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

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  “I want the traitor your people have been harboring for thirty-five years.”

  Kal’s eyes widened, and he took a step back. “Who?”

  “I don’t know what he calls himself now, but he is one of us, a ‘Dark Warrior’ as you call us. He has betrayed the Crown, his people, and our honor. He will be brought to justice by willing consent or brutal force. If your king will return this fugitive to me, there will be no war.”

  “Majesty!” one of the men who had been sitting behind the throne gasped, standing and coming forward. He was tall, like all the men of his race, but his face was lined with age and his hair had begun turning gray at the temples. His dark eyes glowered at the five messengers, and they each took an involuntary step back.

  “What are you saying?” the man asked. “What of the promises you have made to the Council?”

  “How dare you approach me without being summoned, Alarek?” Seamas rose from his throne and glowered down at his councilor. “I care not for the ambitions of the Council. My one desire is to see the traitor found and brought before me to face justice.”

  The five courtiers had been conferring together in confused whispers, but now Selynda stepped forward, raising her chin. “Sire, we will find this traitor and bring him before you, if it means preventing this war.” She reached into her cloak and drew out a silver metal object that glinted in the light pouring through the high windows above the throne. “If you can just...”

  “A weapon!” Alarek snarled. “Guards!”

  Arrows hissed across the room, and the five courtiers fell to the floor, looks of bewildered surprise painted on their faces. Seamas, still standing, whirled on his councilor, his face dark with rage.

  “Alarek! What is the meaning of this?”

  “The woman was reaching for a weapon, Sire. They obviously came with the intent to murder you. Do you think five nobles would really come to sue for peace? The only peace they could be sure of was the assassination of their enemy.”

  Tobias had rushed down the steps the moment the arrows stopped flying. He knelt beside Selynda.

  “Why?” she whispered, staring up at him with the life already fading from her eyes. “All we wanted.... was peace...” Her hand slipped out from beneath her cloak, clutching a silver container.

  Tobias took the container and opened it. Inside was a rolled up parchment and a quill pen. He rose, holding them up for Seamas to see.

  “A pen and paper, Alarek,” Seamas snarled, “these are the weapons you so cleverly protected me from.” With a mighty sweep of his arm he backhanded the older man across the jaw. Alarek stumbled backwards, shock creeping into his eyes. “You are useful to me for now, so you will not be thrown into the dungeons of this place,” Seamas growled. “But the next time you see fit to give an order in my presence without my consent, I will see you executed for treason. Now get out of my sight.”

  Alarek left the room with as much speed as dignity would allow. When he was gone, Seamas sank back onto the throne. He waved a hand and warriors moved out from behind pillars and took the bodies away.

  “The Council has an eye on your throne,” Tobias said bluntly. “They want this war, for very different reasons than your own.”

  “I know,” Seamas sighed. “Perhaps I have always known. Sometimes I think...” his face darkened. “I will see this through, and I will deal with the Council when the time comes. Alarek, Reichard, even my uncle, Ramius, I will deal with them all once the traitor has been found. Ready the men, we leave at dawn.”

  Tobias grimaced. “Yes, Sire.”

  “At least I have one man near me whom I can trust.”

  chapter

  EIGHTEEN

  Queen Zara stood alone in the yard behind the palace. She was lost in deep concentration, focused, calm. She heard someone come up to her, but she did not allow the new presence to distract her. The person had the good sense not to speak, and she loosed her arrow. It flew straight and true and buried itself in the center of the target. Zara smiled, a bull’s eye from fifty paces was not bad at all, especially since she had not practiced for quite some time.

  “Brilliant shot, milady,” the voice drew her back to the present and she glanced down at the errand boy.

  Zara smiled and wiped her forehead, then asked, “Now, what brings you out here? Are you on a break? Would you like to learn how to shoot?”

  The boy looked hopeful at her offer, but then his eyes widened. “I almost forgot! I was looking for King Arnaud, but I can’t find him. There’s a group of people who have arrived outside the castle; they say they’ve come to help, but they look half-starved. They asked to see the King.”

  The boy tugged at her sleeve. Zara started to protest that she could not come until she had freshened up and was wearing something more suitable. She was dressed in leather breeches and a loose brown tunic with a leather jerkin over it. She had her quiver of arrows still slung over her shoulder and her hair was flying all over the place, although she had tried to tame it by pulling it up out of her face with clips and pins. As she followed the boy, however, she stopped protesting. If these people just needed food and a place to rest and a listening ear, then perhaps it would be better if she appeared to them as she was.

  Upon reaching the visitors, Zara was glad that she had not taken the time to change into a fancy dress. Men, women, and children all stood in the room, looking uncomfortable and out of place. They were dressed in clothes much like hers. There was pride in their eyes as well as weariness and hunger, and Zara perceived that they had not come to beg for aid, but to offer it. She whispered to her young guide, who then departed for the kitchens, under orders to bring back refreshment for these strangers; then she turned her attention fully upon them.

  “I am Queen Zara,” she said, “how can I help you?”

  A man stepped forward. “My name is Clyet.”

