Yorien's Hand (The Minstrel's Song Book 3)

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  Shifting restlessly, Oraeyn wondered how many kings had stood in this very place. How many of them had been sure of themselves, and how many had been afraid? He shivered, imagining the ghosts of kings long dead huddled around him. He sensed their presence. Strength. Pride. Regret. Always searching. Always preparing. Always hoping. They kept watch with him, ever-sharing his concern for the welfare of Aom-igh.

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  It was time. Time for another nightmare. In his prison, he felt only pleasure as he stretched out a bit more of his power and touched the mind of his only obstacle. A surge of annoyance swept through him as he remedied his thoughts: the only obstacle he could reach. The other… the other would have to wait until he could reclaim his true form. But his plans were advancing with perfection. Ghrendourak was carrying out his orders well. He had been an excellent choice. Ghrendourak was using his power and his suggestions exactly as the imprisoned one wished. Yochathain, Endalia, and Kallayohm lay in ruins. Efoin-Ebedd was well on its way to joining their fate. It was a mere matter of a few days, or weeks at the most, before he would have what he needed.

  There was the small matter of his enemy, of course. He sneered and shook away the irritating thought. No, he was stronger. He had always been stronger. But he hadn’t always been as cautious as he needed to be. This time it would be different. This time, he would make his foe feel the agony of betrayal, as he had felt so many centuries ago. His enemy would beg for mercy, beg for forgiveness, and beg to become his loyal servant before he was through.

  This was a pleasant thought, and the prisoner lingered over it with loving fondness for a long while. Then he turned his full attention towards the boy. The boy! What a laughable thought, that he might pose a threat! But he had learned to be careful, to be attentive; his enemy had used such weak-seeming pawns before in their endless game of Karradoc—had used them to devastating effect.

  No, he had learned not to ignore any of the Minstrel’s pieces on the board, no matter how insignificant they might appear. That was a mistake he had made too often. But not this time.

  If he had possessed teeth, he would have gnashed them together. The long imprisonment was wearing him down, and he was still rebuilding his strength from the last failure. It would not do for him to lose his focus like this. His full attention was needed upon every detail if he hoped to win this round and taste the freedom he deserved. But he would not be content with mere escape from his bonds, no, he would ascend much higher and take his rightful place as ruler of this pitiful world the Minstrel loved so much. He would grind it beneath his feet and bend it to his will. He would remake it in his own image.

  Reaching out from his prison, he found the boy: he was just drifting off to sleep. With a gleeful snarl, he stretched out a tendril of his power and wove it into the boy’s mind. Of all the possible futures, he wove the one that would hurt the lad the most and then spun the images through his dreams. The boy with the golden sword moaned and tossed in his bed, but did not awaken.

  Exhilarating in his strength, and full of smug satisfaction, he pulled away. His touch would linger, the nightmares would permeate the boy’s dreams, and he would find no rest in sleep. His plans were proceeding, but he must continue to be diligent. He could not see his opponent, could not guess where he would next move. Caution, caution was key above all else, this time.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  He was running along the edge of a high cliff. Kamarie ran beside him. The landscape was unfamiliar and wild, and Oraeyn could not remember how they had traveled here. It was impossible to tell if it was day or night. A wild wind swirled around them, whipping Kamarie’s long hair around her shoulders and across her face. Lightning split the sky as large, cold raindrops began to fall. Thunder rumbled endlessly. There was something urgent tingling in the air. Oraeyn’s heart raced. Time was running out.

  Suddenly Kamarie stopped. When Oraeyn turned to see what was wrong she was standing very still, staring at him in quiet defeat. Although she was only a few feet away, she was unreachable.

  “I can’t run anymore, Oraeyn,” Kamarie shouted above the noise of the wind.

  “I know you’re tired,” Oraeyn shouted back. “But we have to keep going! We’re not safe yet!”

  Kamarie’s shoulders sagged and her expression was one of pain and weariness. Oraeyn grabbed her hand and tugged it sharply.

  “Come on! We have to keep going!”

