him through the War Lord territories. His real work will begin once he reaches the Black Hills and his father – it is never easy to bury old family grievances.”
Rowan turned and faced him. “Do you regret not taking the commission from Cerebus?”
Torrin sighed and tucked the map away. “A part of me wanted to take it. To live up to the expectations of my king and return to the life that I lost, but I have existed in the midst of war long enough. I need there to be more, for the first time in years, I want more. I will not let my sword rust, but for now I am content to spend my days with the woman I love.”
Rowan hugged him. She looked up and grinned. “You will not manage three days without a weapon in your hand, even if it is a practice sword.”
“Is that a challenge?” Torrin laughed.
Rowan’s green eyes sparkled in the sunlight. “Your warrior’s heart will always rise to a challenge, my love,” she whispered.
Torrin hugged her to him and bent down to kiss her. She felt good in his arms, complete. The air was warm this far south, the winter’s chill only a memory and the blue water of the Eryos Ocean was pure and deep.
Somewhere out there on the distant horizon was Myris Dar.
The end
*
The Adventure Continues…
Sample from Book Two of the Stone Guardians:
The Ren Warlord
Torrin’s broadsword sang as he pulled it from the scabbard. With a sweep of his arm, its tip was at the man’s throat. “You will not touch my wife.”
The soldier, swallowed and lifted his hands in surrender. “No offence, no offence. I was only testing the waters. She does not wear the mark.”
“We are not from Ren. Back off.” Torrin pushed until his sword nicked the man’s neck.
Rowan released the grip on her own dagger and stepped between them. “We need to speak with your warlord.” She turned to Torrin and raised her eyebrows.
Torrin lowered his sword. “Bartholimus. He and I are – old friends.”
The soldier blinked and looked from one to the other. “Well why didn’t you just say so!” He turned and motioned for the other soldiers to stand down. “Follow me.”
Torrin and Rowan shared a glance as they stepped after the man. “Let me do the talking. We know what kind of an impression you have made so far,” whispered Torrin.
Rowan scowled. “I would almost welcome the challenge.”
“You may get your wish. I don’t even know if he will remember me.”
They were led through the squalid camp to a large conglomeration of tents. Light glowed within, flooding from the entrance as servants scurried in and out. Torrin eyed the guards outside and their weaponry as they approached, noting those that looked battle hardened and those that did not.
“Wait here.” The soldier ducked through the entrance.
Rowan nudged Torrin, pointing with her glance at the warriors that had subtly surrounded them as they had made their way through the camp. Either to serve as guards or simply because they were bored and curious, Torrin wasn’t sure.
He folded his arms across his chest and waited with Rowan. “If this works we will get safe passage through the southern Ren tip,” he said quietly.
“If it doesn’t?”
“Then we will be taking a hostage.”
Rowan raised her eyebrows. “Let us hope he remembers you.” She turned to face the entrance to the tent as their escort came back out.
The man smiled obsequiously. “Come, come, Bartholimus is always happy to greet old friends.” Torrin felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He and Rowan took a step towards the entrance but the man raised a hand. “No weapons. If you are old friends, then you know what Ren is like.”
Torrin frowned – he was afraid of this. Reluctantly he pulled his sword from its scabbard and handed it over to the guard next to the entrance.
“The lady too.”
Rowan sighed and reached up to pull out her sword as well. The dagger on her hip did not go unnoticed either.
Feeling decidedly exposed, Torrin followed the man into the tent. He reached out for Rowan’s hand as they went through, but there was nothing there. He spun.
She was gone.
“Rowan!” Torrin charged back outside and saw her being dragged away by a group of soldiers.
He launched himself after her, but was pulled up short by spears levelled at him by the guards. He grabbed the closest one and yanked the soldier off his feet as the man tried to hold on. Jabbing as hard as he could, he struck the soldier in the chest and sent him flying
. He spun the spear as the rest came for him.
“Stop! Or she will be killed. I have but to give the order.” The man who had led them here called from behind. “She is feisty but cannot hope to stand against the four men who hold her.”
You don’t know my wife. Torrin smiled grimly as he thought of the small daggers they had each hidden upon themselves before approaching the camp.
Torrin dropped the spear and turned, glowering at the man. “If she comes to any harm, I will kill you first.”
“You have my word. She will not be touched, as long as you are who you say you are.”
Torrin tool a last look at Rowan, who was standing now in the midst of the soldiers. She nodded to him and lifted a clenched fist to her heart. Torrin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Take me to Bartholimus. Let’s get this over with.”
Remembering
Book Two of the Stone Guardians
To find info on the release of Book Two visit:
http://www.thestoneguardians.com/
About the Author
Kindrie Grove is a Canadian-born artist and author. Her works convey the honest truth of animals and legendary subjects with passion, respect and iconic artistic resonance.
Formal training at the Alberta College of Art and Design in Canada has led to her successful career as a professional artist. Kindrie is the author/illustrator of A Field Guide to Horses (Lone Pine Publishing), and has illustrated two children’s books: Little Oolly the Garden Gnome (Dravida Publishing) and Claire’s Bear (Dragonfly Media Publishing).
Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1) Page 58
