Orphan's Blade (2 page)

At least she’d go down playing her harp one last time.

As Echo turned to the second man, Valoria climbed the side of the carriage. Her harp glowed golden in the sun, exactly where she’d left it. Relief poured through her as she untied the first knot holding the instrument down.

Cadence grabbed her ankle and tugged. “Come back inside before an arrow spears your thick head!”

The second knot had hardened in the sun. Her nails broke against the cord. “Help me untie it.”

Cadence sighed in exasperation. “You are the worst ward I’ve ever had.”

As her handmaiden climbed the side of the carriage, a new fanfare broke from the horizon. This music lacked the deft touch of the minstrels’ hands. The rough tone and horrid intonation would summon only scowls from the enemy. No one from the House of Song would be caught dead playing with such coarseness.

A line of silver caught her eye as the Royal Guard crested the hill.

“Look!” Cadence joined her on the carriage roof. “The banners have the insignia of the two swords. ’Tis Braxten Thoridian’s army.”

“And their awful horn blowers.” Army or not, Valoria untied the last knot holding down her harp. She swung the instrument from the carriage roof and landed on her feet. Closing her eyes, she strummed a mysterious chord full of dissonance. She did not have the power to bring the raiders to their feet like Echo’s haunting tenor voice, but she could elicit the doubt inside their desperate hearts.

She knew the taste of desperation.

The Royal Guard rode into battle at full speed, trampling the outside line of raiders with their horses. As they fought to reach the minstrels, Valoria focused on her music, stringing together chord after chord of unresolved harmonies. Some of the cloths weren’t enough to block the sound, and a few raiders fell to their feet before they reached the retinue. But, most of them charged with vengeance, wielding pitchforks, broken glass, and whatever they found on the side of the road.

Another arrow ripped by Valoria’s face, and she fell back against the carriage. “Lyric’s lyre! ’Tis not working.”

“You have to find something that does, or we’ll all be joining the gods.” Cadence reached in her boot and pulled out a dagger.

Valoria stared at Sill. The dead lands tempted her even though father had warned her of manipulating nature with song. Music could control a person, but it could only entice a force of nature to do its own bidding. Nature had its own way of deciding people’s fate.

She breathed deeply. Could she harness the mountain’s power long enough to save them all? With everyone’s life in jeopardy, risk didn’t matter.

A clump of raiders broke from the group, running toward the carriage. Echo’s voice surged as he threw himself in front of them. He was no warrior. He would not be able to hold them all off.

Cadence growled beside her. “Let them come. They’ll have to get through me first!”

That would take all of three heartbeats. Her handmaiden had a fierce tongue, but her battle skills were limited to needles and embroidery. If only the enemy were thorny roses.

Valoria turned her attention back to Sill and took a deep breath. She sensed a greater presence lurking in those mountains. Now, she had to call it to her. Her voice rang out, sweet and clear as morning’s first light.

“Beyond the borders

Of shadowed paths

A bright dove calls.”

A vast consciousness stirred with a low rumble as if waking from a long sleep. Valoria sensed a power far greater than hers with an insatiable hunger for anything with blood running through their veins.

“Valoria, what are you doing?”

“Saving us all.” Her voice rose.

“Save her brethren

And her enemies

Are ripe to pluck.

Their hearts bleed

With fiery vengeance.

Let their passion

Draw you near.”

An icy breeze blew through her, tossing her gown around her legs. A wall of cool mist rode the wind, pouring from the foothills. Valoria held a melancholy high note, allowing the tone to echo over the meadow before tapering away into the minstrel’s humming. One by one, the raiders emerged from the mist disoriented, giving the minstrels enough time to pull the cloths from their ears. They fell as the dissonant hum of the minstrels’ Song of Power rang in their heads.

Her attention returned to Echo. Four of the five raiders surrounded him. He’d killed one of them, but the others wore him down. He wouldn’t last long. A memory of the old man teaching her harmonies on the harp tightened her chest. She would not see him die.

The lead charger of the Royal Guard hacked at raiders all around him. With one swift blow, he sliced through two attackers, then trampled another with his horse’s hooves. He lunged at a clump of raiders emerging from the mist in the opposite direction.