  Zara nodded for him to continue and he bowed slightly. “My queen, we are the people of the Pearl Cove.”

  Zara’s eyes widened, and she looked around, as if searching for a particular face.

  “Where is Calyssia?” she asked.

  Clyet stepped back, seeming a little bit shocked that Zara knew of Calyssia, then he spoke softly, “She has left, milady.”

  Zara lowered her head a little, whispering a soft farewell. Tears glimmered in her eyes, but she blinked them away rapidly. A few of the women noticed and exchanged puzzled glances. Then Zara looked up again.

  “What is it that you want?”

  “Only to help fight back the darkness that threatens,” Clyet said. “The Dark Warriors invaded our home, the Pearl Cove, shortly after the Keeper left. We fought them, and struck a fair blow, but they were too many for us. Many of our men, good men, died at the hands of the warriors.

  “We seek safety for our families and offer our weapons and fighting skills, to defend our country and serve our King, and in a way, to serve our Lady.”

  Fighting tears, Zara replied, “We accept. Consider it done.”

  At that moment servants arrived with food-laden carts, and Zara invited her countrymen, and these friends who loved her sister, to partake. “Please eat, and I will bring my husband to you. He will want to learn all you can tell of these Dark Warriors.”

  On her way out, one young woman caught Zara’s attention. The woman was no more than thirty years of age. She was holding a young girl on her lap and crooning to her softly. Zara was not sure what it was about the woman that held her attention for so long. The woman was small and lithe, and she had a fairy-like quality to her looks. She had short, shoulder-length brown hair that curled at the ends and bright blue eyes. The girl on her lap could have been no more than six. Her hair was longer, darker, and very curly. Her eyes were large and brown, framed by long, dark lashes. There was sadness in both the woman and the child, and it seemed to weigh heavily upon their shoulders. And yet, Zara sensed a strength about both of them as well, a strength that shone through them with such force
that it caused her to pause and marvel.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  Arnaud plied the men of the Cove with questions about their recent battle with the Dark Warriors. He was satisfied that these men, who served his sister-in-law and now served him, were as true-hearted and brave as he could hope for. He warmly accepted their offer to fight and thanked them for their service already given. As he made ready to leave, one of the men spoke.

  “There is one more thing, milord. You may have heard that the enemy is loading ships of war and will soon attack when these reach your shores. Do not be deceived. The enemy is only a day or two behind us, and through long conversations with Calyssia before she departed, we have reason to believe they will attack from the Harshlands as well.”

  Leaving his new recruits, Arnaud hurried to the War Room and sent for Garen, requesting his immediate presence there.

  “What is it, Majesty?” the old knight asked in concern.

  Arnaud smiled. “We have just received information from unexpected friends that confirms my suspicions. When we spot the sails of our enemies, you will send a third of our force to greet them. But you must make it look as though I have sent my entire army, can you manage that?”

  Garen nodded, mystified. “Yes, Sire, I can manage that. But to what purpose, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Arnaud shook his head. “We won’t be facing their entire army on the beach. Our new friends have already confirmed that one enemy army is coming from the direction of Pearl Cove, and they have passed along the wise caution that an attack from the Harshlands is also likely.”

  The older knight nodded slowly. “I thought a frontal assault seemed a bit too straight forward, especially after the past few months of covert attacks and raids for information.”

  Arnaud’s face was grim. “They want us to underestimate them.”

  “Well, we won’t.”

  Garen left quickly, eager to carry out his king’s instructions. Arnaud made his way for Zara and found her immersed in conversation with her new friends from Pearl Cove. She was drawn to them for obvious reasons and could not resist asking questions and listening to their answers and stories about her beloved sister.

  “Zara,” Arnaud said quietly as he entered the room.

  She turned to him. “Yes?”

  “I need you to lead the women and children up to Fortress Hill. You will be safe there so long as we can hold back the Dark Warriors. They will not come from that direction, the way is too steep. Make sure of your weapons and put bows and quivers of arrows in the hands of all that can use them. We will need your archers to cover us from behind; it could mean the difference for us.”

  “You believe that the castle will fall,” Zara said quietly. The words were concerned, but her voice held no emotion.

  Arnaud nodded. “This palace is not well-suited to a siege. It was never intended to be a fortress. The castle will be the aim of their first attack, then they will fight us in the open ground below Fortress Hill. If they get to the Hill, all is lost. But I do not intend to let them come that far.”

  Zara nodded, and then repeated his words to the people in the room. They gathered their children and their few belongings and followed their new Lady. Soon thereafter, an army of women and children followed their queen to the top of Fortress Hill.

  Fortress Hill was so named because it looked like a tall tower. The hill was not dome-shaped like most normal hills, but it rose up in a shape that was decidedly square. It had four definite sides and was very tall, almost as tall as the tallest tower of the palace it sat behind. The two sides nearest the palace sloped considerably, but not so steep that a person could not hike up them. The two sides of the hill that faced away from the palace were sheer, rocky cliffs. The top of the hill was large and flat, making a good place for those who were defenseless to flee to in times of attack. In the past, it had also served as a good place to hold certain important ceremonies, such as the coronation of a new king or the christening of a new prince or princess.

