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

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  Ghrendourak uttered a sharp cry and a score of fell warriors rose up on winged mounts of their own, joining him in the air. Spears of lightning hurtled from them towards the barrier, hitting it with resounding thuds like the footsteps of doom. Yet, the barrier held. Invisible to their sight, yet as solid as steel, the protective dome stood strong.

  Rena could sense the enemy horde, could feel their attempts to penetrate the shield she and the dragon pipes had wrought. She strengthened her thoughts, holding strong against their assault. She would protect her people, her country, her family, though it cost her all she had.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  “He watches,” Leila shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, appearing small and vulnerable. “He watches, and he sees.” Her words tinged the air with a chill that belied the warmth of the evening.

  “Who?” Jemson asked, not turning his head from the reports he was reading. As soon as Leila and Dylanna had informed him of the coming battle, Jemson had sent messengers to every post in Llycaelon, commanding them to meet at the Caethyr Gap where they would make their stand. It was a fairly defensible location, and Leila was convinced that her presence would lead Ghrendourak and his army to attack wherever she was.

  “Ghrendourak,” Leila replied.

  “He’s watching? Now?” Jemson looked up, startled. “Us?”

  “No, the battle. He rides on his winged steed and sees the battle through the eyes of his creatures. He attacks both us and Aom-igh tonight, there will be no help for us, no help anywhere.”

  “How can you possibly know that?” Jemson turned to her. “I thought you said you lost your magic.”

  “I don’t know. I just get glimpses of him, of what he is doing, what he sees.” Leila rubbed her hands up and down her own arms briskly. “Maybe it was something to do with the portal. I was the one he spoke to directly though I don’t know why.”

  “Who is stronger, you or Dylanna?” Jemson could not keep his question silent, he was too curious.

  Leila sniffed and then cleared her throat, her face flushing. “Dylanna always said I was strongest, after Calyssia. Zara might have been stronger, but she abandoned her studies for Arnaud and a normal life.”

  Jemson snorted. “Normal. What’s that?”

  Leila tried to maintain a straight face, but it was to no avail. The young king’s amusement was contagious, and they found themselves sharing a moment of levity. Everything they cared about would come under attack tonight. They knew what the reports said: the army they faced was larger than their own. Ghrendourak and the Ancient Enemy who controlled him were more powerful than they. But still they laughed, their voices raised in defiance of despair.

  When they had spent their laughter, they stood together in silence. The night was still, but Jemson knew the attack would come soon. He knew that there was no hope of defeating this enemy, and surrender was unthinkable. The choice was to fight as free men and die, or live enslaved to Ghrendourak forever. He found his mind drifting.

  If I come through this alive… if anyone comes through this alive, I will take my true-name from this experience, this battle. If I can lead my men through this, if together we can walk through the darkness that threatens our world and out into the light on the other side—there must be light on the other side—we will come through stronger and more complete than we were before. No one will be left unchanged after this night. The songs of our courage will last forever, the ballads of how we won through the hopeless situation will be comprised of numerous and lengthy verses hailing our deeds.

  “They are coming,” Leila’s voice reverberated in his ears after the long silence.

  Jemson glanced around quickly, but his senses registered nothing new.

  “Not the enemy,” Leila assured him, “friends.”

  “What friends?”

  “More of the myth-folk… come, we must meet them.”

  Leila turned and walked up the path to the high ground above the camp and towards the forest. Jemson followed Leila, uncertain as to what he ought to expect.

  There were not many dragons in the clearing, but he felt his mouth drop open in astonishment. He closed it quickly, feeling foolish, and embarrassed by his youthful reaction. Gazing around at the myriad of enormous, powerful beasts, Jemson rubbed a hand across his chin, then berated himself for it, dropping his hand to his side and forcing it to stay still. As his eyes searched the glade, he caught sight of gryphons and pegasus mixed in with the dragons. They were fierce and proud, necks arched and faces noble. He edged closer to Leila. His first inclination was to turn around and run as fast as he could away from these strange creatures who would surely eat him as soon as acknowledge his kingship.

