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

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  “I did all that? I don’t remember much of it.”

  “You fought like a warrior king of old.”

  Jemson grinned ruefully and shook his head. “Unfortunately I’m simply me, not some unconquerable hero stepped out of a legend… obviously,” he touched the bandage on his head and grimaced. “Where’s Devrin?”

  Shentallyia gestured towards the place where she had last seen Devrin, but he was no longer there. Frantically, she scanned the battlefield until she spotted him. Her breath caught in a gasp. Devrin was cornered on a ledge that jutted out into the gap. His back was against the stone of the cliff wall. There was no retreat. The seheowks surrounded him, just as they had surrounded Jemson. Shentallyia felt frozen as she watched the scene unfold before her. She wanted to change shape and fly to her ward’s rescue, but she could not make herself move from where she stood.

  Jemson followed her gaze, his eyes catching sight of the captain’s peril. In a moment he assessed the situation and understood that the probability of Devrin’s survival was slim. He took a hasty step towards the battle without hesitation.

  “What are you doing?” Shentallyia shouted at him. “You are in no condition to walk, let alone fight. Don’t you see the danger?”

  Jemson threw a smile over his shoulder. “The only danger I see, is his.”

  “He hates you.”

  Jemson nodded, a quizzical look on his face. “I know. I haven’t figured out why... but it doesn’t matter. I don’t hate him.”

  His words jerked Shentallyia out of her numbness. She looked at him in amazement, stunned by his courage, his quiet acceptance of the peril he faced, and his determination to run to battle when one of his men was in need. His bravery shamed her. She grabbed his arm, halting his progress.

  “No, Jemson, young king of Llycaelon, it is my turn. You recognized me from the moment you saw me, but you never asked for help. You are a different kind of king. You seek to bring help rather than demand it. Well, Sire, my help is yours to command.”

  Jemson looked at her in grim defiance, his lips pressed together in a determined line. Then he nodded. There was a sudden blinding light in the air around her and Jemson blinked. His eyes were only closed for a fraction of a second, but when he opened them again, Shentallyia was gone.

  A gust of wind on his face made Jemson look up at the sky. An enormous, scaled dragon soared across the battlefield, its body glinting like emeralds as lightning flashed between the clouds.

  Jemson looked back to where Devrin was fighting and he saw that the battle had become a desperate struggle against overwhelming odds. Devrin had come out of the frenzy that had gripped him and become aware of the dire straits into which he had plunged. Even from where Jemson was standing he could see that Devrin’s entire manner had changed. The captain of the Border Patrol was now fighting for his life, struggling to get away from the enemy creatures that swarmed about him and attempted to pull him from the ledge down into their midst. No longer caught up in his battle rage, Devrin’s movements bespoke exhaustion and desperation. Jemson gazed skyward once more , searching for Shentallyia, and breathing a sigh of relief as the dragon reappeared.

  Shentallyia hurled herself down from behind the clouds, bathing the enemy in waves of flame as she neared the ground. The seheowks checked their advance at the onslaught of this new threat. A few of them cowered at the sight of their greatest and most dreaded enemy bearing down upon them. The aethalons stared up at the great beast with expressions of mingled dismay and hope on their weary faces. Jemson wondered briefly if any of them had ever seen a dragon before, or if any of them but he even knew the name of the creature.

  The dragon swooped towards Devrin in a streak of green and silver. The aethalons watched in horror, fearful for their captain’s safety, but too stunned to make a move towards him. She clawed her way through the seheowks, crushing them beneath her mighty talons until she had cleared them away from Devrin. She turned, shielding him with her body. Fire poured from her mouth, making the seheowks reel back in terror. The orange flame consumed any who were not fast enough. The dragon fire was not affected by the rain, and the flames Shentallyia breathed did not die but swept through the ranks of the enemy, devouring any that stood too close to those who were already burning. Jemson found himself jabbing his fist into the air as he recognized the crackling flames from earlier in the battle and realized that the sudden burst of fire had been Shentallyia’s doing.

