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

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  Dylanna nodded shortly. Oraeyn shrank back, seeing how angry Brant was. His face was stone, giving away nothing, but fury radiated from him as if it were tangible. Brant moved in abrupt, harsh motions as he lifted a long coil of rope from the place where it was secured behind his saddle. Then he removed his cloak and put it into his saddlebag. He also removed his boots and attached them to the front of his saddle.

  “Do as I do,” he barked.

  Oraeyn followed his example, and from the sound of the others moving behind him, he assumed that they also were taking off their cloaks and boots. The path was too narrow to waste energy in turning around to confirm what his ears told him, so he kept his eyes on Brant, waiting for instructions.

  “Pass this back and have everyone hang on to it. Keep several feet between each person, we will need as much room to maneuver as possible,” Brant ordered sharply, handing Oraeyn the coil of rope.

  Oraeyn obeyed swiftly, uncoiling a length of the rope to hang onto and then passing it backwards over his shoulder to the next person in line, repeating Brant’s orders as he did so. Brant tied his end of the rope to his belt and then he turned and walked forward, leading his horse cautiously along the path. As they continued to walk, Oraeyn peered up ahead and saw where the water had caused the riverbank to deteriorate and was now rushing into a shallow cavern in the side of the mountain.

  “When you enter the water, hold tight to your horse’s saddle, and hang on to the rope, keep yourself between it and the cliff,” Brant ordered, demonstrating.

  They all obeyed, and Brant waded into the water. The current tugged at Brant's legs, surging around him in miniature whirlpools. His great black horse shied away from the water, but Brant calmed him, speaking soothingly and softly until the horse relaxed. The black horse finally lowered his head and followed Brant obediently into the rushing water.

  The water was deep, above Brant’s shoulders after only a few paces. Brant had left a lot of room between him and Oraeyn on the rope, and he told Oraeyn to wait until he was on the other side to enter the water. Brant continued through the water, holding onto his horse’s saddle. In this way half swimming, half walking with great effort he reached the other side. He clambered up the bank, secured his end of the rope to his saddle, and turned to wave Oraeyn across.

  Oraeyn waded into the water and soon found that he could not touch the bottom. He clung to his saddle with one hand and gripped the rope pulling himself along it with his other arm. As he got near the middle, the current became much swifter and too strong. His fingers grew numb and stiff. He tried in desperation to paddle against it, but found himself being dragged by the current towards the actual river. The current suddenly pulled him under the surface of the water, and he let go of his horse in his panicked attempts to paddle his way back up to air. Oraeyn surfaced and gasped for air, clinging desperately to the rope, and then was pulled under again. The current swept him under the side of the cliffs, and his head struck against a jagged rock. The pain almost sent him spinning into unconsciousness. His arms felt leaden, and he wondered how much longer he could hold his breath. He could still feel the rope clenched in his fist, but he did not know how much longer he could hold on. He tried to kick but the river was too strong. He strained with his arms, hoping he could use the rope to pull himself to shore, but his strength was giving out, and so was his air. Although his eyes were closed and he was underwater, he felt as though he could almost see the world slipping away, fading into blackness as he prepared to open his mouth and take that deadly gasp for air that would ultimately drown him. However, before he could open his mouth, Oraeyn felt himself being jerked back above the surface of the water. He gasped for air and opened his eyes, blinking through the water drops that clung to his eyelids. He heard shouting and wondered where it was coming from. Something large bumped against him and he wrapped his arms around it, clinging to the solidness of it for dear life. He felt himself being pulled along, but he did not care as long as he was no longer under water. He took great, gulping breaths of air and dazedly wondered why he had never noticed what a wonderful thing breathing was. A few moments later, large hands pulled him up out of the water and he let go of the great solid thing that had saved his life, finally feeling safe. Something pulled at his fingers and he clenched his fists reflexively, then relaxed, someone was simply trying to get him to let go of the rope. He relaxed his grip and tried to open his eyes, but it was too difficult and he eventually gave up, letting darkness and the pain in his head overwhelm him.

