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

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  Kamarie reached out and tapped Oraeyn’s shoulder. “I don’t think they can see. The light blinds them.”

  “How do you know?” Oraeyn hissed.

  “It’s in their voices, when they call out. They don’t want to be here. They’re afraid of something...”

  “Well, I’m afraid of them,” Oraeyn’s voice rose a bit, and the dracors swung their heads towards him.

  Brant raised a hand. “Kamarie,” he whispered. “Do you think you can communicate with them? They’re not were-folk, just animals. Usually nocturnal. I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never seen one before.”

  “I...” Kamarie hesitated, her mind racing. “I don’t...”

  “You seem to understand them,” Brant continued in a hushed tone. “I know you have not explored your mother’s side of your heritage. I know it frightens you. But it is part of you. Leila can speak with beasts. Dylanna is the best shape-shifter I’ve ever encountered. Calyssia’s power to protect was legendary. Your grandfather was one of the greatest wizards of history and if Dylanna is right, your mother could have exceeded his power. It is time to discover your own.”

  Kamarie’s face grew pale as Brant spoke. She drew her upper lip between her teeth, her eyebrows furrowing in consternation. The dracors roared again and headed towards the company.

  “Very well,” Kamarie stepped up to stand next to Oraeyn. “You are right.”

  She held up a hand and concentrated on radiating calm, composure. She took a deep breath and tried to relax.

  “You don’t want to be here,” her voice trembled. The dracors snarled, advancing another step. Kamarie tried to summon a vision of her aunt when she was talking to her animals. She straightened, looking directly at the creatures and hiding her fear of them. “You don’t want to be here,” her voice grew firm, commanding. “This isn’t a place for you. Brightness. It hurts. It pains. You are of the night, the cool. You wish to sleep. The thing that drives you, it is not your master. Go. Go now. Sleep now. Hunt later.”

  The lead dracor swayed slightly.

  Kamarie took a deep breath. “This place is not good for you. There is no food here. No dark. You are exposed, vulnerable, leave now, find trees, dark. There will you be safe.” The words flowed from her mouth in a strange, clipped pattern. They were not her words, but they felt natural nonetheless.

  The lead dracor made a whimpering sound and then hissed at his companions and they turned and fled back the way they had come.

  Oraeyn turned to Kamarie, a jubilant light in his eyes. “That was...”

  A rumble like a volcano about to erupt shook the floor. A horrifying scream reverberated around the tunnel and a whirling rush of wind howled past their faces. Into the tunnel flew the largest bird they had ever seen. Its feathers were blacker than the obsidian beneath their feet, but tipped with shining argent tones. As it descended to the floor of the tunnel it snapped its beak and screamed again, sounding angry.

  “‘Black death rides on silver wings,’” Kamarie quoted a piece of the prophecy. Cold horror clutched her stomach as a massive being stepped off the back of the werehawk. Her chest tightened, making it difficult to breathe.

  The creature was a foot taller than Brant. His body was encased in obsidian armor. The dull onyx hue of the armor swallowed any light that sought to touch him. The breastplate was adorned with an etched crest: two crossed swords with a star hanging suspended above them. The man, if man he was, wore a helm formed in the likeness of a wolf’s maw, which concealed everything about his face.

  “Ghrendourak.”

  Kamarie was not sure who whispered the name, perhaps it was torn from her own throat, though she did not know if she had the breath left to utter even a single syllable. In the same way the light was being sucked into the creature’s armor, Kamarie felt that her breath was being stolen away as well.

  Ghrendourak stood still for a moment, and the world stilled. Then he drew his sword. The great blade shrieked triumphantly as it came out of the sheath, eager to leap into its owner’s hands and wreak destruction. The sword was a twisted and ugly thing, jagged and ill-formed, but deadly nonetheless.

  Brant and Oraeyn drew their own swords as they stepped in front of Kamarie. Belatedly, she began to tug her sword from its sheath, but her fingers felt numb and clumsy. She scowled, angry at herself for being so afraid. Clenching her fingers around the hilt of her sword, Kamarie tugged it from its sheath only to find herself being inexplicably swept backwards. She looked up and blinked in confusion as she realized that Kiernan Kane had come forward and was now standing in front of Ghrendourak, blocking the enemy’s path.

