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

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  Oraeyn felt strong hands grasp his shoulders and suddenly he was being dragged along in a wave of strength. The world spun out of his control and all he could do was allow himself to be carried away with it. For a split second he considered resisting and fighting this helplessness, but something in his heart warned him that he and all he cared about would be destroyed if he gave into such a desire. After a moment’s hesitation he ceased struggling and allowed the sweeping strength surrounding him to bear him away. A moment later, and without quite knowing how or why, he was running. He ran with every fiber of his being. He pushed himself to the very limits of his strength and beyond, dashing faster and faster. If he stopped, he would die. He pumped his legs, his breath coming faster and faster; sweat dampened his forehead, but he could not stop. Salty warmth dripped down his face, blurring his vision and wetting his lips, but he could not spare the energy to wipe it away. His vision blurred but still he could not stop. The sense of urgency pressed inwards making it harder and harder to breathe, pushing him to continue even as his muscles burned and screamed for him to stop. Air dragged through his lungs in painful surges and he gasped, hating each life-giving breath as it passed through his lips.

  Then, the forest ended. With an explosive gasp, as if he were a caterpillar bursting from its cocoon, Oraeyn slowed and staggered drunkenly in the blinding twilight. The urge to run vanished like a mirage in the desert. Oraeyn’s legs buckled beneath his weight and he sank to his knees.

  “Wh… what just happened?” a trembling voice near him asked.

  Oraeyn found the strength to turn his head. Kamarie was a few paces away, sitting on the ground with a bewildered expression on her face.

  “I—I don’t know,” he gasped, tearing ragged words up out of his chest and spitting them through his lips with great effort.

  “That was my doing,” Kiernan Kane said, and as the minstrel spoke Oraeyn found that his head felt less fuzzy and disoriented.

  Oraeyn looked up, startled by the tone in the minstrel’s voice. The tall man was not out of breath. Oraeyn’s eyes darted around at what was left of their small company. Kamarie was to his right, still gasping for air. Brant was on his left, breathing heavily, but still on his feet and glaring sternly at Kiernan Kane. Kiernan himself stood directly in front of Oraeyn, completely unconcerned by the curiosity of his companions as they waited for his next words.

  “You left them!” Oraeyn shouted. “Thorayenak and Yole, you left them to die! And you dragged us along with you! You made us leave them! How could you?”

  “Oraeyn,” Kiernan’s voice was mournful. “I left no one to die. I brought you, to live. It is our only hope.”

  Oraeyn’s face hardened and his hands clenched into fists. “You left them,” he growled.

  “They knew the risk,” Kiernan Kane said, his voice low and intense. “They knew it the day they agreed to come. I warned you,” the minstrel lifted his hands in a questioning gesture. “Did you not listen? How could you not understand? All might have been lost had we stayed.”

  “They are our friends!” Kamarie put her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

  “And they did what they could to help you, their friends. They believed in what we are trying to do… you must do the same!” Kiernan knelt beside Kamarie, placing an arm around her shoulders. “The Enemy moves, his forces spread to your homelands, your loved ones are fighting and dying to keep his attention focused away from here, to give you the time you need to succeed in your quest. You must not waste their efforts.”

  “We left our friends in trouble,” Oraeyn gritted. He felt he was being unreasonable, but the heaviness in his heart was more than he could bear.

  “You would risk all for the lives of a few? What we are doing is of utmost importance. The Enemy will stop at nothing to gain all. You think Ghrendourak is bad? If the Enemy manages to rend a hole in his prison and escape, the power he has lent to Ghrendourak will seem but an imperceptible breath compared to the exhalation of evil that will be unleashed upon our world. He would reign supreme and none, none, would be able to stand against him. All would be enslaved to his great lust for power. Only now, now when he is still weak, now when he does not expect our attack, now when he is still caged and has use of but a fraction of his power through the shell that is Ghrendourak, only now will the next High King be able to stand against him. You would risk this chance, the sole chance we have, for the sake of two? Yorien’s Hand alone holds the key to defeating him and the Enemy would like nothing better than to destroy the one for whom it is destined, for he knows our mission would then fail. You would risk the entire world’s enslavement for your own selfish wishes?”