But, he wouldn’t be going in that direction for long. Valoria strummed her harp. She did not know this particular warrior, but she knew the desires lurking in every soldier’s heart.

“Honor bestowed

On a savior.

Justice is served

When one man outnumbered

Has a second chance.”

The rider turned around. His armor shone brilliantly in the sun. He wasn’t overly large and muscly, but lean and swift, riding with the grace of a dancer, as if his horse were an extension of his legs. With his visor down, Valoria could not see his face, yet his actions took her breath away.

As Echo swung his blade desperately in an arc around him, the soldier came up from behind, spearing one of the raiders. The others turned toward the soldier, their attention diverted. Clutching a gash on his shoulder oozing blood, Echo fell to his knees.

“No.” Valoria dropped her harp.

Cadence grabbed her hand. “It’s too dangerous. Too many raiders still run free.”

“Look.” She pointed to where the mist dissipated. “They flee toward the hills.”

Cadence’s grip tightened. “Still, you should get back in the carriage. There is no place for a lady on a battlefield.”

Valoria ripped her hand out of her handmaiden’s grip. “Tell that to my new mother-in-law.”

She ran toward Echo, darting in between minstrels gathering the wounded and tending to the horses, while the Royal Guard captured prisoners. Her mentor lay on his back in the grass, his gaze skyward, as if he longed to meet Helena and Horred in their sacred temple.

Valoria fell on her knees beside him. The gash ran from his neck to his shoulder, his skin split open by a crude blade. The earth below him blossomed with red. Denying his condition, she tore a piece of cloth from her dress and tied it tightly around the wound. “For a harp teacher, you’re quite good with a blade.”

“Necessity dictates action, my dear.” He studied her face, raising a finger to her cheek. His usually ruddy complexion had paled. His hair seemed grayer and thinner against the long-stemmed grass. “Shouldn’t you be in your carriage?”

“Like a prize to be won?” She shook her head. “I missed my harp too much.”

“I bet a wyvern’s egg you did.”

“Come on.” She hefted him up. “Your carriage awaits.”

“Am I to take your place?”

She laughed, wishing it were so. “I don’t think Braxten Thoridian would like that.”

As if summoned by a name, the solider turned toward them and dismounted. All four raiders lay at his feet. He pulled his helmet from his head, and brown, curly hair fell around his shoulders. His eyes were a rich, amber brown, his features sharp and rugged. He fell to one knee and bowed before her. “Princess, allow me to help you.”

Hope glimmered in Valoria’s heart, followed by a swell of desire. This man had led the Royal Guard into battle. His armor had Ebonvale’s double sword crest and the deep violet colors of the ruling house. It had to be Braxten Thoridian. “Yes, help me carry him to the carriage. My handmaiden can tend to his wounds.”

The soldier took one arm, and Valoria took the other. They lifted Echo and walked carefully to the carriage. Around them, the soldiers patrolled the fields as the last raiders fled.

The soldier glanced at Valoria with melancholy. “My apologies, Princess. It seems for many of your retinue, we came too late.”

“Helena looked upon us with grace today. We’re fortunate you came.” Valoria gave him a thankful nod. His modesty impressed her. He’d just defeated an entire horde with only a brigade, yet it was a sad victory. He spoke as if the fallen were his own.

“Another raid held us up. We had planned to meet you at the forest’s edge.”

She studied his profile, wondering if he was as kind as he was handsome. “Another raid?”

“These are dire times we live in. After the wyverns destroyed the southern towns, many of Ebonvale’s people fled north. We only had room for so many refugees, so the rest had to fend for themselves. Who knew they’d become outlaws.”

They hefted Echo into the carriage. He grunted and held his wounded shoulder.

Cadence covered him with a blanket. “I’ll keep him safe, my lady.” She stole a glance at the soldier, then looked back to Valoria and raised her eyebrows.

Valoria ignored her unspoken question. “Thank you.” She placed her hand on Echo’s cheek. “Rest now.” His eyes flickered as he fell in and out of consciousness.

She exited the carriage, picked up her harp, and took the reins of a fallen minstrel’s horse.

The soldier followed her and offered his hand to help her mount. “You are not riding in the carriage, Princess?”

She snorted. “This is where I should have been in the first place: riding with my harp tied to my back.”