  There were many stories surrounding the hill, and nobody knew quite what was myth and what was real. Some had said that King Llian had driven back the Dark Country from the top of Fortress Hill. Others said that King Artair had climbed to the top of this hill to pull the legendary sword from the stone. Still others claimed that the hill once had secret passageways running through it and that wizards had lived within its caves. The caves and passages were still there, but wizards have a way of hiding their workmanship. Most believed that the stories were just fables, but Zara knew that they were all quite true.

  Fortress Hill was very steep. The climb was difficult without help, which made for slow progress. It took hours, but Zara saw them all to the top. The hill was west and south of the castle, with dense forest on three sides. The eastern face sloped down to a great, open plain that reached the sea.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  The ships were traveling swiftly and steadily towards the shores of Aom-igh. It was dark, for Seamas planned to arrive and bring battle at dawn. A wild light had begun to glow deep in Seamas’ dark eyes. He stood more and more often near the prow of the ship, his head thrown back as the wind and the waves whipped at him. His men trod warily around him. No one dared to question any of his orders. Seamas looked like a madman on the verge of going over the edge, and no one wished to be near if that happened. Seamas knew his men were afraid of him, could feel their fear of him rising, but it did not matter. It was right that they be afraid, for he was in a mood to kill.

  He smiled, the expression stretching across his face; it was not a kind or cheerful smile, it was cruel and fierce. He was invincible this day, he could feel his own power and he knew what power there was in the great army he commanded. He commanded the warriors of Llycaelon and today he would bring the traitor, the one who had eluded him for so long, to justice. Today Seamas would even the score. No one would challenge or question his right to the throne ever again. Today, Seamas vowed, he would wipe away the look of regret that had lingered in his father’s eyes when he named his eldest son as heir. No longer would that look haunt him in his dreams, no longer would he have to remember and know that his father believed the wrong man had been chosen. Today he would prove to his people that the right man had been on the throne all along.

  He heard footsteps coming up the deck behind him but he did not bother to turn around. He knew those steps well by now. It was his Uncle Ramius, the captain of this ship. Only he could approach Seamas this day without fear, for he was family, and he had been the only one who ever truly understood Seamas’ plight. For some strange reason, Seamas’ thoughts drifted back and into the past, to a memory he had buried long ago, a memory of himself as a young boy without worries or cares or any idea that his birthright had already been given to another. Seamas remembered that day as clearly as though it had happened an hour ago. It had been a day of revelations and lessons. It had been a day that had shaped his entire future as a man.

  He had never seen such a huge animal as the proud golden horse that his uncle had brought to the palace one day in the early Warm-Term. Seamas had been amazed and a little afraid when his uncle told him the horse was just for him.

  “For me?” young Seamas asked.

  The grizzled sea captain, nodded. “For you my boy. The eldest prince ought to have a horse all his own. He needs a good horse. A horse on which to ride into battle.”

  Seamas did not want to admit that he had never been on a horse. He was embarrassed to say he could not ride, and he could not be rude and say he did not want the horse. His father, the king, had spared him from having to explain by mentioning it lightly. The man had been outraged.

  “The prince does not know how to ride?” he had asked incredulously.

  The king had shaken his head. “He is young yet.”

  “But he is your eldest son! Is he not the heir?”

  At his uncle’s words, Seamas looked up, a quizzical expression on his face. He wondered at his uncle’s assumption
that he was something special. He had never been treated as anything special. He did well at everything he turned his hand at, but he had never been treated like... like this, as though he would one day be something so much more… Seamas shook his head, unwilling to allow dark thoughts to enter his mind on this day, his day of glory.

  Ramius took Seamas outside and threw him up onto the great, prancing beast of a horse. Seamas gripped the reins tightly, terrified. His uncle slapped the horse, and it took off without any warning.

  Seamas immediately half-toppled, half-threw himself from his precarious perch and landed on the hard-packed ground. The impact shoved the air from his lungs and left him gasping in pain. That had been more than enough to convince him that, eldest prince or no, he had no desire to learn how to ride a horse, ever. As he was about to race back into the palace his uncle clutched his shoulder with a hand that was formed from iron, stopping him mid-step.

  “Get back on the horse.” If Ramius’ hand was made of iron, his voice was edged with steel.

  Seamas turned a frightened look at his suddenly fearsome uncle. “I don’t want to.”

  “Get back on the horse.”

  There was no arguing with that voice. Seamas obediently got back on the beast. The horse sensed his fear and bucked him off. Seamas flew over the horse’s head and landed in a heap on the ground. As he landed, he began to snivel and tears escaped his eyes. His uncle jerked him off the ground and placed him back on the horse.

  After four more falls and a horse trough full of tears, Ramius threw his hands up and stormed out of the paddock in exasperation muttering something that sounded like, “completely worthless.” Seamas stayed crumpled on the ground for a few moments, crying into the dusty earth. Then something hardened within him. He became angry at his uncle for giving up on him, at his father for allowing his uncle to try teaching him to ride, at his mother just because he was angry at everybody right then, and especially at the good for nothing horse that he could not conquer.