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

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  “Why do not you?” Brant countered the question with a question of his own.

  He heard a low laugh that was devoid of all cheer, and then the voice replied, “I am in mourning.”

  “Are not we all?” Brant asked.

  “You did not answer my question.”

  “I rarely do.”

  The voice fell silent, but Brant did not turn to look at the young woman who was standing next to him. The silence stretched on for a long while, but it was not an uncomfortable silence. Finally Brant spoke again.

  “You played the Dragon Pipes during the battle, didn’t you?”

  Rena started back a little, surprised, then she nodded. “Yes, I did.”

  They stood in silence for a moment more, then Rena spoke again, more quietly this time and there was a hint of apology in her tone. “I have to go find my daughter and put her to bed, it is getting late. If you would excuse me…?”

  Brant nodded. “Certainly, Rena. But do not fear to come back to the banquet, you are one of the heroes in whose honor this occasion is being held.”

  Rena’s heart was filled with many things that she could not speak, so she hurried away from the strange man. She had sensed an odd closeness to the figure that she could not see, a bond of some kind, and it frightened her. The voice had been strong and sure, and yet sadness had lingered in his words: a sadness that she identified with. Rena did come back to the banquet hall after seeing to Kaitryn, but she did not dance.

  As the Toreth rose up high into the night sky, the dancing gave way to sitting around the fireplace. Kiernan put his mandolin aside and began to entertain his audience with feats of juggling, tumbling, and antics that drew steady laughter and delight. However, what the crowd wanted most were stories, and finally Kiernan relented.

  The minstrel took a few requests and first sang the Ballad of the Dragon King, which was Yole’s request, never guessing that the actual King of the dragons sat not more than ten paces from him. Yole had to admit that, for all of Kiernan’s boasting, the minstrel was a wonderful storyteller, and he was excellent at playing his eight-stringed instrument. After that, Kiernan played the Song of Llian’s Sword, and then he told several tales of the legendary King Artair. He spun the tales with words that cast magic throughout the room, and those who listened were spellbound as though they were actually seeing the things that Kiernan sang. The strings of the minstrel’s mandolin jangled long into the night. As his finale, Kiernan sang a song that he had composed about the recent events leading up to this banquet. His words and his music brought many to tears as he captured the heroism of the men who had given their lives in the great battle. Brant found himself moved beyond words at the way the minstrel told of the two brothers who had lost each other and, in losing each other, had lost pieces of themselves. The minstrel sang of how sorrow and anger and bitterness had turned one man’s mind to madness and how he had become consumed by it until he at last faced the monster of his own making: his own brother, who had never wished him harm, but had been content to live in exile rather than fight with his blood-kin. The tale expanded to a crescendo as Kiernan sang of the tragedy that had forced the exiled man to kill his brother in order to save two nations. The words were poignant and painted the story in such a sad and beautiful light that many found themselves weeping for both of the men in the tale. Brant wondered at the minstrel’s accuracy: how had he learned the details of the story? He wondered if Kiernan had spoken to Jemson. He glanced at the young man and saw tears on his nephew’s face. Jemson caught Brant’s look and smiled slightly, nodding his head in a gesture of forgiveness.

  After a few more songs, each more cheerful and less compelling than the story about Brant and Seamas, King Arnaud motioned for Kiernan to step down from the hearth. The lanky minstrel unfolded himself from his sitting position and stood up. He took a bow and his audience clapped and cheered, applauding him loudly. Kiernan blushed a deep shade of red and stammered a little.

  “I must say, this is a rather new experience for me,” he admitted, “usually people throw things at me when I finish. It sometimes seems as though they cannot get rid of me quickly enough.”

  Everyone laughed at his words, and Kiernan stepped down from the hearth, bowing and smiling to his audience as he went. King Arnaud strode forward to take his place in front of the people, and the room fell silent once more. There was a smile on the king’s face and a spring in his stride as he stepped up to the hearth to address the audience.