  Evil laughter screeched painfully from Ghrendourak’s throat as he gazed down at the minstrel. “Ah, my old adversary. I should have known you would be here, guiding those deluded enough to think they can defeat me.”

  The minstrel made no reply; he stood before Ghrendourak cloaked in calm. Kiernan suddenly appeared to be a completely different creature. He did not flinch or cower, but stood with straight back and head held high. There was defiance etched in every line of his stance. The mandolin strapped to his back was strangely incongruous attached to this man brandishing a sword with such a firm and steady hand.

  Ghrendourak’s voice became a snarl, “You are old, Minstrel, and weak. You cannot stop me this time! Stand aside!”

  With a swift movement of his arm Ghrendourak attacked; the jagged blade hissed as it arced through the air towards the minstrel. Kiernan’s own sword swept upwards to meet Ghrendourak’s blade. There was a loud crack and a shower of sparks as the minstrel’s sword halted the enemy’s blade. Kamarie blinked in disbelief and stared: Kiernan’s sword was glowing a pure white. The light poured out of the blade and twined around Ghrendourak’s sword, swallowing its darkness and wending towards his hand.

  “RUN!”

  Kamarie turned and fled across the bridge she had been so hesitant to navigate a moment before. Behind her, she could hear Brant and Oraeyn, their footsteps keeping time with her own. Together they raced across the chasm, leaving the minstrel to face Ghrendourak alone. The werehawk screeched angrily. They were halfway across the bridge when Kamarie felt the wind from its wings just before it attacked. She ducked and stabbed upwards with her sword. Resistance nearly tore the hilt from her hands as the blade connected with something solid. The creature screamed and wheeled away, giving Kamarie, Oraeyn, and Brant the chance to ready themselves for the next attack. The great bird dove again, talons outstretched. Kamarie swept her arm and felt her sword bite into the werehawk’s belly. Scaly feathers rustled and warm blood poured from the wound. Quicker than thought, the werehawk banked and attacked again, plunging into their midst and striking at them with its wings and beak. Brant’s sword flashed in the light and the creature hissed as the blade connected with one of its wings. It whirled, the other wing coming close to knocking Kamarie over. She avoided colliding with the sharp feathers only to find herself slipping in the creature’s blood. She fell to the ground, dangerously close to the sharp talons. The bird caught sight of her and attacked, its head darting towards the princess.

  Time slowed. Kamarie felt no fear as her training took hold. She waited, appearing helpless as the striking beak plunged down. At the last instant, she flicked her blade up between herself and the werehawk. The creature was unprepared for such a sudden attack from its seemingly defeated prey, and was unable to change direction swiftly enough to save itself. It dove forward, impaling itself on Kamarie’s blade. A great, gurgling shriek emanated from its open beak and then the werehawk’s eyes turned glassy as it fell limply to the ground.

  Kamarie had no way of defending herself as the great beast toppled towards her. She could not even raise her arms to shield her face. But then someone grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and yanked her out of the way. She just had the presence of mind to keep a tight grip on the hilt of her sword, pulling it from the werehawk’s corpse as it fell, crashing through the delicate railing of the bridg
e and plummeting into the chasm.

  Kamarie turned and saw that it was Brant who had pulled her to safety and she gave a wide-eyed shake of her head.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Brant opened his mouth to reply, but the ringing of metal on metal drew their attention to the end of the bridge they had come from; a brief look showed Kiernan still battling Ghrendourak. The minstrel was holding his own, but Kamarie worried he could not last much longer. Ghrendourak was a powerful warrior, and Kiernan Kane was just a minstrel.

  They raced the rest of the way across the bridge, heading ever towards the shining beacon on the other side of the cavern.

  “There!” Oraeyn gasped.

  Ahead, resting on a stone plinth, Yorien’s Hand lit the great hall. Its effulgence was beyond dazzling. Kamarie held up a hand, shielding her face. In all her days to come, she never could describe what the star was like, or what she experienced in its presence. Waves of heat washed over her, mixed with blasts of frigid, icy air. Colors danced in her vision, blinding her, and yet she believed in that moment that she saw more clearly than ever before. The world filled with music that emanated from the depths of the star, and yet all was silence.