  Next, the dragon reached out a huge, silver-clawed foreleg and scooped up the nearest seheowk. She tossed the creature in the air and caught it between her sharp golden teeth. The seheowk disappeared down the long, green neck, and the rest of the creatures retreated swiftly, stumbling over each other in their terror.

  Then the dragon rose up into the air again with powerful strokes of her silver wings. The aethalons strained to see what had become of their captain, but Devrin was gone. Somebody among the Border Patrol let out a wail that was a mixture of grief, anger, and despair. Someone else caught up the wail and it soared into the sky, only to be cut off by sudden shouts and gasps of disbelief. Devrin was seated astride the dragon, perched securely between the great wings.

  “What is it?” one of the men near Jemson cried out in terror. “Yet another kind of monster? It will take the captain back to its lair and then return to finish off the rest of us!”

  “No,” Jemson replied, his strong, calm voice ringing out over the dismayed wails of the men of the Border Patrol. “It is a dragon, a friend from Aom-igh. See how the seheowks fear her?”

  And as the aethalons watched, they saw that what the king said was true: the seheowks were scrambling back to the ocean, dropping their weapons in their haste to get away. The dragon swooped down again; pouring flame into the midst of the enemy. Devrin’s broadsword flashed, this time from the back of the dragon. Together, the two of them thoroughly routed the seheowk horde. The aethalons, heartened beyond compare by what they witnessed gave a mighty cry and returned to battle. Slowly, but with steady certainty, the seheowks were driven from Llycaelon back into the sea.

  CHAPTER

  FIFTEEN

  The small company stared down into the yawning maw that gaped up at them from the ground. Oraeyn gritted his teeth. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His muscles strained as he gripped the sword, holding the door open.

  Kamarie pushed against Yole’s great, scaled forearm in nervous desperation, wishing she could help. Brant stood on the edge of the portal his neck craning, searching for any sign of Kiernan’s return. Even the dragons were tense as they waited. Rhimmell’s tail swished back and forth, beating an anxious rhythm through the air and intermittently slapping into the water. Time moved with interminable stiffness, seconds turned into years that dragged by with agonizing sluggishness.

  “I see him!” Brant’s exclamation broke through the tension.

  They peered into the portal. The form of the minstrel appeared. He was small, as if still a long distance off, but there was a light around him that pushed the gloom away. He moved slowly, struggling against the portal that gripped him, denying his escape with all its strength. As he drew closer, Oraeyn felt a great pressure on his arms. The doorway was trying to close. He fell to his knees, and the sword slipped a few more inches into the mouth of the portal.

  “I… can’t… hold it anymore,” he gasped.

  Brant looked at him sharply. “You have to.”

  “Brant, I… it’s too heavy, the portal is pulling the sword away from me! I can’t hold it!”

  “Be strong, Oraeyn,” Brant commanded, “you have to hold the doorway open or our friends will be stuck inside forever.”

  Oraeyn stared at Brant, his face anguished, his breath coming in great gulping gasps. Brant met his gaze quietly, his expression filled with confidence and calm assurance. Oraeyn gritted his teeth and lowered his head in determination. As the minstrel came closer, the sword was yanked into the portal all the way to the hilt. Oraeyn cried out in pain.
Kamarie took a step forward, forgetting her own terror in her concern for her beloved. Yole wrapped a great claw around her, stopping her in her tracks.

  “He must do this alone,” Yole said. “I do not know much about magic yet, but I do know that you must not interfere with it until it is finished.”

  “But I can help him.”

  “No,” Yole replied, “you can’t.”

  “Please, Yole.”

  Yole shook his head solemnly and Kamarie buried her face in her arms to hide her frightened tears. Oraeyn cried out again and Kamarie dropped to the ground in an agony of helplessness.

  “The Youngling is correct,” Rhimmell added her voice to the discussion. “Oraeyn must hold the door open alone. You would only hinder his efforts.”