  “Do not be afraid,” Leila’s voice whispered in his ear, “they are here to help, if you will have it.”

  “Monarch Jemson,” the largest of the dragons stepped forward and addressed the young king with polite formality, “my name is Alynyack. Khoranaderek told us of thy plight.”

  Jemson’s thoughts unexpectedly turned to an image of his father and uncle. He saw them together, as clearly as if they were watching over his shoulder, waiting to see what he would do. He understood that this moment was a test of his ability, a test of his worthiness. As quickly as it had come, the urge to run vanished; Jemson’s shoulders straightened, and he took a step towards the dragon. He summoned up every lesson that Brant had taught him of Llycaelon dragons and put what he had learned to good use. Remember not to stare directly into the creature’s eyes, he thought as he bowed his head in a polite gesture that allowed the dragon permission to continue speaking.

  The dragon’s teeth bared in an awful expression that Jemson knew was supposed to be friendly. “Thine uncle hath taught thee well in our ways, youngling.”

  Jemson bristled a bit at the term, “youngling,” but he bit his tongue, realizing that to the dragon, anyone under the age of three centuries was probably considered “young.”

  “How dost thou know mine uncle?”

  “Many of those with me hail from other lands, but I was born in Llycaelon, and ever has it been my home, though I walked its surface in a different form to hide my identity. Thine uncle is well known to me though I have never met him in person.”

  “You said Khoranaderek told thee of our situation?” Jemson searched the faces before him until he picked out Khoranaderek’s familiar scales. The dragon bobbed its head at him.

  “Verily,” Alynyack replied. “We have come to offer thee our aid in the coming battle.”

  “With gratefulness I accept thy offer,” Jemson replied, working hard to make the strange wording and accent sound natural and correct.

  The dragon’s face lightened with pleasure at Jemson’s effort and subsequent success. “This will, methinks, be an agreeable alliance.”

  “If we live to the end of the day, aye,” Jemson agreed.

  “Deploy our forces as thou will, my liege. We are thine to command.”

  “The fire of the dragons will surpass any weapon we can provide,” Jemson said.

  This acknowledgement pleased the elder dragon, and he inclined his head. “Thou grantest honor to my people. Our fire is indeed effective against the fell creatures we must face.”

  Jemson drew a crude map of the battlefield on the ground, pointing out where his battalions of aethalons were positioned. “Thou and thy people can provide cover from the air when the battle joins. A strong front may cause our enemies to hesitate.”

  An older gryphon strode forward, bowing his head slightly, his mottled feathers rustling. “My name is Kanuckchet, and I speak for my people. I believe thou wilt agree that my people would be best put to use in squads that can strike and retreat with great swiftness. In truth, speed and agility are our greatest strengths. If some of us wait inside the tree line here, and others hide on the cliffs, I believe we can surprise the enemy with devastating effect.”

  “Very well,” Jemson agreed. “I trust thou knowest where to plac
e thy warriors. I will leave their command to thee.”

  A mighty sorrel pegasus stepped forward then. Snorting and tossing his head, the pegasus introduced himself. “I am Hynfwyn, and my people would be honored to carry thy men into battle.”

  Jemson felt his jaw go slack yet again. He tried to cover his surprise by rubbing his chin and then bowing his head. “That is a generous offer, noble Hynfwyn,” he replied. “I know what it costs thee to make it, and I assure thee I will not forget it.”

  Hynfwyn gave a short, high-pitched whinny. “We are not so proud as the stories make us sound, Majesty,” he assured Jemson, speaking in a less archaic vein. “We have carried men into battle many times and consider it a most virtuous duty. Do not believe everything you read.”

  Jemson fought back a grin and managed to pull off a solemn bow from the waist. “My thanks and that of my people are yours forever.” He straightened and gazed at the three mighty creatures who spoke for their powerful races and had come to pledge their aid to him. “I am young, even by my own people’s standards, and I have little experience in the matters of war. I fear I must rely heavily upon your vast wisdom to lead me in this coming battle. Will you guide me in the events to come?”