  “My people, my friends,” King Arnaud began, “we gather here together tonight to celebrate the end of the great strife that has overshadowed our land for many long months. We come here to celebrate our new allies and our new-found peace with the country across the sea, the land called Llycaelon.”

  The people gave a great cheer at his words, and Arnaud paused, waiting. When the boisterous and excited applause had died down, he spoke again.

  “But that is not all that we come together for: we come together in order to celebrate the future of Aom-igh, a future that has been preserved by its people. We come to honor the memory of those brave souls who gave their lives to save their kingdom so that we might have that future.”

  The room fell into a respectful silence as the memories of the many brave men who had given their lives in the battle were honored. A few tears were shed in that silent moment as images of lost friends and family came to mind.

  King Arnaud spoke once more, breaking the silence and continuing his speech, “And we also come to honor those who are among us today. We come to honor those brave men and women who are still living, we come to honor those who joined the struggle and helped to bring about the end of the war with their acts of unmeasured courage and valor. Today I mean to grant them the honor that they deserve.”

  The room lapsed into silent anticipation. King Arnaud paused for a moment with a smile, allowing the expectancy to build. When he finally spoke again, the people hung on his every word.

  “First,” Arnaud said, “I would ask the new King of Llycaelon to step forward.”

  Brant moved forward and stepped up onto the hearth. He was not surprised at King Arnaud’s words, for this part of the evening had been planned in advance. The treaties of peace between their countries had already been signed the morning before the Banquet of Peace, but Arnaud and Brant had both decided that a public acknowledgement of that peace would serve both of their lands far better than obscure documents that most people would never see.

  “I would have our two countries bonded by ties of peace and friendship henceforth and always,” Arnaud intoned as Brant moved to stand in front of him.

  Brant nodded once in agreement. “I would have it so as well,” he replied in the traditional words.

  The two men, the two kings, clasped hands, sealing the agreement for peace. The people in the room, from Aom-igh and Llycaelon both, let out a heartfelt and unrestrained cheer, and the two kings smiled at each other in friendship and brotherhood. Brant turned to leave, but Arnaud stopped him. Brant looked at Arnaud, a question in his eyes. King Arnaud raised a hand and the people quieted down once more to hear his words.

  He smiled again and said, “Before this man who stands before you became a king, he was my friend. We were as brothers when we were younger, and I have always thought of him as such even though we lost touch through the years. Brant did much to save our country and the lives of our people in the past few months, and he is, as many of you know, first and foremost, among those whom we gather to honor tonight.

  “I have struggled long and hard trying to think of some worthy gift of honor to bestow upon this hero of Aom-igh. Were he not already a knight of the realm, I would grant him knighthood. Were he not the king of another country, I would gladly give him half of my kingdom and name him as my heir.” Arnaud stopped and turned to Brant. “It seems that I have nothing to give you that you do not already possess, so after much thought, I have decided to grant you this: ask for whatever you wish, and on my honor
as the King of Aom-igh, I will do my best to grant your request.”

  Brant considered for a moment, then he smiled his quiet smile and spoke, “Then I can think of only one thing that I would ask of you, my friend. I would claim you as my brother, forever bound in friendship and trust.”

  Arnaud gave him a puzzled smile. “Granted, and gladly! But surely you know that you already have what you ask for, and no great boon is it, for I have always regarded you as such. Are you certain that you have no other request?”

  Brant shook his head and replied, “I can think of nothing greater for which to ask. The gift that is given freely is perhaps the greatest gift that can be granted.” Then he spoke more quietly as if to himself, “Greater than most ever know.”

  Understanding shone in Arnaud’s eyes and he embraced Brant as a brother, then raised Brant’s hand in his own and turned to his countrymen. “My brother, and the brother of all who love honor, courage, and peace. I give you my brother, not of blood, but my brother all the same.”

  With tears forming in his heart, Brant stepped down from the stage.

  Arnaud then turned to address the crowd once more, “This is a night of recognizing many. Tonight I wish to honor the dragons for their part in the great battle as well. There is one dragon in particular whom I would like to honor. He is among us tonight, though in human form. King Rhendak, if you would?”