  Oraeyn hung his head, his shoulders bowed under the burden of Kiernan’s words. He gazed at his companions and there was an apology in his face, but there was also the fire of new understanding and strength that had not been present before.

  “You should go back, all of you. I have put you at risk; I should go on from here by myself. I am sorry for not understanding before.”

  “You can’t make us leave. You can’t make me leave!” Kamarie rose from the ground and stepped forward with a strong, determined stride.

  “I will if I have to,” Oraeyn said, and there was the strength of iron in the words, “it’s too dangerous for you. Kiernan is right, I would have risked all… I have risked all, everything, because I was scared, I am afraid to let go of my friends, to go on by myself, but it’s the only way you will be safe. It’s the only way I can assuage the despair I’ve been carrying. This island is familiar to me, I’ve seen it in my nightmares and I know we are drawing close to our goal. And if my dreams are to be believed, then I cannot risk any of you going further, because it could mean your lives. And that is something I cannot bear. Please, let me continue alone.”

  “No,” the metal in Brant’s voice was solid steel. “You cannot go on alone, there is too much before you for which you are unprepared. You do not know what you are going to face, I do. You do not know where to look for Yorien’s Hand, I have been here before. I can lead you and I can help you.

  “We each have our part yet to play, the only reason you have gotten this far is because of your friends, you would never have made it to Emnolae this fast without the dragons, you would never have found the key to the entrance without my guidance, you would have been killed by the whyvrens if it weren’t for Kiernan Kane. At the very least, I must come with you. And if I come, then so must the minstrel and Kamarie, for I will not leave them unprotected.

  “If you come under attack, you will need us to fight for you so you can continue the quest. Your goal is the pinnacle, the sole reason for undertaking this journey, for facing these perils. Kiernan is right, our lives are forfeit if we do not succeed here. Defeating Ghrendourak is worth our lives, we all made that decision the moment we agreed to come with you back in Aom-igh. You cannot ask us to leave you now, not when you need us the most.”

  It was, perhaps, the longest speech any of them had ever heard Brant make, and Oraeyn was not sure how to respond. Brant was right though Oraeyn hated to admit it. He stared helplessly into the faces of his three remaining friends. There was the same quiet determination in each of them. Kiernan’s face had gone impassive and unreadable, Brant’s expression was hard and determined. Kamarie gazed at him with love, but there was a stubbornness in her expression that wrenched his heart. He thought about his dreams and he shuddered as he realized what they had foretold. He knew that at the very end, he would be forced to choose between her and the fate of all Tellurae Aquaous, and he did not know if he could make that choice. His heart lurched as he looked beseechingly at Kamarie.

  “Please,” it was half gasp, half sob, and he knew before he spoke that it would do no good.

  Kamarie stepped forward and wrapped him in an embrace. “Oraeyn, I cannot leave you. My place is here, at your side. When will you realize that?”

  “We waste time,” Brant unsheathed his sword and took a step, looki
ng back over his shoulder, his head tilted to the side questioningly.

  “Very well,” Oraeyn’s shoulders slumped. “Lead on, Brant.”

  There was no need for more words; all had been said. As one, the four of them turned to continue their journey. Together they had set out, and together they would remain.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  All through the long, weary night, the shield held, repelling attack after attack. However, as the Toreth, obscured by the web of darkness, sank below the horizon, the barrier also came crashing down with a deafening rumble, causing the ground to shake and tremble beneath the knights of Aom-igh. Rena had held the enemy at bay with the shield for as long as she could, but Ghrendourak’s power was far too strong for her to hold his forces back forever.

  Justan sat with his wife until the end. He had made his peace with the inevitable, and as news reached him that the shield was failing, he leaned down to kiss his wife’s pale lips.