  Alynyack rose up to his full height. “We would count it an honor, Majesty.”

  A mighty gust of wind swept across them, and Shentallyia alighted on the ground near them. Devrin swung down from her back and raced over.

  “The attack is begun, Sire,” the words tumbled from his mouth. “The enemy has been sighted coming across the ocean. They will be here soon, we must prepare ourselves.”

  Alynyack lowered his head in curiosity, his nostrils flaring as he took in Devrin’s scent. Then the great dragon reared back in surprise.

  “A dragon ward?” his voice thundered. He swiveled his head to peer at Jemson. “Thou hast a dragon ward in thy midst?”

  “How did you know?” Devrin craned his neck, peering up at the dragon. “Can you smell it?”

  Alynyack’s glowing orbs narrowed to slits. “Sense, more than smell, though not every dragon is able to do so.” He swung his head from side to side. “This could mean...” he paused. “But time enough for that after. If we are not victorious this day, it will no longer matter in any case.”

  “Uplifting,” Devrin commented out of the side of his mouth to Jemson, who felt his lips twitch with amusement.

  “Sound the alert,” Jemson commanded. “The hour is nigh.” He felt grand and commanding as the words welled within him, but once they had reached the open air he wondered if perhaps he sounded a bit silly using such archaic, grandiose speech.

  Nobody else took issue with his choice of words. Devrin dashed back to Shentallyia and clambered onto her back. Together, they leapt into the sky.

  Hynfwyn strode forward. “I will carry thee, Majesty.”

  Jemson felt his heart beat a bit faster, but he hid his apprehension and swung onto the back of the great pegasus as gracefully as he was able. He settled himself in front of the enormous, folded wings and clung to Hynfwyn’s mane as the pegasus surged forward, racing down the hill to the battlefield where the ranks of aethalons were gathered and waiting.

  They did not wait long. At Toreth’s-height, the first wave of were-folk stormed through the Caethyr Gap. The aethalons fell back as one, allowing the dragons to flood the gap with their fires. Enemy creatures pulled back, screaming and burning, dissipating like mist in a stern breeze.

  A wind swept over Jemson and he looked up to see Shentallyia and Devrin passing by overhead. He raised his sword to them, and Shentallyia roared in answer.

  On the great dragon’s back, Devrin felt his emotions kindle into intrepid temerity. Flying over the enemy with Shentallyia he felt invincible. It was incredible to think how quickly his life had changed. Was it only weeks ago he had been defending this self-same gap against the seheowks? It felt strange to think how the turn of events had brought him to this position. He focused on his dragon and felt her cunning and fury surging through the link they shared. Were her emotions bleeding over into his own, tinting them? It was an astounding thing, to be linked to a creature so vast and powerful. She would change him in ways he was unprepared for, it was certain. That thought gnawed at him with a tinge of apprehension, but Devrin knew there was little he could do to stop it. Perhaps he would change her as well.

  The dragon arched her neck, and he felt the blaze of her fire wash through him as she breathed death upon a score of seheowks. And then he was swept up into the battle, the all-consuming ferocity of it, as he defended her back from creatures above while Shentallyia slashed and tore and rained fiery demise upon the enemy below.

  The aethalons on the ground plunged into battle to defend their country from the malevolent foe that threatened their land. Not a man faltered or cringed. They met the enemy with faces of steel and impassive, courageous hearts.

  At the back of the field, astride Hynfwyn, Jemson’s heart filled with pride. He paused, witnessing the bravery of his aethalons. Next to him, riding Hawkspin, Leila surveyed the field below with cool composure.

  “All our hopes rest now with Oraeyn,” she said.