  A tall man with red hair and green eyes strode forward. He was tall and thin, and yet there was a strength that flowed around him like his gold-colored cape. His face was narrow and pointy but every line of his visage bespoke him of an inner strength. Though he did indeed appear in human form, King Rhendak hid his true form and nature very poorly. The crowd parted for him with a respect that was tinted with a little bit of awe and fear.

  “I would have peace between our peoples as well,” King Arnaud said quietly when Rhendak stood before him.

  Anyone else standing next to the King of the dragons would have appeared small and insignificant; however, King Arnaud appeared in every way Rhendak’s equal. Kamarie noted this with a sense of wonder and a little bit of puzzlement. The two clasped hands as Arnaud and Brant had done.

  “And how do you propose that we have peace between our peoples?”

  “I would have your people return to live above-realm,” Arnaud said carefully, having learned from Kamarie the word that the dragons used to refer to the surface of Aom-igh.

  “Long my people have hoped for such a time when we could return above-realm,” the Dragon said, “but such is not possible, for among your people we are feared and hated and hunted. I will not bring my people to live in a place where they will be in danger.”

  King Arnaud nodded. “This I know, I offer you a chance to live above-realm but my offer is not without conditions.”

  Rhendak eyed Arnaud for a long moment in silence; then he said, “Speak your terms.”

  “I would put the condition that your people promise not to hunt or kill the livestock of the farmers and ranchers. If you consent to this I will pass a law of protection upon your people,” King Arnaud said.

  Rhendak looked at him. “How can you assure me that this law of protection will be abided by?”

  “The penalty for breaking the law will be death,” King Arnaud replied without hesitation.

  He had spoken at length with Kamarie and Oraeyn and Darby and Brant about the dragons and their laws. He had discovered that the more severe a ruler came across, the more he was revered and admired by his people. He had long pondered these same questions that Rhendak now asked, and at length he had come up with answers that were acceptable to his advisors.

  Rhendak thought for a few moments, his eyes never leaving the king’s face. Finally he nodded quietly. “Your terms are acceptable King Arnaud, and I consent to them. Our people will return to live above-realm in our old homes in the Mountains of Dusk and the Harshlands. Perhaps we will not be seen for many years, for our people are wary and shy of humans, but we will accept your offer and return to the lands of the Dragon’s Eye.”

  There was no cheering as the two kings clasped hands, for this was something too deep for cheers and catcalls. Every person in the room felt the weight of responsibility fall upon them as the agreement was reached, all of them except for Kiernan who told everyone around him how shocked he was to find that he had actually been in the presence of the King of the dragons when he had sung the Ballad of the Dragon King. His shock, Yole noted wryly, had not affected his voice in any way, nor did it seem sincere. Yole wondered at this; it seemed that the minstrel made too much of his awe and shock, as though he had not truly been either awed or shocked, almost as though he had known all along. But that could not be, Kiernan Kane was just an overconfident and arrogant minstrel, wasn’t he?

  Rhendak then spoke again, “I would ask your permission to speak, King Arnaud.”

  Arnaud looked startled. Dragons were an independent people, and they rarely asked permission to do anything, let alone speak. It dawned upon him that Rhendak was struggling to abide by the niceties of the humans that he was among. He nodded, emotions of respect making him unable to speak for a moment.

  Rhendak turned and faced the crowd. “Yole,” he called out the name.

  Yole walked up to stand in front of the King. He looked very small and very scared as he stood there under the burning green gaze of the Dragon. He stared up at the dragon and gulped loudly.

  “Yes, Your Majesty?”

  The dragon laughed. “Do not look so terrified my boy!” he exclaimed. “I did not call you up here to suffer some horrible fate. I asked you to come forward so that I could offer you a gift.”

  “What gift, Majesty?”

  “I want to offer you a choice, young Yole.”

  “What kind of choice?”