  At last... at last... Kiernan Kane stepped out of the portal. He was holding Leila up, helping her walk. Her arm was draped around his neck; she barely had the strength to put one foot in front of the other. The minstrel’s face was worn and haggard. As he emerged through the doorway Oraeyn gasped with relief and the strain lifted from his features. The blade of his sword remained inside the portal, but he no longer struggled as if against an unseen foe.

  “Where is Dylanna?” Brant demanded.

  Kiernan laid Leila down with exceedingly gentle movements and then stood. His shoulders slumped and his expression was sorrowful.

  “Portals are abstruse,” he said. “Like the Corridor they have their own set of rules. I assumed this one would be similar... and I have paid the price for my arrogance. You see, the Corridor can only accept one entrant at a time and escape is offered with every decision; however, this portal will take many entrants and escape is never an option. When I stepped inside, I could sense Leila immediately. I assumed Dylanna would be with her. But once I found Leila, the sense that guided me vanished. I had no idea which direction to look. Leila was on the verge of death, and I had no star to direct my course. I was blind to any path but the one I had already taken, for I went willingly into the portal, while the wizardesses did not.

  “I believe a certain kind of awareness or sensibility can alter the portal’s intent. Though the portal did not want me to find Leila, it could not prevent me. But once I had found her, it could prevent me from all else except escape.”

  Leila groaned and shuddered violently. Her face was ashen and drawn. Kiernan knelt next to her. He dipped a small handkerchief into the ocean and began wiping her forehead gently with the damp cloth.

  “Are you going back inside?” Brant asked after a moment.

  Kiernan looked up, defeat and anguish on his face, his chest heaved as he attempted to catch his breath. “Brant... I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I could walk right past Dylanna and not even know she was there. I cannot sense her presence inside the portal.”

  “But I know she is here,” Brant pleaded. “I can feel it...”

  Kiernan gazed up at the warrior, his blue eyes full of many things he did not say, but his gaze told Brant all he needed to know. He knew what he must do, and it was the only thing he cared to do. Before anyone could stop him, Brant dove into the yawning maw.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Justan paced along the top of the wall surrounding the palace, his gaze turned to the east, out across the sea in the direction King Oraeyn had flown with his companions. He sighed and surveyed the surrounding land. Though it had only been a few days since Oraeyn had left him in charge of Aom-igh, the once-vibrant greens of the forests and rolling hills of grass had sickened, turning yellow and brown. The strange disease spread with eerie speed, and Justan worried that it was a forerunner to the armies of were-folk King Oraeyn had warned him might be coming.

  He felt someone approach and then a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder. He put his own hand over Rena’s, comforted by his wife’s presence. He sighed slightly, remembering how they had met.

  It was the night of the great feast to celebrate the new alliance with Llycaelon. Rena was standing against the wall, not really taking part in the celebration. Justan saw her and felt his heart skip a beat. He did not know she was the one who had played the Dragon Pipes and renewed the hearts of the knights, he only knew she was lovely and he wished to learn her name.

  He crossed the room and asked her to dance. It was then that he saw the little girl who stood next to her.

  “I’m sorry, I cannot leave my daughter. She needs me. Thank you for asking though,” Rena said gently.

  Justan nodded and then knelt down to speak to the child. “Hello, what is your name?”

  “Kaitryn,” the little girl replied shyly.

  “Well, Kaitryn,” he said with a smile. “I think your mother is almost the most beautiful lady here, but she has refused to dance with me.”

  Rena frowned, her expression flustered and quizzical, not sure whether he had just complimented or insulted her. Kaitryn stared at him, her eyes wide; they pierced through him, her gaze too wise and too sad for her youth. It was as if she had already seen enough of the world and decided she did not like it. Pain for the sorrow she had endured pierced his heart.

  “What do you think of that?” he asked.

  Kaitryn looked at him contemplatively for a moment. “I don’t know.”