  Kamarie allowed herself to be pulled along, stumbling and tripping as she tried to keep up. Without warning the ground at the edge of the cliff gave way, and she fell. Oraeyn threw himself to the ground, holding onto her hand as though it were a lifeline. Her weight dragged him to the edge of the cliff. He held onto her wrist with his left hand, and with his right he clutched wildly for something solid to anchor them both. His hand found a rock or a root and he grasped it desperately.

  “Hold on Kamarie!” Oraeyn screamed over the noise of the storm. “I’ll pull you up!”

  Kamarie stared up at him, accusation written in every line of her expression. Oraeyn strained to lift her, but he could feel his strength failing. Tears blinded him and he screamed in frustration. His right hand slipped and his heart sank with the knowledge that he did not have the strength to do what needed to be done.

  “Oraeyn,” Kamarie’s voice was quiet, but it rang out over the thunder and the wind and the rain. “Oraeyn.”

  “Kamarie, I can’t pull you up, I can’t.”

  “I know,” she said softly, calmly. “Let go.”

  “What?” Oraeyn shouted. “I can’t do that! I’ll never let you go! I may die here but I won’t let go!”

  “Oraeyn, you have to go on, you have to find…” her words were drowned out by the storm. Then she screamed at him, her voice rising above the maelstrom, “Let go, you have to go on! Go! If you don’t, all will be lost.”

  “I don’t care!”

  Kamarie’s face turned sad. “I love you,” she said wistfully, and then slipped from his grasp.

  “NO!” Oraeyn shouted, reaching, reaching…

  “Sire?” the concerned voice cut through the dream, drowning out the noise of the storm. “Sire, are you all right?”

  Reaching… and then he reached too far. Oraeyn tumbled over the edge of the cliff. He tried to scream but his voice failed him. He felt himself falling, and he flailed wildly in the air, his hands grappling in an attempt to catch hold of something, anything, but nothing could save him now and he was falling, falling…

  Oraeyn woke with a start and a yell as he hit the floor. He had rolled to the edge of the bed in his sleep and the floor was harder than he would have thought. Still caught in the remains of the nightmare he thrashed about, attempting to free himself from the tangle of blankets and sheets that had wrapped themselves around his limbs. After a few moments of struggle he managed to stand up. He gasped for breath like a drowning man and then his head began to clear. He was dry and whole, and he was half surprised and wholly relieved to find that he was not lying amidst the knife-like rocks at the base of the cliffs in his dream.

  “A dream,” Oraeyn breathed in relief, and he sat down on the edge of his bed. “Just another nightmare.”

  “Sire?”

  Oraeyn blinked at the concerned servant, his head felt fuzzy and gritty from having just woken up. “I’m all right now, Emyth. Thank you for waking me.”

  “Yes, Sire,” the servant backed respectfully out of the room. “I will be nearby if Your Majesty needs me.”

  “Thank you, Emyth.”

  The servant disappeared and Oraeyn sat on his bed trying to calm his racing heart. With shaky hands he threw open the window and let the rays of the Dragon’s Eye wash over his face, welcoming its warmth. A bird chirped its merriment to the world, and there was not even a hint of clouds in the sky. Despite finding himself safely in his own room, remnants of the nightmare clung to him.

  When he regained a bit of calm, Oraeyn began to lay out his cl
othes for the day. The normalcy of the chore helped to dispel what remained of the nightmare, but he wondered how much more he could take. He was not sure how long the pattern had existed, but it occurred to him that each night had been the same for many weeks now. Each night he dreamed that he lost someone he cared about. Most of the time they ordered him to go on without them and each one of them firmly believed that he was supposed to do something important. Even more disturbing than the dreams themselves were the words they had all used: “Go! If you don’t, all will be lost.”

  Oraeyn sat down and yawned. He was more exhausted each morning than the previous night. Perhaps not sleeping at all would be preferable to experiencing the nightmares. He determined to talk with Zara. Perhaps she could prevent these dreams and allow him at least one full night of desperately needed sleep. Still yawning, Oraeyn crossed the room and immersed his face and head into the basin of cold water set near his bed. The shock helped clear away the remnants of the dream as he prepared fading energy for a dawning day.

  His head felt fuzzy as he began to get dressed, but he shrugged his own discomfort away and pushed through the fog that clouded his mind. He was determined to ignore his weariness as best he could. He was just about to leave the room when someone knocked on his door.