  “You have proven yourself as a mighty fighter, you have proven to be a lost one who is worthy of being given a second chance to choose. I asked you once if you wished to live with the dragons and learn our ways; you refused me because you were young and inexperienced. I see before me now one who is not so young and one who is, perhaps, a little wiser. I have seen you in battle and as the King of the dragons, it is my right to offer you this choice again: do you wish to live among the people of your birth and heritage or among the people who have adopted you and befriended you and cared for you? Consider carefully, and do not answer quickly,” Rhendak cautioned as Yole opened his mouth. “You do not have to answer tonight, the choice is not quite so plain as it might seem. Not many people get to make this choice.”

  Yole shut his mouth quickly, then he spoke tentatively, “May I have a few days to decide?”

  Rhendak smiled kindly and nodded at the boy. “Yes, you may.”

  “I will give you my answer as soon as I know it, Your Majesty.”

  They both left the hearth and now King Arnaud asked Garen to step forward. The old, grizzled knight strode up to the hearth and stood before his king as an equal, as he ever had. King Arnaud decorated him with the King’s Sword, the highest medal of honor that could be given.

  “You have served this country faithfully for many long years, and your acts of courage in the battle were only a continuation of your everyday service to the crown,” King Arnaud declared. “However, it is not your acts of courage or valor that I honor highest, but rather, it is your continued friendship that I cherish the most.”

  The old knight smiled and ducked his head, embarrassed yet pleased. He said nothing, for he had always been a man of few words and he now did not know what to say. King Arnaud allowed him to return to his spot in the crowd, and then he called up several other men and warriors who had distinguished themselves in battle and service. To these he awarded the Silver Flame, which accorded them a permanent honor among the heroes of Aom-igh.

  Then King Arnaud asked the knight Justan to come forward. The young man strode up to the hearth with long, confident strides. Arnaud greeted him with a smile.

  “I woul
d make you King’s Warrior were it a position you would accept,” King Arnaud said after decorating him with the Gold Sword.

  “I would accept your offer, Majesty,” Justan said gravely, but there was a hint of shock in his brown eyes at the great honor that he had just been given.

  King Arnaud saw the shock and smiled slightly. “Do not discredit yourself, I do not give you this honor lightly, Justan. Your advice has been unmatched, and your love for king and country is more than laudable. You have served as spy, informant, warrior, and advisor. You have gone far above and beyond the oaths you took when you became a knight. There is no higher honor that I can bestow, and I would bestow it upon you.”

  Justan bowed deeply and then clasped hands with King Arnaud. He returned to stand next to Garen, a little dazed. Garen beamed with a father’s pride and clapped Justan on the back heartily.

  King Arnaud smiled after him and then spoke again. “Now I would like to ask someone whom you all know and love to come forward, the Princess Kamarie, my daughter.”

  Kamarie’s mouth would have dropped open in shock had she not been deeply conscious of all the eyes that were turned towards her. The crowd parted as she rose and she walked calmly to stand before her father. He smiled at her, and she gave him a puzzled smile back. A light dawned across her face as she stood there, and she took a deep breath.

  Before King Arnaud could say anything, Kamarie spoke. “Father,” she began, “if you have called me up here to grant me knighthood, I would ask you not to. I once thought that I wanted to be a knight because I like to ride horses and I am skilled in weaponry, Garen claims that I am among the best that he has taught...”

  “You say that you once desired to be a knight,” Arnaud said slowly, cutting her off, “is that no longer true?”

  Kamarie nodded quietly. “It is no longer true, Father. A knight is not only called to be skilled in these talents, but a knight is called upon to use these talents as well. A knight must go into battle and a knight must kill, and I have discovered that I have no desire to do so. I thought that battle would be exciting, and I was upset when Brant and Dylanna forbade me to join in the fighting. However, in my travels and while I was atop Fortress Hill, I saw enough to convince me that it is neither exciting nor is it fun. War is perhaps a necessary evil, but it is not my desire to be a part of such.”