His eyes held amusement and something more. Was it admiration? “Better to fend off foes?”

She held her breath. Did he know she’d called the mist from the hills to disorient the raiders and buy the minstrels more time? “Better to protect my people.”

She adjusted the saddle and kicked the horse into line with the others. Just because they were promised to each other didn’t mean she should lose her head like a giddy girl at Summer’s Eve fest. Many had died that day, and she had to honor their memory. “Tell your army they’d best let the minstrels play the fanfare.”

“’Tis not my army, Princess.”

She yanked the reins and her horse swiveled back in his direction. Was this some sort of game? “You are Braxten Thoridian, are you not?”

Ironic amusement passed through his eyes. “You are mistaken. I’m Lieutenant Nathaniel Blueborough, son of the late Alhearn Blueborough, the blacksmith of Shaletown. Queen Danika Thoridian and her husband adopted me. I’m Braxten’s brother, if not by blood, then by name.”

He mounted his own horse and called over his shoulder. “Around the castle, I’m known as Nip.”

Paintings

Nathaniel rode to the front of the line distracted and intrigued by the princess of the House of Song. Had disappointment flickered in her gaze when he told her he wasn’t Brax? How could she not know he was the adopted son? Had she never left the resonant walls of the House of Song?

He resisted the urge to turn back and study her large, silver eyes. She was Brax’s intended, and he had to remember his place. Even though he was the elder brother, he had no blood ties to the throne. Since Brax had achieved legendary warrior status, becoming even stronger than his father, Bron Thoridian, Nathaniel had no chance in commanding the army either.

Guilt weighed him down. The king and queen had opened their hearts and adopted him, so he should have been grateful for any place in Ebonvale’s castle. Even as a scullion. They could have left him to die as a beggar in the ashes of Shaletown, and he might have turned into a raider himself.

Grasping the reins, he reminded himself of his debt to the House of Thoridian. He’d served them well all his life, and he wasn’t about to squander his honor on one lovely girl.

“Battle leave you with ill feelings, my lord?” Timber Rollins kicked his horse up beside him. Flecks of blood and earth painted his timeworn face. An old scar from his left forehead to the bottom of his right cheek shone white and fleshy in the sun.

“Not battle. Fate.”

“Ah, a vile beast. Fate can give you the world, then take it away.” The old man had been in battles long before Nathaniel could hold a sword. He’d served King Thoridian, and King Rubystone before him. He was one of the few men who’d seen the dead rise at the necromancer’s hand and lived to speak of it.

Although Brax passed him off as an old fogey, Nathaniel listened to his council. “My life is the opposite. Fate took everything away, then dealt me a decent hand.”

“Decent?”

“Better than the one I had before. I was to become a blacksmith’s son, and now I’m second in command of the Royal Guard. So why am I not content?”

The old man placed a hand on his armored shoulder. “Nothing can replace what you lost. No matter how illustrious or grand.”

The minstrels’ fanfare picked up tempo as they crested a hill. Ebonvale’s stone ramparts claimed the horizon. Built around the remnants of Helena and Horred’s temple, the stone buildings piled up upon one another until lofty turrets poked from the mass, towering above the highest ramparts. Purple pennants waved in the breeze as soldiers patrolled the battlements.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Timber goaded his horse forward.

Nathaniel nodded, taking a moment to reflect upon the first time he’d ever seen the castle as boy. “She’s home.”

They passed the orchards and the farmlands, reaching the city walls. Nathaniel rode ahead. He recognized the guard at duty, yet he still presented the Royal Seal.

“Tough journey, my lord?” The guard ran his eyes up and down Nathaniel’s muddied armor.

“Thank the gods we delivered the princess in one piece. We need medics immediately.”

“I’ll send word.” The guard nodded, allowing the entire retinue through.

Nathaniel led them through the courtyard, ignoring the other nobles’ stares. Minstrels weren’t to be trusted since one had stolen King Rubystone’s wife many years ago. Hopefully, having the House of Song’s princess would remedy those prejudices. He held their gazes as he dismounted and the minstrels’ fanfares resolved in a beautiful harmony his trumpeters could only dream about playing themselves. Medics rushed to the wounded as the carriage came to a halt.