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

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  In a rush of gigantic wings and a hurricane of wind, three dragons descended. Although he had seen dragons many times before, Oraeyn was awed once again by their size and impressive appearance. Yole introduced his two companions as Thorayenak and Rhimmell.

  Thorayenak was a beast of intimidating size with bright red scales and copper-colored wings. His reptilian eyes were a deep copper with flecks of gold and Oraeyn remembered just in time not to stare too long into them. Rhimmell, on the other hand, was more petite, though still larger than Yole, who had not yet reached his adult size. Her scales were emerald in color and silver, translucent wings folded delicately along her back. Her eyes were a pale blue. She landed behind Thorayenak and ducked her head in silent greeting. Yole, in his dragon form had deep red, almost maroon scales, and golden wings. His eyes, however, still retained their human shape and size, albeit with very odd coloring. For whatever reason, perhaps because he had only learned he was a dragon three years ago, Yole did not have typical dragon’s eyes. One could look into them and not become lost, no matter what form he took.

  Thorayenak and Rhimmell nodded respectfully to Brant and Oraeyn, and then both dragons bowed low before Kiernan Kane. Startled, Oraeyn shared a confused glance with Kamarie. She shrugged, but looked intrigued.

  “Minstrel,” Thorayenak’s voice was low, “it is my honor.”

  Kiernan’s lips were quirked upwards. “As it is my own.”

  Rhimmell also inclined her head.

  Oraeyn felt concerned. “We appreciate your offer, but are you both certain you are willing to endure this hazardous journey? We can go by ship if need be.”

  Rhimmell gave him a scathing look. “Do not be ridiculous,” she snapped. “Young Yole was right to ask for our help, despite the indignity. Do not tarnish his request with inane suggestions. The Minstrel,” there was reverence in her tone as she indicated Kiernan, “warns of an enemy that threatens all you know, and you would refuse a generosity that may be the difference between victory or defeat?”

  Oraeyn stared. He was used to speaking with various dragons, but the ones he had interacted with all maintained a dignified regality, as well as a mien of esteem towards him and the position he held as king of Aom-igh. Rhimmell’s sharp tone and sharper words took him aback.

  “Forgive me,” he stammered. “I did not mean offense.”

  “Then do not offend. Accept what has been offered with grace,” Rhimmell replied. “Minstrel,” there was that strange tone of admiration again, “if it please thee, I will carry thee on this quest.”

  Kiernan simpered vapidly. “Of course, of course, my good scaly one.”

  Oraeyn almost expected that to be the end of Kiernan Kane, but to his everlasting surprise, Rhimmell merely chuckled and lowered herself to allow the minstrel to clamber up her foreleg and settle into the spot between her shoulder blades.

  “Is this all of us?” Thorayenak’s deep voice questioned.

  Brant, unruffled by the presence of the dragons, but rather disconcerted by their obvious deference to Kiernan, simply nodded. “It is.”

  “Very well. I shall carry you, Dark Firebrand, and Yole will take the King and his Sylph. It’s a beautiful day for flying, despite the urgency of our mission,” Thorayenak said. “Shall we be off?”

  Without a word, the four travelers climbed up onto the dragon’s backs, and Oraeyn felt a sudden excitement about the journey ahead as he settled himself between Yole’s golden wings. Kamarie sat close behind him, her arms around his waist. He clasped a hand over hers, silently revisiting his vow to protect her, no matter what. Then the dragons lifted off the ground with several strokes of their powerful wings and all doubts and trepidation paled in comparison to the thrill of flying. Even the threat of facing a mighty, nameless foe, even the memory of his nightmares could not cast a pall over the excitement that mounted in Oraeyn’s heart as they flew up to meet the morning.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Dylanna moaned. She had been trapped in this prison for an eternity. Every time she slept a dream rose up to ensnare her, but she was on her guard now and avoided the traps laid for her. She had seen her sweetest dreams come to life before her, but she had forsaken all of them. The pain of shattered dreams diminished with repetition.