  Oraeyn woke several hours later to the sound of voices raised in anger. He was wrapped in blankets, and there was a fire roaring next to him. A bandage had been wrapped around his head, but the pain was gone. The palms of his hands ached, and when he looked down at them he saw angry red welts. He dully realized that they were no longer on the riverbank and he wished he knew where he was, but he could not dwell on it because he was still very tired and the angry voices were too distracting.

  “I don’t care if that path was the fastest way to get through the mountains, your stubbornness almost got Oraeyn killed!” It was Brant’s voice.

  “But it did not get him killed, he kept hold of that rope, and we were able to pull him above the surface of the water. You yourself said that he will be just fine. We got him dry and warm quickly enough that we do not have to worry about him freezing or catching cold, and Leila’s healing magic seems to have worked to close the wound. He won’t even have a scar.” Dylanna’s voice was icy, but there was some kind of undertone in her voice, something that told Oraeyn she had been very frightened.

  “But the water could have been colder, the rope could have broken, he could have let go of the rope, we could have been stuck on that trail for hours, even days longer, and even with the rope, we almost lost a good horse and a good man,” Brant was almost shouting now.

  “Could have, but did not,” Dylanna shouted back, as if trying to prove some point.

  Oraeyn wanted to speak up and tell them to stop arguing so loudly so that he could go back to sleep. He wanted to say that he was fine and the ordeal was over and ask where they were now, but his throat was dry and hoarse. He could not speak above a whisper. He tried to lift himself up, but he was wrapped too tightly in blankets to move.

  “He’s awake.” Kamarie’s voice cut through the tension.

  Brant and Dylanna both suddenly came into view. Their faces were both concerned, and although they had just been shouting, they both looked weary and worried. Brant knelt next to Oraeyn.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  Oraeyn opened his mouth and whispered hoarsely, “Water.”

  Dylanna swiftly brought him a canteen of cold water and propped up his head so he could drink. He drank deeply and then sighed and nodded for Dylanna to take the canteen away. Then he looked back and forth between them.

  “What happened ... where are we?” he asked, his voice returning.

  “The current turned into a very strong whirlpool as you reached the middle of the river. Both you and your horse were immediately dragged under. Luckily for both of you, you had stayed to the right of your horse, and he was not dragged past the rope. You went under several times and struck your head on a rock. We pulled you to the surface, and fortunately your horse is a strong swimmer. He got you to shore and we hauled you up the bank. The whirlpool abated and everyone else made it across without incident. Now we are resting and concerned for you.”

  Oraeyn nodded and sighed; closing his eyes. “I am slowing everyone down.”

  Dylanna spoke up quickly, “No, you are not. We are ahead of schedule because we took the river pass.”

  “Yes, but we could continue on even faster if I had not gotten pulled under. I should have kept a hold of my horse,” Oraeyn argued.

  “You would not have gotten pulled under or even ended up in the river at all if we had not taken the river pass,” Brant said, “so don’t blame yourself for anything, you’ll be ready to travel in the morni
ng if you get a few hours of sleep. We will continue our journey tomorrow.”

  Oraeyn shook his head. “You should leave me here and keep traveling. I know you want to get there quickly.”

  Brant looked shocked at Oraeyn’s words, and he shook his head. “No! No one is leaving anyone behind.”

  “But isn’t that what the argument was about?” Oraeyn asked.

  “No,” Dylanna said softly, “we were finishing our argument from before about whether or not we should have taken the river pass. Perhaps I was too stubborn - forgive me Oraeyn - the fault was mine.”

  Brant looked up, startled at Dylanna’s words, then he lowered his head. There was a grudging look of respect in his eyes, but he did not say anything. Oraeyn caught the look and wondered why Brant kept silent, but he did not ask about it, sensing that the time was not right to bring it up.

  Dylanna looked at Oraeyn. “You just get some rest, that is the most important thing, there’s nothing wrong with you that a few hours of sleep won’t mend.”

