King's Warrior (The Minstrel's Song Book 1)

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  Now it was Oraeyn’s turn to stare. “Why wouldn’t I come?” he asked in bewilderment.

  “B-because I…” Kamarie’s voice started to tremble; she took a deep breath and regained control of herself, “Because I have been so rotten to you. And also because I knew my trail would be very difficult to follow.”

  Uncertain as to how he was supposed to respond, and afraid that she would give way to hysteria at any moment, Oraeyn said, “I’m a pretty good tracker.” He hesitated, then continued, “And you haven’t really been that bad. I mean... I shouldn’t have risen to the occasion so often. You are the princess after all, and I’ve been treating you as if I was expecting you to be something you’re not.”

  A flush of anger rose in Kamarie’s cheeks. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” Oraeyn quickly explained. “I mean you can’t help the fact that you’ve been waited on your entire life and you expect everyone to do so. You’ve been entitled to it, so I could hardly expect you to quit treating everyone like servants.”

  “For your information…” Kamarie stopped.

  Who am I? She thought to herself, I am not the person that he thinks I am… am I? And if I am, then what can I do to change?

  She hesitated and then continued in a different vein instead of defending herself, “I had started to gather the firewood when I fell down that hole, so I suppose I will have to start over again. Only this time I’ll watch out for holes in the ground,” she smiled at him winningly.

  “Uh, yeah.” Oraeyn stared at the creature before him in confusion. Who is this girl? He asked himself, as he said, “How about we gather that firewood on our way back towards the camp? Darby probably thinks we’ve run out on her by now.”

  Kamarie laughed, “Probably.”

  As they walked back to their campsite, Oraeyn gathered up the courage to say, “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure,” Kamarie said.

  “Just where did you learn how to use a sword?”

  Startled, Kamarie almost dropped her firewood. Then she turned away and picked up another stick, “How did you know I can use a sword?” she asked, keeping her gaze down, studying the ground intently for firewood.

  “One swordsman knows another,” Oraeyn said simply. “The way you wear your sword gives you away to anyone who knows anything about weapons.”

  Kamarie’s face darkened, and she seemed to be struggling with herself. There was silence for a moment, and then she sighed heavily. She looked up from the ground and held his gaze solemnly.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t been quite honest with you. I’m not exactly what I seem. I mean, of course I’m the princess, and my name is Kamarie, but I’m not an ordinary princess. You see… well, I begged Sir Garen into training me as his squire.”

  Oraeyn looked startled. “Sir…Garen? He agreed? And your parents?”

  “No, my parents did not know, and perhaps they still don’t, although I am pretty sure that my father suspects. It took a lot of convincing to get Sir Garen to teach me since it had to be in secret. Every night when I was supposed to be in bed, I would climb out the window, and Sir Garen and I would ride out into the forest where he taught me swordsmanship, the code of chivalry, archery, tracking, riding, how to make a fire, everything you’ve been learning.”

  “You’ve been actually training as a squire, a real squire, under Garen’s tutelage.” Oraeyn was stunned. Garen had stopped training squires several years ago. He was a hero of Aom-igh, and now he taught the younger squires history and was the head commander of all the regular knights. He was revered by squires and knights alike. Though past his prime, he was still strong and could out-track, out-ride, and out-fight many of the best knights in the kingdom. King Arnaud trusted the defense of his country to Garen, and that was all the honor that this great warrior needed.

  “Well, yes,” Kamarie said.

  Then Oraeyn looked sharply at her. “So what has all of this been?”

  “All of what?”

  “Why did you point up-river? Why have you been acting like you know nothing about being out here in the wilderness? Why have you been acting like a spoiled princess if you aren’t one?”

  Kamarie glanced at him shamefacedly then looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “Well, partially because I wanted to keep my training a secret, and partially because I don’t have a whole lot of real experience… I know the concepts of direction and finding my way, but I haven’t had a lot of time to put those concepts into practice.” She turned away and picked up another stick to hide her furious blushing.

  Oraeyn looked skeptical. “You wanted to keep it secret,” he said slowly. There was a long pause, and then, “Did you think you couldn’t trust me? Is that why you thought I wouldn’t come rescue you from that pit?”

  Kamarie blushed again and cast her gaze downwards again. Then she straightened, still standing with her back towards him. Without turning around, she stiffly nodded, once. Oraeyn saw the nod and the look on his face turned sad.

  “I’m sorry you felt that way.”

  Kamarie turned to face him now. “Oraeyn, my kingdom is in danger, and I don’t know where the danger is coming from. It is quite possible that there are traitors inside Aom-igh already, even inside the castle. I had to be careful, for everyone’s sake.”

  He nodded slowly, his eyes sympathetic. “I understand. I think you did right. I am sorry I gave you such a hard time.”

  “No!” Kamarie exclaimed. “It’s a good thing you did, that’s how I knew I could trust you.”

  He stared at her in total bewilderment for a moment, and then they both started laughing. As they walked back together, Oraeyn asked her about her training and Kamarie answered.

  “What do you plan to do with your training?” Oraeyn finally asked, when they were almost back at the camp.