  “Yes?” he called out, through the door.

  Brant entered the room in several strong, fluid, silent strides. Brant could cross a crowded room before anyone even noticed he had moved. Brant did not walk so much as he seemed to glide. It was the mark of an assassin, but Brant was hardly a hired killer. Anyone born and raised in Llycaelon could move with similar stealth and grace. It was a trait Oraeyn envied and had attempted more than once to emulate. Brant had begun teaching him the warrior art, but Oraeyn knew it was a skill he would never master in the same way. Aethalons began learning the art as soon as they could walk, and people in Llycaelon lived much longer than people in other lands. Brant had seen the passing of seven decades and was still judged to be young. Most people in Aom-igh would guess that Brant was in his mid-to-late thirties.

  “Kamarie says Dylanna is missing.” Brant had never been one for small talk, and he cut straight at the heart of what he wanted to talk about without preamble.

  Oraeyn nodded. “And Leila as well. I have not heard from either of them in several days.”

  “I spoke with Zara. She is much more worried than she lets on. She’s used every tactic she can think of and nothing has worked.”

  “We’re asking the dragons for help in the search,” Oraeyn replied. “When my messages returned from the Harshlands unanswered I began to feel troubled. We all know Leila would never let one of my birds return unrested or unfed, no matter what experiment she might be in the middle of.”

  Brant nodded. “That’s a good idea. But that’s not all that can be done, you know. You have risen late, for being worried.”

  Oraeyn bit back the urge he felt to snap at Brant. He refused to let his headache or weariness make him speak rash words. He looked at his friend and took in the disheveled hair and the hint of wildness in Brant’s aspect and his irritation melted in a surge of sympathy. He knew how distraught he would be if it were Kamarie who had vanished.

  “I’m anxious as well,” Oraeyn kept his tone mild. “I did not mean to sleep late.”

  Brant nodded tersely, accepting the unspoken apology in Oraeyn’s tone. “Kamarie and Zara were up with the dawn. They contacted Yole and have been searching for several hours already. So far the search has yielded no results.”

  Oraeyn could feel his headache growing more intense, with a promise to become much worse in the very near future, but he pushed it away, ignoring it as best he could. “We will find them,” he said in a tone that sounded much more confident than he felt.

  “Oraeyn, this is more than just a search for a couple of people who are missing,” Brant began, his voice sharp. “Kamarie told me about the messages you received. I have received similar reports from my contacts. Why didn’t you tell me about them sooner? This threat is not one to be taken lightly.”

  Oraeyn interrupted, all the while commanding himself to keep his tone even, remembering that it was Brant’s feelings for Dylanna speaking, “I know that. You don’t think I am aware of Dylanna and Leila’s importance to this kingdom? Brant, I rely on them more than anyone.”

  Brant gave a single, impatient shake of his head. “Listen, you cannot treat this as if it’s normal. Don’t you think it’s strange? Two wizardesses disappear and no magic can find them? Zara says they’re not dead, she told me she’d know if that happened. This is not something we can shrug off, something is very wrong.”

  Oraeyn’s tenuous grasp on his self-restraint slipped. “I’m doing all I can, Brant, everything that can be done to find them is being done, I’m sorry you’re worried, but your yelling at me is not going to fix this problem,” the heated words were out before Oraeyn could stop them, his voice far sharper than he meant it to be.

  He regretted the words the moment they were out and he turned away from Brant, taking long strides across the room to calm his anger. He struggled to bring himself away from the edge. He did not want to snap at anyone, least of all Brant. He wished, not for the first time, that Brant would just admit that he felt more than mere affection for Dylanna, instead of trying to hide it from everyone, even himself.

  “Oraeyn,” Brant’s voice was calm, “I am not here because Dylanna is the one who is missing.”

  Oraeyn concealed a groan, wondering yet again how the man was always able to ascertain what he was thinking. He would have pondered that question longer, but Brant was still talking.

  “I’m trying to tell you that this is just the beginning.”

  “The beginning of what?” Oraeyn was starting to feel exasperated.