  So many dreams, and she had managed to deny herself all of them. She had seen herself high on a hill wearing a golden crown and wielding power that subdued the nations. She had been happily married to Brant. She had spent time as a mermaid, reunited with her mother and sister in the depths of the ocean. She had lived many lives and accomplished many things. She had been offered power, wealth, comfort, and love, but she had known the lies for what they were and had rejected them all. Better the uncertainty of reality than the guarantee of illusion.

  The newest enemy Dylanna faced was boredom. The wizardess’s muscles ached from hours of disuse. She burned up from the inside out. Her arms and legs screamed at her, begging for movement. She methodically tensed and released each muscle in her body, but the minuscule movement offered scant relief. Her mind was numb and lethargic. She had long since stopped caring about the passage of time.

  There was no jailer; no one came to gloat over her capture. Dylanna had exhausted her ideas for escape, and besides the dreams nothing threatened her. She drifted, floating in her state of imprisonment. Thinking was a chore. The dreams left her weary and spent. She was being spread thin until there was nothing of herself left. Her emotions had been dulled by her endless hours—perhaps days, weeks, or even years—in this prison of nothingness.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Kamarie clung to Oraeyn, her arms around his waist, her face lifted up as the wind ruffled her long hair. She laughed, the joy of flying welling up within her and filling her completely. Everything else faded into mist as they soared high above the ground. She could not fathom how the dragons could have surrendered themselves to their underground prison for a single day, let alone centuries. After experiencing freedom such as this, how could they have willingly given it up?

  Even as this occurred to her, Kamarie pondered. The dragons had fled the upper realm of Aom-igh and gone into hiding. But why had they chosen to do so? Surely they were more than capable of destroying a human enemy. Dragons were massive, powerful, and had the advantage of flight and magical strength. Few wizards remained in the world, even at the time of the dragons’ retreat into Krayghentaliss. Why had they not fought for their right to live above ground?

  She leaned forward. “Yole,” she asked, shouting to be heard above the rushing wind and beating wings. “Why didn’t the dragons fight to stay above-ground?”

  “What do you mean?” Yole rumbled back.

  “I mean why did they allow themselves to be herded underground to Krayghentaliss in the first place? They simply disappeared into the tunnels without a fight. Why?”

  “I never thought to ask that,” Yole replied.

  Thorayenak drifted closer. “A few wished to do as you suggest and fight for our right to remain above ground, it is true,” he said, entering the conversation. “But King Graldon preferred the way of peace. Most agreed with him. Humanity is frail compared to us, but the Minstrel holds your race in high regard. Our esteem for your people is an extension of our regard for him. To lay waste to your people would have caused him to be disappointed in us. And most of our people did not wish for that to happen.”

  “The minstrel?” Brant asked, from the dragon’s back. “What minstrel?”

  Thorayenak bared his fangs and snaked his neck to indicate towards Rhimmell, who was flying off to the left and just beyond hearing distance. The three riders and Yole stared at Kiernan Kane, atop the green dragon. He appeared to be constantly on the verge of tumbling from the dragon’s back and falling through the air. Kamarie was not sure how anyone could be quite so awkward all the time. Riding a dragon was not as hard as the poor minstrel made it look. However, in spite of his apparent struggles, Kiernan seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself.

&nb
sp; “You cannot be serious,” Brant said, his voice flat.

  “Kiernan?” Kamarie asked. “That doesn’t make any sense, Kiernan can’t be old enough to have even been alive when the dragons descended into Krayghentaliss.”

  Thorayenak tilted slightly from side to side, but remained silent.

  Oraeyn ran his hand across the back of his neck. Then he said, “For a dragon, you have a strange sense of humor.”

  “Believe what you wish,” Thorayenak replied. “But I am sure you have noticed oddities about the Minstrel, things that cannot be explained. Someday, you may come to regard him as my people do.” Thorayenak veered away, leaving Kamarie, Oraeyn, and Yole to reflect on what the older dragon had intimated about their beloved, bumbling Kiernan Kane.