  Kamarie’s face sobered as she paused and faced Oraeyn. “Did you know that in King Artair’s day, the women were trained as warriors too? They didn’t fight on the front lines, but they were the last line of defense against invasion. They were often trained as archers, although they learned the sword and spear as well.”

  Oraeyn’s eyes widened. “Then you plan to become a knight?”

  Kamarie sighed. “No, not really.”

  “Why not?”

  “There isn’t time. I’m the princess, and in two years I come of age, I don’t have time to go through the intensive training that you will undergo next year in order to reach knighthood. I have too many other responsibilities that will demand my attention.”

  “So all this has been, what, a game? A distraction? Why go through it?”

  “To be useful,” Kamarie smiled faintly. “I’ve read the histories, and I admired the system that King Artair set up. Even if an invading force made it through his army, they still hadn’t conquered Aom-igh, because they had to get through that final line of defense, the women protecting their homes, and they were trained and capable of defending their homes. I may be queen someday, I would like to be able to defend my people, should the need arise.”

  “You’ve put a lot of thought into this, I’m impressed. Have you spoken to your father about it?”

  “Not yet, but I wish now that I had."

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  “Father,” Schea said while he helped Brant round up a few straggling sheep. “I just remembered. Ryder and I found a hole in the fence down by the South Pasture. We put some sticks over the hole, but we couldn’t lift the big boards that had fallen.”

  Brant looked up, surprised. “Did you find the hole today?”

  Schea looked uncomfortable. “Um... no, I’m sorry, Father, it was um... a couple of weeks ago. Right before the... um... right before you had to send Yole away. It’s the part of the fence that’s closest to the forest, and we haven’t been all the way out to the forest in a while.”

  “Well, you must have done a good job with those sticks, none of our livestock h
as gone missing.”

  “Yeah, but I shouldn’t have forgot.”

  “It’s all right, son. No harm done.”

  Schea perked up a bit as he realized his father wasn’t disappointed in him. A few moments later they heard Imojean ringing the dinner bell and Kali joined them, a bunch of violets held gently in her left hand.

  “Thank you for telling me Schea, safeguarding our livestock is our life’s blood,” Brant said. It was good that the boy had remembered; sheep and cattle could be lost if a patched fence went too long unnoticed. “You and Kali go up to the house for dinner. Tell your mother I’ll be late, and that I said to go ahead and start dinner without me. I want to go look at the fence.”

  “Yes, sir,” Schea and Kali turned towards the house.

  “I’ll beat you to the house!” Brant heard Schea challenge Kali.

  “Not if I beat you first!” Kali retorted.

  Brant smiled. She might seem to belong in fairyland sometimes, but she was very much a rancher’s daughter as well, and a tough one at that. Her thoughtful, gentle, and airy nature was a good balance to Schea, who was always very much a little boy. The two fought and argued more than their fair share, Brant sometimes thought, but they always made up and were best friends again soon afterwards. He turned towards the south and sighed. The Dragon’s Eye had begun to set, and it would be dark by the time he reached the fence, but it was not something he wanted to leave unchecked till tomorrow.

  The fence was not too bad, but it was a good thing that Schea and Ryder had found it. Severe winds had damaged a portion of the fence, which could have eventually caused some major problems. The sticks that the boys had used to patch the hole were still in place, which was probably why none of the sheep or cattle had escaped yet. Brant removed the patch, smiling to himself as he did so, proud of his son’s ingenuity, and started putting the fence timbers back into place. He re-tied the wire and pushed mud into the holes where the heavy timbers fit into the posts, confident this repair would safeguard his herd until he could get his tools down here to fix it properly. As he was finishing his final repairs, Brant heard a scream from somewhere behind him. Startled, he turned his head and looked over his shoulder towards his house. Black smoke billowing up into the sky sent alarm slicing through his heart. The fence concern vanished and he took off across the pasture at a sprint. When he reached the path that led up out of the pasture to his home, he realized that the smoke was pouring out of all the windows in his house.

  His first panicked thought was that Imojean had accidentally left the flue shut or that some hot coals had fallen out of the stove and onto the floor; but as he drew closer, a more urgent dread filled his senses. There was no sign of life around the house. No shouts to the children to get buckets of water, no movement of any sort inside that would have told him that anyone was trying to beat out the flames. There was no noise at all except for the roaring of the fire, no movement except for the raging flames that lapped hungrily at everything they touched. He dashed up the path to the house and stopped suddenly, dropping to his knees on the dusty ground with an anguished cry.

  In front of him, face down on the path only a few feet from the front door of his house, lay Schea and Kali. He knew before he touched them that they were dead. A lump formed in his throat making it impossible to swallow. Pain seared across his chest and he could not breathe. He stared blankly at the dark stain on the ground around his precious children.

  Standing up now, he looked towards the house. Blazing ashes were flying up into the sky and falling back to the ground like little comets. Flames were shooting up through the roof and pouring out through the windows. The fire was slurping greedily at the little shutters he had taken such pains to put in for Imojean, the pretty green paint was bubbling as it melted.

  Something broke loose inside of Brant; half screaming, half sobbing he stumbled towards his house, crying, “Imojean! Imojean!”