  Later that night, as Dylanna lay on her blankets, she found that she could not sleep. She resisted the urge to toss and turn with the restlessness she felt. The others were all sleeping the deep, sound sleep of exhaustion, worn out by their arduous journey through the river pass, all of them except Brant.

  Brant was sitting on the other side of the fire, taking the first watch. The firelight flickered back and forth. He had not spoken to her since Oraeyn had regained consciousness, but he had gone about securing the camp with a stony expression on his face. Brant had become silent and brooding and had hardly said a word to anyone else all evening. Dylanna had tried to approach him a few times, but an unaccustomed timidity had stolen over her and kept her from speaking. She frowned, wondering what was wrong with her. She never cared what other people thought of her, and she was used to being in charge, the one others looked to for answers. It was rare for her to find herself tongue-tied and awkward, yet that was how this strange, silent man made her feel.

  Finally giving up on trying to fall asleep, Dylanna sighed and got up from her blanket. She walked around the fire and sat down on a log next to Brant. She sat there for a few long moments, staring into the fire, watching it eat the wood and dance along the branches in a ghostly semblance of life. She glanced sideways at Brant, feeling altogether too much like a little girl who has been reprimanded. Brant sat with his arms folded and his legs stretched out in front of him. He, too, stared into the fire, as though mesmerized by its movement, yet she knew he could be standing with his sword drawn in an instant if he heard anything out of place. She tried to read his expression, but his face could have been carved from stone. She waited, quiet and calm on the outside but far more nervous on the inside than she ever would admit.

  Without looking at her, Brant spoke, “Yes?”

  She sighed again and then spoke in a very small, very quiet voice, “This is not easy for me.”

  Brant did not move as she spoke. He stared unblinkingly into the fire without so much as twitching a muscle. Dylanna felt very cold, but she continued to speak, her voice slow and hesitating. The words came, but they were hard to form; they felt awkward and ungainly, but she said them anyway, cursing herself for being unable to keep the tremor out of her voice.

  “I was not trying to get anyone killed, Brant. I honestly believed the danger was minimal, I… Brant....” She could have kicked herself for sounding so weak, for pleading, but the words were already out.

  Brant did not turn towards her but continued to stare into the fire. After an agonizingly long moment he spoke, his voice cool, “I don’t mind that you thought the river pass would get us through the mountains quickly, I don’t even mind that you were stubborn enough to get your way. What I do mind is that you were reckless with someone else’s life. I am upset that you were so confident in your own plan that you could not see past it to the true danger that was present, perhaps not to me or you, or even your sister, or the minstrel, but the danger was very real and very great for Oraeyn and Kamarie and Yole.”

  His words pierced the air like icicles falling off a roof and shattering in the cold, making Dylanna wince. In the face of this stone man, she felt younger than she had in years. She wanted to cringe backwards and return to her bedroll and cry, but she did not. Instead she stayed still and tried to say the words that were weighing heavily upon her.

  Finally she opened her mouth again, daring to break the stormy silence, “Brant, I… m-my confidence was not in my own stubborn belief that the river pass was the quickest way. My confidence was in you, in your ability to get us safely through the mountains no matter which path we took. You have gotten us through everything else….” She trailed off for a moment but then spoke again, “It is hard for me to admit that, I haven’t had to rely on anyone else since my father died and my sister went to the Cove. It has been my job to look after my younger sisters and Kamarie....” Dylanna stopped, feeling as though there was something more that she ought to say, but not being able to think of what words would convey what was troubling her heart.

  Brant had turned towards her as she spoke and was now looking at her with a deep, searching gaze. Dylanna looked down, unable to meet his dark eyes. She felt a lump forming in her throat.

  “I know my behavior today seems inexcusable. I know I acted horribly… but I wanted you to know that I only continued to argue because I was worried about Oraeyn; only I- I did not know how to show it. I am not accustomed to making such an error of judgment.”