  “Goodbye,” he whispered brokenly. Then he rose, fighting past the lump in his throat and the despair in his heart, and strode from the room to face the battle that awaited him.

  As he appeared amongst his men, they whispered that something was different about their leader. His face looked older, and a strength and peace surrounded him. He spoke to the men, building their hope and courage, reminding them of their many preparations. As Ghrendourak’s army surged up onto the shore there was no cowering, no blanching from what they faced, only the knowledge that what they had been waiting for had happened and it was time to fulfill their duty as knights of the realm.

  A hideous cry arose from the army of were-folk as they swarmed to the attack with a vicious malice and overwhelming force. Justan, Garen, and Arnaud had prepared well for an assault from the sea. Barricades, defenses, and numerous traps had been laid in place, and the men were well-trained to move as directed. Justan signaled the order and the sand beneath the first wave of were-folk collapsed, tumbling many of the creatures into the deep pits the knights had prepared. The were-folk did not hesitate in their charge and showed no concern for their fallen. With another signal, sharp spikes erupted from the sand, impaling more dark creatures and removing them from the battle. However, the size of the army continued to grow. Monsters crawled out of the roiling sea like an unstoppable wave.

  Justan climbed up the stairs that led to the top of the ramparts and gave yet another signal as more men raced up to stand on the walls with him.

  Dragons roared across the sky from behind Fortress Hill and swooped towards the enemy army. A torrent of fire poured from their mouths, sending many of the creatures in the front lines scattering and fleeing in unorganized panic. Those behind cringed away from the deadly flames, but Ghrendourak’s commanders urged them on, giving them no time to hesitate or ponder their own impending fate.

  Winged beasts rose up from the ranks of the were-folk and soared into the sky to challenge the dragons, putting a stop to their ability to rain fiery death down upon the enemy unchecked. The dragons were massive and powerful, but they were too few compared to Ghrendourak’s army. They crashed into this new threat, and the sky was filled with the sounds of snarls and roars and eerie screams that would haunt the dreams of the men below for the rest of their lives.

  Justan gave another order and the gryphons and pegasus joined the dragons, lashing out with talons and hooves. The myth-folk fought furiously, and the archers on the ground did what they could to help, though it soon became apparent that no defense, regardless of how valiant the warrior or accurate the archer, could withstand the forces delivered by Ghrendourak.

  Another trap on the beach was sprung and scores of arrows flew from disguised locations, felling another line of the dark creatures, but still they continued to advance.

  Justan turned to the old knight standing at his side. “Garen, we can’t hold them. There are too many. What should we do?”

  Garen unsheathed his sword, his face hard and strong beneath his white hair. “We don’t need to hold them, we just need to fight them. King Oraeyn needs more time, our job is to make certain he gets it.”

  “What if we do all we can and it’s not enough?” Justan stared at the battle below as it crept towards the wall.

  “Then we lose.”

  The older knight hefted his sword, adjusting his grip on the hilt. “But I’d rather lose battling that army than surrendering to it. And that’s true of every man fighting here today.”

  A line of whyvrens emerged to stand together. Darkness spewed out of their tails like streams of blood, blotting out the faint light of dawn that peeked tremulously over the horizon and plunging the armies into deepest night once more.

  “What is this?” Justan whispered, unable to see the approaching enemy. He peered through the gloom, hearing the twanging of bow strings, and the tramp of many feet on the ground. How could they fight blindly? How could they hope to maintain a defense in such conditions?

  Something struck him from behind and Justan whirled, his blade swinging.

  “Easy, lad,” Garen’s voice stayed Justan’s hand. “I did not mean to startle you. I wasn’t sure you were still there. King Rhendak said this might happen. Whyvrens, he called them. They’ve got an ability to create darkness in daylight, and they’re poisonous, so don’t let one sting you or bite you.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Watch.”