  He burst in through the front door and was immediately thrown back by the intense heat and smoke. He pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth and stepped back through the door; frantically he scanned the room searching, searching. He found her. She was lying on the floor with destruction all around her. The whole scene unfolded in his mind’s eye. Imojean had been humming to herself, maybe even singing, setting the table for dinner as she waited for her family to arrive from the fields. She could hear the patter of her children’s feet as they raced up the path, and then there was silence. She looked out the window to see what was taking so long... that must have been the scream he had heard, the one that had been cut off so abruptly by the dagger sticking out of her back.

  He’s found me, the thought froze the blood in his veins. After all these years, he has finally tracked me down.

  A section of the roof crackled and fell a few feet in front of him, pulling him out of his thoughts and reminding him that he stood inside a house that was ablaze. He made his way to Imojean and picked her up. Kissing her forehead gently, he carried her to the bed and laid her there as carefully as he could. Then he ran back outside and picked up Schea. A warrior’s burial in fire he could give his family, at the very least he could give them that, he who had brought this upon them. Cradling his son in his arms and kissing his face, he carried the limp body of his son back to the house and laid him next to his mother. Then he went back for Kali. When he picked her up, she moaned. He knelt down on the path quickly, his eyes brimming with hope.

  “Kali?” he spoke her name in a quivering, astonished voice, amazed that she was still alive, “Kali?”

  “Papa?” she whispered, her eyelids fluttering open. She pressed her small hand to the knife wound in her side. “It hurts papa.”

  His eyes filled with tears. “I know, honey.”

  “They set the house on fire,” she choked on the words and spit blood.

  “It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”

  “They killed Schea. I screamed, I knew you would come...” her eyes started to glaze over.

  “No! Kali! Don’t go, stay with me darling, please. We’ll make it, we’ll be okay.” Brant was not sure what he was saying, but he knew that he had to keep her talking, had to keep her from going to sleep or his entire world would fall apart. He had seen her wound, so he knew there was no hope, but his mind clung to hope with stubborn ferocity. Tears streamed down his face as he begged his daughter to live.

  Her eyes focused on his face and her little hand touched his cheek, brushing away the tears. “I knew you’d come,” she whispered again. Then her eyes closed and her hand fell back down. She was gone. The bonds of flesh no longer held her spirit. Brant, convulsed in sobs, could almost see her face, shining with a gentle, golden smile as she reached her little hand down to him from the realm above and said, “Don’t. Don’t cry for me, Papa. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  chapter

  THREE

  Brant, desolate and exhausted, watched through a haze of tears as his house burned to the ground and the wind scattered the ashes across the hills and the fields. The black specks fluttered across the green grass, oddly out of place against the bright sky and the glow of the setting Dragon’s Eye. He was void of feeling. This tragedy was happening to someone else, somewhere far away. Brant half-believed that he would soon wake up and be surrounded by his happy family once again. This nightmare would become a thing that had never, could never have, happened. Imojean would come running out of the doorway that was not on fire and dance, laughing, into his arms again. Schea, grinning, little, dark-haired Schea, would tug on his cloak and tell him to come see his newest find down by the creek. Presently, his sweet, faraway dreamer, the golden haired Kali would appear to explain the fairy ring she had found. His world would fill up with magic and laughter again, and they would all sit together eating the dinner that had never even been set on the table. Tears rolled down his face, unheeded. He stood frozen in place, watching all his dreams, hopes, and work die inside hungry flames that devoured everything he held d
ear.

  He knew he had been standing in the same spot for a long time. He could feel it in the dull ache creeping up his legs and lower back, but he could not move. He could not tear his eyes away from the destruction. As the last flames died out, and his life lay before him in a pile of blackened charcoal and ashes, a fury welled up within Brant, an intensity of emotion he had never known. The rage shoved sorrow aside, tucking it into an aching, throbbing little ball in the corner of his heart, and then his fury consumed him, burning through him with a force like the fire that had just destroyed his life. He had tried so hard, so hard to leave his past behind him, to lead a normal, quiet life, raising his family in a remote place, taking up a peaceful existence, and doing everything he could to blend into the normal crowd. But his past had caught up to him; his world had been taken from him, brutally ripped out of his grasp. And now he had nowhere to turn but back the way he had come. How had this happened? How had they found him? And most importantly, why now?

  Tears streamed from his eyes. “They were just children, innocents... how could you?”

  Finally, the storm that had been threatening all day broke loose and swirled around him. Flashes of blazing light flared across the sky in streaks followed closely by the deafening roar of thunder. The rain poured down in sheets, drenching Brant within seconds.

  As if echoing the weather, the storm in Brant’s heart burst out of his grasp in all its fury. Raising his voice in defiance, Brant shouted out into the storm. “I will find you!” he yelled, his deep voice rising above the raging squall, “I know who you are, and I will find you!”

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Queen Zara stood staring out of the window with a sorrowful and pensive look on her lovely face. She turned to Arnaud. “Do you think that they are all right?” she asked in a hushed voice filled with the quietness that comes from living for days on end under great strain.