  Jemson nodded his agreement. Their only hope of seeing the end of this war lay in Oraeyn’s success. Gazing out at the sea of were-folk his heart rang with excitement. He should have been afraid, he knew he ought to be quaking at the size of the enemy’s army, but the cry of battle and duty called him and his heart responded with a leap. With a roar that was echoed by his aethalons, a roar that made the ground shake with its furious defiance, Jemson cast his fears to the wind and charged into battle, followed by his loyal men. There would be a dawn.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  “It’s not a game anymore, is it?” Kamarie asked Oraeyn quietly, coming up beside him and taking his hand, more to comfort herself than anything else.

  “What do you mean?”

  She gestured at Yole, who was obviously still in distress over Rhimmell’s death. “I always just sort of assumed that the people I knew and cared about would be safe… you know, like in the storybooks where the heroes always win and never get hurt?” She raised her free hand in a helpless gesture. “It isn’t that way in real life.”

  “I know what you mean. You read about adventures and how people risked their lives, but they always come out fine in the end. In real adventures it doesn’t all end up that way.”

  “Oraeyn?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m scared.”

  “So am I, Kamarie.”

  “I wouldn’t choose differently, though,” Kamarie said after a short pause. “I’d rather be here with you than anywhere else.”

  Oraeyn squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you’re here, though I also wish you were safely at the other end of the world.”

  They walked in silence after that, comforted by the understanding they shared.

  The forest was quiet, but it no longer loomed over them with hostile or threatening intent. Oraeyn found that even in the silence and peace his guard was still up; not against the forest, but against the creatures that might lurk within it. He kept the Fang Blade unsheathed as they walked, and its light was soft and comforting to the entire company. The dragons wore their true forms, determined not to be taken by surprise again.

  “How long are we on this path, Brant?” Oraeyn asked about mid-morning. The days felt endless beneath the canopy of branches and leaves. The darkness of the day was indiscernible from the darkness of night. The Dragon’s Eye was but a distant memory, for the only light they knew was the soft glow of the Fang Blade.

  Brant appeared thoughtful. “The end of the forest should be coming soon. I don’t remember exactly—it was a long time ago—but my memory leads me to believe that we shouldn’t have to be on this path much longer.”

  Kamarie sighed with relief. “Good.” She spoke quietly, but Oraeyn heard her.

  The sky above them turned inky, and the air grew thick and caliginous. K
amarie screamed, for the air above them was filled with a swarm of whyvrens. The fell beasts dropped from the sky and landed on the path before them.

  Yole stared at the swarm of monsters, there were perhaps a score of them. Not as many as he had at first thought, but still more than they could hope to defeat. Despair and determination twined together to form a cold knot in the pit of his stomach. They would not survive this assault, but Rhimmell, sweet, quiet, uncomplaining Rhimmell would be avenged at any and every cost.

  Of that, he would make certain. And he would protect what remained of his family to his last breath.

  Shoulder to shoulder, Yole and Thorayenak charged into the enemy. The dragons roared and fire streamed from their open jaws. A whyvren lashed its deadly tail at Yole’s face, but he caught it in his claw and gave a mighty heave, throwing the monster into several of the other whyvrens, knocking them from their feet. They staggered to rise, hissing and snarling, but Yole propelled himself into their midst, his talons flashing, his fiery breath blazing. He became a swirling typhoon, dealing death to the fell creatures.

  Thorayenak was right beside him, roaring. “Run!” his voice bellowed to the humans. “This is not a fight you can win. Run! Go, NOW!” his voice thundered through the wood.

  Oraeyn raised the Fang Blade, not wanting to leave Thorayenak or Yole, but Brant and Kiernan knew it was madness to stride into that frenzy of teeth and claws and stinging tails. They would merely get in the way of the enraged dragons. They might be able to join forces to defeat one whyvren, but they stood no chance against an army of them. The two men shared a glance through the dim light, and for the first time, they were in complete agreement, understanding one another perfectly.

  “We won’t leave you!” Oraeyn shouted.

  “GO!” Thorayenak shouted. “There is no time! Brant, you must go! Minstrel, take them while there is yet a chance.”