  “Yorien’s Hand,” Brant’s voice was reverent. “The greatest gift our world has ever received.”

  They were still a fair distance from the plinth upon which the star rested, but it drew them in, beckoning them to come bask in its radiance and embrace its impossibilities. Behind them, the battle between Ghrendourak and Kiernan Kane raged. A noise like thunder rumbled down the hallway and the whole tunnel shook with its force. With a mighty cracking sound like mountains being rent asunder the marble floor split open right beneath Kamarie’s feet. Rocks and pebbles rained down from above. Kamarie screamed, flailing her arms wildly. For a heart-stopping moment she felt she would regain her balance, but then the hall trembled again and her foot slipped. With a terrified shriek, she tumbled down into the abyss that yawned hungrily beneath her.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Leila urged Hawkspin into a gallop, and together they plunged into the fray. Rearing and whirling, the horse lashed out with its hooves as Leila commanded a hurricane to sweep away her enemies. Power filled her, consumed her, and poured through her. Seheowks gnashed their teeth and screamed in terror as the windstorm of Leila’s wrath lifted them up and hurled them back into the sea.

  A whyvren landed heavily on the ground before Leila, spewing darkness at her. Hawkspin reared up, hooves pawing at the air, as a glimmering shaft of light like a spear appeared in Leila’s hand. She flung the spear at the whyvren’s center and the creature burst into a million tiny motes of dust, dissipating swiftly like morning mist.

  Anger at the pain this enemy had caused roared through her veins and she let it loose in a javelin of flame, pushing the monsters back, ever back. They recoiled and fled from her, scattering like frightened beetles that scurry to the edges of a room when the drapes are pulled back to let in the light of day.

  Power coursing through her, Leila urged Hawkspin towards the center of the gap. Her cloak streamed out behind her, flapping as she raced into the enemy, one hand raised in defiance of all the sorrow and darkness that this foe had caused. As she rode through their ranks, the aethalons raised a cry.

  “The Wizardess! The Wizardess!”

  Leila did not hear them. All she knew was the joy of being restored to herself. She continued to fight, beating back the creatures of shadow. More and more of them began to focus on this new threat, but nothing could withstand the fury of the wizardess unshackled.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Reacting without thought, Oraeyn leaped after the princess and caught Kamarie’s wrist. Her weight threw him off balance and he was pulled to the floor. The world spun crazily out of control and turned upside down as Oraeyn felt himself falling and sliding towards the fissure. He scrabbled frantically at the tunnel floor with his free hand. Just as he reached the edge, his fingers found purchase and their descent was halted. Kamarie dangled above the chasm, her wrist clutched in his grasp. She stared up at him in fright. From a distance, Oraeyn heard his name being called.

  “Oraeyn! Oraeyn!” Brant’s voice pulled him back out of his panic. “Oraeyn! You must finish the quest, you must take the star! You hold the golden blade, you must… Oraeyn…” there was anguish in Brant’s voice.

  Oraeyn twisted to look at the warrior. Another wide fissure had opened between himself and Brant, cutting him off from them. There was no way for Brant to reach them, no help for Kamarie without Oraeyn. The young king gazed across the cavern into Brant’s eyes and saw his own doubts reflected there, his own worry and helplessness. And yet, there was a sternness there as well, a determination that Oraeyn could not muster.

  The earthquake had not blocked either his or Brant’s path to the star. But fractures in the floor threatened to split open if too much stress was applied to them. Tears blurred Oraeyn’s vision as he gazed down at Kamarie. Her beautiful face stared up at him. He could tell from the intensity of her gaze that she had guessed what had happened.

  “My love,” he choked on the words.

  “Oraeyn…” Kamarie’s voice trembled, but there was a strength in it, as well. “Oraeyn, please…”

  Oraeyn’s heart throbbed and ached as it was ripped apart. In a flash, his nightmare returned. In his mind’s eye, he watched in horror as the dream Kamarie fell away from him once more, tumbling down into the abyss, heard his own voice reverberate in his ears in a scream of agony. With an effort, he pushed the dream away and stared down into the real face of the one he loved, memorizing her face, and he realized that he had no choice. His throat felt tight, and it took all his strength just to form the words he had to say.