  Brant sighed and grimaced. Dylanna waited for a moment in the silence, hoping that he would say something, but the silence stretched on. To her horror, Dylanna suddenly found herself fighting back tears. Shocked and embarrassed at such a childlike response, she hurriedly stood up to leave. She murmured a quick “good-night” to Brant and started to walk away.

  With astonishing speed and surprising gentleness, Brant reached out and grabbed her wrist. She stopped, a little uncertain, and looked at him. His sudden grip startled her, but it did not hurt. The firelight made the shadows move like living creatures crawling across the contours of his face. Dylanna could feel her eyes filling with tears, and she was very glad Brant could not see her face in the darkness.

  He did not look away from the fire but continued to gaze into the wildly dancing flames with a deep intensity that almost scared her. For a long moment he did not say anything, and she wondered if he had forgotten that she was still standing there, held there by his own hand. Then he turned his eyes to her face and spoke, his voice so quiet that she almost did not catch the words.

  “Do not let your resolve waiver, we will need your strength in the battle to come.”

  He stared into her face for a moment more, his gaze both stern and kind; then he loosened his hold on her wrist and she turned away again. She heaved a great sigh and realized that she no longer felt like crying into her pillow like a little girl. She returned to her bedroll where she fell asleep immediately.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  The courtiers landed on the shores of Roalthae as night fell. They decided to approach the palace in the morning, so they set up camp and spent an uncomfortable night. None of them were used to sleeping on the ground surrounded by the cool night air and strange noises. And, although they each firmly believed that their mission would meet with success, they were each a little nervous about what the morning would bring. They were going to see Dark Warriors by the light of day, perhaps speak with their king, something no one from Aom-igh had ever done before to their knowledge. It was a long, cold, sleepless night.

  Morning dawned, and the five nobles set off on the short walk to the palace of Roalthae. It was not so grand a palace as that of Aom-igh, but it was a beautiful and delicate structure, built out of white marble that reflected the rays of the Dragon’s Eye, dazzling the eyes of all who beheld it by the light of day. They did not walk far before they were halted by armed guards. After they had been questioned and thoroughly searched for weapons, a
messenger was sent to the king.

  “Sire,” the young gyrfalcon addressed his king, “we discovered spies in our camp this morning.”

  Seamas frowned and glanced at Tobias. “Spies?”

  The boy stopped, a perplexed look crossing his face. “Well... we assumed they were spies. But they claim to be from the court at Aom-igh, here to sue for peace.”

  Seamas’ expression turned from disbelief to bewilderment. “Show them in, Jemson, but keep them well guarded,” he commanded. He turned to Tobias and whispered, “What can this mean?”

  “I don’t know, Your Majesty.”

  The five people who were ushered into the room did not, at first glance, look like courtiers. Their clothes were rumpled, their faces were covered in dust, and their expressions were a mixture of confusion, nervousness, and pleading. However, upon closer inspection, Seamas noticed that their garments were made of elegant fabrics, material that did not stand up well to sleeping on the rough ground. He noticed the way they carried themselves, with pride and confidence. And they looked him in the eye, as if they believed themselves his equals.

  “My warrior tells me you hail from Aom-igh and have come to sue for peace,” Seamas began.

  The tallest of the three men took a tiny step forward. “I am Duke Kal of the province of Coeyallin, and my comrades and I have indeed come to discuss terms for peace. We do not want this war to go any further. Simply tell us what you seek, and we will lobby King Arnaud to resolve the matter peacefully. He does not seek war, but he is prepared to defend Aom-igh.”

  Seamas glanced at Tobias, who gave a slight shrug. The room was long and lined with pillars. In the shadows between each set of pillars, guards stood motionless as statues. Behind the throne were four or five chairs for the king’s most trusted advisors, men who were allowed to sit in the king’s presence and would come forward if he felt the need to confer with them on a particular decision. After a moment of thoughtful silence, Seamas spoke, his voice full of tightly controlled rage.