  The sensation that was stirred within Kamarie by their flight chased away all else. Her fears for Oraeyn and the implications of what he was being asked to do slid to the back of her mind. The minstrel’s story and the chill its telling had sent creeping through her faded away into meaningless mist. The sky was a clear, bright blue, and they were flying up above the clouds. Kamarie looked down at the tops of the clouds and grinned. They looked like a white city, with peaks spiraling up to meet them. Some of the cloud-towers climbed so high that the dragons simply flew straight through them. Kamarie had been vaguely disappointed to discover that the great white fluffy things were merely a very thick fog. Her disappointment did not detract from her enjoyment of the experience, however.

  “Just like the way we met, don’t you think?” Kamarie whispered into Oraeyn’s ear. “You and me, setting off on an adventure to who knows where?”

  “I was just thinking that. This is almost our entire company, minus Dylanna, of course.”

  Kamarie sobered. “I wonder what happened to Aunt Dylanna and Aunt Leila,” she said quietly.

  “They know how to take care of themselves,” Oraeyn said in reassuring tones. “Don’t worry, we’ll find them.”

  Kamarie sighed and then glanced over at Kiernan once more. She could not hear him, but she could see that he was laughing. She drew Oraeyn’s attention to the bard.

  “Why do you think he isn’t more worried about Leila?” Kamarie asked. “Brant is distraught over Dylanna’s disappearance, and Kiernan has a flare for the dramatic. It’s surprising he hasn’t mentioned her.”

  “I’m not sure what Kiernan Kane is, but I don’t think that he is what any of us believed him to be. Did you see the way Brant’s face changed when Kiernan was telling the story about Llewstor yesterday? And how the dragons esteem him? I’m still not sure what to think about what Thorayenak just told us. But if Kiernan’s not worried about Leila, then it either means he believes she is in no danger or is capable of taking care of herself.”

  Kamarie nodded, appreciating Oraeyn’s insight on the matter. She, too, had seen a subtle change in the minstrel and wondered at it. She had always liked the funny, awkward man, but now she realized he had a deeper, possibly darker side. It did not frighten her as she felt it should have, she believed with a surprising certainty that whatever Kiernan Kane was, he was not evil.

  “Well, here we are again,” Kamarie said lightly, changing the subject. “I wonder what this journey will bring us?”

  “More than we expect probably.”

  Kamarie leaned her head against Oraeyn’s shoulder, her heart full of something she could not express. She was still afraid for him, but she was glad they were together. Oraeyn felt the warmth of her cheek against his back and knew instinctively that he had been forgiven for his harsh words from the day before. He squeezed her hand wordlessly. He was suddenly fiercely glad she had insisted on coming along.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  At first Devrin did not see her. Then the woman stepped into the glow cast by his cook fire and Devrin lowered the ladle he clutched in his hand, his consternation calmed and his curiosity peaked. He squinted, cursing the strange twilight which played tricks on his vision.

  From where had she appeared? He could not picture her moving through the camp without raising some sort of alarm or curiosity, but there was no commotion to indicate that anyone else had seen her. She moved towards him another pace, her gait hesitant but graceful, her face open and innocent. He knew instinctively that she meant him no harm.

  She was beautiful. Tall and slender with pale, almost translucent skin, with long, blond hair so light it was closer to silver than gold. She peered out at him from behind long lashes, her eyes a pale green; he could have sworn that as the light failed, they actually glowed. She was small-boned and fragile, her face that of a pixie or a fairy from the storybooks he had read as a child. She wore a dress made of a wispy, forest green material that flowed around her as she moved.

  She seemed somehow familiar, her face similar to one he had seen in a dream that he could not quite remember. He stepped forward to take her hand and welcome her, wondering as he did so why she was there.

  “Welcome, my lady,” he said gallantly, and he would have continued, but then his hand met hers and he stopped short, his fingers tightening slightly about hers.

  She was a dragon.