  “Kamarie, my love, I am so sorry… I have no choice,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I—I never had any choice.”

  Kamarie’s face twisted in dread. He could see the muscles in her throat contracting as she swallowed. But when she spoke, her voice was calm, “I understand. I love you.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Oraeyn gritted his teeth. Strengthening his grip on her wrist he gave a tremendous heave. Groaning with the effort, muscles straining, Oraeyn lifted Kamarie out of the chasm and set her on solid ground. She stared at him in shocked disbelief for the span of a breath, and then she collapsed into his arms. He pulled her close to him and held her while she shook with frightened sobs.

  In that moment, the ground trembled again and the floor split open once more. Oraeyn held Kamarie tightly to his chest as more dust from above fell around them. When the earthquake stopped, Oraeyn peered around in dismay. The tremor had cracked the earth open in several places, and it had left a wide, unbridgeable gap between him and Yorien’s Hand.

  “Oraeyn!” Brant’s shout made Oraeyn turn. The ground around Brant was untouched by the earthquake, he could still reach the star, but there was no way for Oraeyn to reach Brant. He and Kamarie were stranded on a thin peninsula, with nowhere to turn except back the way that they had come.

  “I can’t get across!” Oraeyn shouted. He felt a cold and overwhelming despair clawing wildly within him as he realized the cost of Kamarie’s life. His breath came fast as his mind raced.

  He stared at Brant in the flickering light of the unattainable star. The warrior nodded once, approval for Oraeyn’s choice gleaming on his face in defiance of all they had come through, all they had suffered. And as Oraeyn watched, his aspect changed. He was still Brant, the familiar face and stature, but there was also something more, a presence that the light of the star revealed. Authority and strength rested on Brant like a second skin. The golden glow of the star reached out to encase him and a radiant crown of dazzling light adorned his head. In that moment, Oraeyn saw Brant as he was meant to be, as he had always been meant to be. In a flash of insight, Oraeyn realized his true role in the quest they had undertaken; for the first time in weeks he knew exactly what to do.
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  “Brant!” he unbuckled his sword belt and wrapped it around the scabbard of the Fang Blade. Then he flung it across the gap between them. “Catch!”

  Reacting instinctively, the warrior reached up and caught the blade by the hilt. He stared at Oraeyn in confusion. He drew the sword from its sheath and the blade began to glow. The glow flamed into a blaze of luminous gold, brighter than it had ever shone in Oraeyn’s hands.

  “I can’t reach the star, Brant,” Oraeyn shouted, and the absolute rightness of his words welled up within him along with an overwhelming peace. “I was never meant to.”

  As he held the blade, Brant’s mind lit with the same understanding that had enveloped Oraeyn. The warrior’s jaw hardened with resolve as he held Oraeyn’s gaze across the chasm, then he turned and faced the glowing orb. Abandoning his own sword and sheathing the Fang Blade he walked steadily and carefully towards Yorien’s Hand. All thought and emotion ceased; he was consumed by the enormity of the task at hand, the task he had failed once before.

  As he approached the star, thought and feeling returned in a painful rush of awareness. Heat from the star raged, burning his skin. Freezing air encased him, and he shivered in its icy blast. Brant peeked at his hands, half expecting them to be covered with blisters. He was surprised to see that they appeared untouched by the heat or the cold.

  Brant edged towards the plinth until he was standing before it. Cautiously, he reached his hands out to the star. As he touched its edges images of his life rushed towards him in a dizzying cascade of pain and sorrow. Faces of loved ones flashed by him. Remembering the ordeal he had endured the first time, Brant jerked away. Breathing heavily, he paused. When he had stood here before, he had been but a boy, hungry for adventure, for glory, for the thrill of a conquest. Now he was a man, and he only wished to serve as best he could to protect as many as he could. All hesitation gone, Brant reached out and grasped the star with both hands. There was a flash of white light, and then everything stopped.