  As Justan watched, a tiny light appeared. Then another, and another. As the light spread, he began to see rows of torches spread out across the ground. Their glow was weak, but effective. It pierced the inky web, allowing the men to see the battlefield and their enemies. As he peered down at the ground, he saw the adumbral figure of a dragon, then he saw a stream of light and several more of the torches coughed into existence.

  “Whose idea was that?” Justan asked, impressed.

  “A dragon named Tellemyack,” Garen replied. “I guess he’s Rhendak’s son. It was after the battle plans were all drawn up, he came to me about the idea and I told the commanders to help him put up the torches while we waited to see how long the barrier would hold. I guess dragon fire is a bit more resistant to whatever it is the whyvrens do.”

  “It’s ingenious.”

  A sound made them both glance down. The enemy had reached the moat below the walls. The men looked at each other, and then there was a sound of a thousand swords ringing in the murky air as the men atop the wall drew their weapons as one.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FOUR

  A deep weariness clung to Oraeyn’s soul as he approached the broken gates leading into the overgrown courtyard of the palace. Due to extreme amounts of rust, it was impossible to even speculate as to what the once intricate design adorning the gates had depicted. Patches and flecks of gold plating lingered, but most of it had flaked off through the many years of neglect. Brant led the way through the gates, which creaked so loudly Oraeyn was sure the sound carried all the way back in Aom-igh. Inside the gates was a vast and sprawling castle that might have once been glorious, but now was merely ruins. His heart sank at the sight.

  Centuries of disuse had left their mark. Whole sections of the walls had been broken down by the elements and forest creatures; only one of the three towers was still standing. Huge windows stared out at the company: empty holes with no glass in them. Only bits remained of the roof, which had caved in long ago. Wind and rain had worn away the once mighty marble steps, leaving them chipped and broken. Weeds sprouted up between the cracks. The courtyard was overgrown and twisted in a veritable jungle of green, like a small extension of the forest from which they had recently emerged. Oraeyn stared in disbelief and not a little dismay at the sight of it.

  If I truly am the High King, the dismal thought flicked through his mind, will I be expected to live here? This may be the Palace of the High Kings, but it is not my home.

  He had not given much thought to what might happen after they retrieved Yorien’s Hand, but now his mind spun beyond the current
quest as he tried to imagine what his life would become if they defeated Ghrendourak. He grimaced at the toppled walls and wondered if this was the true nightmare.

  He had been forced to accept so much: creatures that should not have existed outside of children’s stories, a presence in the forest as though the trees were alive, a blind woman who could see much deeper than he. Oraeyn had left behind friends to face death or worse on his behalf, and now, at the end of their great quest, he was confronted with a ruined castle, an overgrown courtyard, and the fear that he still had to make a terrible choice. The choice from his nightmares.

  He tried to swallow, but his throat had stopped working. Oraeyn gave a silent gasp as his chest tightened. He was a man by everyone’s standards; he had held the position of king of Aom-igh for three years, he was a full knight of the realm, and mere months away from getting married.

  And I’m supposed to leave all that—my friends, my home, everything familiar—to accept a broken-down throne that hasn’t existed in centuries, a second crown that I desire even less than the first one, and rule over subjects whose countries I’ve never even heard of, much less visited? Kiernan Kane must have been mistaken. I am not the person for this job. The castle is in ruins, it would take the work of the rest of my lifetime just to get it into good enough shape to live in it.

  Kamarie looked around in awe. “It must have been beautiful, once,” she gave a sorrowful sigh. “It looks so lonely now.”

  At the sound of her voice, Oraeyn found himself staring. She was so lovely it made his heart ache. Her long ebony hair glistened in the dying light of day, and her blue eyes glistened with sympathy for the dilapidated castle grounds. At that moment, he knew what his choice would be when it came. He could not abandon her like he had the others, like he had in his nightmares; if he could save her, he would, and neither Kiernan Kane nor Brant himself would be able to change that.