  Justan’s expression was full of mischief. “Well, since your mother will not dance with me, I must summon the courage to ask the most beautiful young lady here to dance with me. Kaitryn, would you honor me with this dance?”

  Kaitryn’s face lit up, and she giggled, understanding the joke. Rena chuckled but then her expression turned concerned and haunted, but Justan grinned at her winningly.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her,” he said.

  “Please?” Kaitryn begged her mother.

  Rena paused, then relented. He would find out later that Kaitryn had neither smiled nor laughed in weeks, and that hearing her giggle at Justan’s small joke was what had warmed Rena’s heart towards him.

  Justan took Kaitryn’s tiny hands in his own and led her out onto the dance floor. She stood on his feet and they danced around the room. He picked her up and spun her around and she giggled, her youthful voice full of the joy of the moment that only a child can truly experience. When the song was over, he brought her back to her mother and Kaitryn grabbed Rena’s hand excitedly.

  “Did you see me?” she asked animatedly. “I was out there dancing, just like a real lady! Did you see?”

  Tears glimmered in her eyes, but did not fall. Rena pulled her daughter into a tender embrace. “Yes, darling, I saw you.” She looked up at Justan, gratitude on her face. “She hasn’t laughed in so long. How can I thank you?”

  “May I see you again?” Justan asked, a little nervously.

  Rena hesitated, then she looked down at her daughter who was still chattering away about her dance. The woman’s face filled with tenderness. She looked up at Justan, who was waiting apprehensively for her answer.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you spoken with Zara and Arnaud?” Rena asked, seeing the worry he was trying to hide, her voice pulling him out of his memories.

  “A bit, they have been busy trying to determine a solution to the problem of the land dying. It has only been a few days since this creeping disease began. Surely it is too soon for them to have an answer.”

  “Excuse me,” one of the servants appeared in a doorway. “Sir Arnaud and Lady Zara are here to see you.”

  “Or... maybe it’s not too soon,” Justan chuckled, his tone wry.

  Arnaud and Zara were waiting in the Great Hall. Justan was once again amazed by the fact that both of them looked so much younger now than they had just three years ago, especially Arnaud. Putting aside the crown had taken years from his face, restoring to him a youth he had been forced to forego when he became king.

  “What have you discovered?” Justan asked as he and Rena entered the Great Hall.

  “We must call on the aid of the myth-folk,” Zara replied, her tone serious and weary. �
�I have tried everything I know, but I cannot touch the sickness that eats away at our land. It began just after Oraeyn left, but I do not know if that was coincidence or cause.”

  “It will also be beneficial to reach out to our contacts and allies,” Arnaud added. “It would go a long way to understanding the problem if we knew whether this has occurred in other lands that have come under attack, or if this phenomenon is isolated to us.”

  “I have already sent messages out, and am waiting to hear replies,” Justan confirmed.

  “Whatever else is going on, this is not a natural occurrence,” Zara said. “I have not the strength to counter it myself.”

  “Very well, we should contact King Rhendak immediately,” Justan agreed.

  “Yes, that is a good place to start.” Zara turned to Rena, and her voice grew gentle, “We may need you to play the pipes again.”

  Rena let out a small sigh. “Very well.”

  Justan looked at her in concern. “You swore you would never play them again.”

  Rena nodded. “I know,” she whispered.

  Justan turned to Zara. “She can’t control them,” he argued. “You cannot ask her to do this!”

  Rena’s face was pale, but she laid a reassuring hand on her husband’s arm. “I know what I said before. But our land is dying. We cannot see our enemy, but we are being attacked as surely as if an invading army stood on our shores. If it is in my power to help, I will do it. Even if it means letting the instrument control me again. Yes, I am afraid of the pipes, I am terrified of them! But they were given to me. Perhaps it was sheer blind chance that they came to me, or perhaps fate twisted so the pipes would be placed in my hands, but either way, they came to me. It is a responsibility I must bear...” Rena trailed off, remembering that day.