  “I’m not sure, yet. The reports of invading armies trouble me. The seheowks attacking the borders of my own country are far more organized than they have ever been, and their numbers are increasing. I do not know what has caused the change. I believe they are linked, but I do not yet understand how.”

  As he finished speaking Kamarie entered through the still-open door with Yole, Arnaud, and Zara trailing close behind her. They all wore expressions filled with varying degrees of unease and frustration. Arnaud’s arm was around Zara in a comforting gesture, but Oraeyn thought it looked like Zara needed help standing more than she needed comforting. They all looked weary, and Oraeyn realized just how late he had slept.

  “Did everyone rise with the dawn this morning?” Oraeyn snapped, his tone filled with irritation, though it was himself he was vexed with.

  Kamarie looked at him in bewilderment and she opened her mouth to respond to his sarcasm, but then thought better of it and closed her mouth. Oraeyn wondered at that, it was not like Kamarie to refrain from speaking her mind.

  Instead, her words were directed towards the heart of the matter at hand. “Yole says…” she stopped. “You explain it, Yole.”

  The boy stepped forward and Oraeyn was struck by how much older he appeared. Even though Yole was still a child by dragon standards, his three years with his people were evident in numerous small ways. His eyes glowed with an inner fire, and their color, which could have once been termed light brown, was now decidedly and indisputably golden. There was a tilt to his head that bespoke confidence, and he held himself taller, always conscious that his small human frame was not his true form. He spoke with more self-assurance, no longer the timid orphan with no place in the world. And there was an air of poise about him that had not been there before. He wore his human form with more comfort than the other dragons, but his true nature was beginning to shine through. Brant had taught Oraeyn how to recognize myth-folk in disguise, and Oraeyn had noticed that dragons were the easiest to spot. There was something ancient, wise, and cunning about them, a power that could not be easily concealed.

  “The long and short of it is that I can’t find either of them, plain and simple, they don’t exis
t,” Yole’s words pulled Oraeyn out of his reverie.

  Yole had not yet acquired the dragons’ formal speech. Though he sometimes sounded a little like Rhendak, most of the time he still spoke like a street urchin.

  “What do you mean?” Oraeyn asked.

  Yole shrugged helplessly. “I’m not sure. I linked with Zara to try finding them. Together, we should have been more than strong enough, no matter how far away they might be. It should have been enough even if they were shielded by their experiment. But they’re just not there. When I was linked to Zara I could sense through her bond with them that they are alive, but it’s like they’ve been cut off from magic itself.”

  “How is that possible? Who could have done something like this?” Oraeyn felt like someone had punched him in the stomach, driving away his breath.

  Everyone gave him blank looks. Zara’s face grew pinched and lines that had not been there before deepened, making her look a hundred years older. Kamarie turned her head questioningly, staring at him in disbelief. Yole hissed, a sudden intake of breath as he caught Oraeyn’s words and comprehended their meaning.

  “Why do you think there might be someone behind this?” Arnaud asked after a meaningful pause.

  Oraeyn turned the question over in his mind for a moment and then dropped his shoulders with a sense of surrender. He had not meant to speak aloud his worst fear, but the words had flown from his lips and there was no retrieving them.

  “Dylanna and Leila are two of the most powerful allies this kingdom has,” Oraeyn began, choosing his words with care. “They disappear without a trace, and no power we possess can locate them. Add to that the messages I have received about an invading force spreading across the world, the recent increase in seheowk activity around Llycaelon, and the nightmares that have been plaguing my sleep for the past several weeks. All are troubling on their own, but together they begin to reveal a truly sinister picture.” Oraeyn hesitated, unwilling to reveal his own weakness, but then he plunged on in what felt like a confession, “There is dread in my own heart, and I am anxious about what is coming. I have no idea what it is, but even the ghosts of kings long dead seem to have grown restless. I… I have felt them, walking the halls of the palace. For weeks now I have been plagued with terrible nightmares every night: dreams so real that I wake up exhausted and have to convince myself the horrors did not actually happen. I believe they are a warning, but of what I do not know and cannot guess. Something or someone wielding a great and terrible power is rising up against us, and I fear that whatever or whoever it is has taken Leila and Dylanna captive.”