  He did not know how the knowledge came to him, it was simply there. It sprang into his mind, unbidden. She certainly did not look like a dragon, he thought to himself. He tried to laugh away the ridiculous idea, but it refused to leave. It was a simple certainty that filled him, and he knew what she was as surely as he knew his own name.

  The dragon did not appear to notice his sudden hesitation, nor his inner struggle. If she guessed that he knew her secret, she did not show it or seem concerned. Neither did she attempt to remove her hand from his grasp.

  “I am called Shentallyia,” her voice rang out like the gentle music of wind chimes. It burst through Devrin’s ears and filled his head. He heard her name being repeated over and over again in his mind.

  Shentallyia.

  “Devrin. Me. I am, that is,” Devrin blurted in a burst of eloquence. He stood there, tongue-tied and kicking himself, internally urging his mouth to speak, but unable to utter another syllable.

  There was another moment of awkward silence. Shentallyia stared, her mint-green gaze bored through him, one delicate brow raised in a quizzical expression, a searching quality to her gaze. Devrin wondered what she was looking for. He hoped she found it, whatever it was. After a moment, he realized that she was waiting for him to speak. He also became aware of the fact that he was still clutching her hand in his own. He relaxed his fingers, releasing her from his grasp.

  “Won’t you join me?” he asked, the words coming in a rush. He gestured at the campfire and the logs placed around it. He wished, again, that he had not burned all the tents.

  She ducked her head and seated herself primly on a log, her movements graceful. She surveyed his camp with a single, sweeping glance. Devrin shifted uncomfortably, hoping she liked what she saw. He did not know why it felt so important that she be impressed. She caught sight of the bubbling pot over the fire.

  “You were about to eat,” she sounded distraught, “I should have waited.”

  “No, no, don’t worry,” Devrin said quickly, wanting to put her at ease. “Please, it’s all right, I don’t mind. In fact, can I offer you some dinner? I would be honored to dine with you.”

  At his words, Shentallyia relaxed. “I would be most pleased to share a meal with you.”

  Devrin ladled the stew into two separate bowls and handed one to her, along with a chunk of hard bread. They busied themselves with the food for a while. Questions filled Devrin’s mind, but they raced through his thoughts with such overwhelming force that he did not know what to say first.

  “This is not the way that I imagined it would be,” Shentallyia admitted, breaking the silence. “I did not realize you would feel like a stranger.”

  “Why are you here?” Devrin asked, his curiosity helping him find his tongue.

  “To meet you,” she said, her tone indicated that this should be obvio
us.

  Caution flooded into Devrin’s thoughts. The girl was a dragon, he was sure of that. He no longer felt that incredible certainty he had experienced when he touched her hand, but he knew it, nonetheless. However, she must be hiding what she really was, or why else would she appear in human form? There was only one way to find out if she was hiding her identity.

  “What are you?” he asked.

  She seemed a bit taken aback. Her expression turned guarded, and she stared at him. Hurt and disappointment filled her face. Devrin felt the strength of her dismay overwhelm him and wished he had not asked.

  “Don’t you know?” her voice quavered.

  Devrin was not entirely certain they were talking about the same thing anymore. The conversation was getting nowhere with both of them being distant and cautious. He decided it was past time for at least one of them to be honest.

  “You’re a dragon.”

  Her expression altered from disappointment to surprise. At length, Shentallyia nodded, her movements slow and deliberate. There was a bit of respect in her expression now, and Devrin felt he had regained a modicum of control over the conversation.

  “What do you want?” Devrin demanded. “Why did you come here?”

  Shentallyia swallowed hard. “I came because there was no other option. You called me. I came because you’re my ward.”

  “Your what?”

  Shentallyia took a deep breath. “I did not expect this to be so difficult. This is not the way they describe it—but then, none of the Kin alive have ever had a ward, perhaps they do not know.” She caught Devrin’s confused look and paused. “I will try to explain. Many years ago, when the world was still young, dragons and humans did not have such distrust between them. Some dragons were even linked to human children who were born with an innate empathy for dragons. These children were known as dragon wards.”