Song of the Sea Spirit: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles) by K.C. May Page A

listened quietly while she played, and then twittered happily, nodding its head and tossing a bit of water at Jora.
    “Hey!” she said, putting a hand up to guard her face from the water. “That’s not fair.”
    And then the creature whistled the entire melody, including the part Jora hadn’t yet played.
    She couldn’t do much more than gape at the curious creature. It knows the song. How could it know the song?
    Song of the Sea Spirit .
    Perhaps the dolphin was more impressed that she knew its song than the other way around.
    “Who are you?” she said under her breath. A shocking thought occurred to her, and she took a gasp. “Retar? God’s Challenger, is it you?” Could the dolphin be acting as a god vessel? No, she thought, dismissing the notion. Why would the god Retar be speaking to her? She was no one special and certainly had no inclination to become an Iskori monk.
    The dolphin whistled a few notes before swimming away, again toward the rising sun, and frolicked for a few moments, alternately leaping and dancing on its tail in the sunlight. A sun dancer.
    “Sundancer? Is that your name?” Jora asked when it returned. “Well, that’s what I’m going to call you. I think it’s perfect. Sundancer, it’s so very nice to meet you.” She cast a glance at the trees behind her and stood. “I suppose I should go back now. Come back this evening if you can.” Of course, she didn’t think the dolphin actually understood her, but she waved goodbye anyway. “Bye for now, Sundancer.”
    Sundancer rolled onto her side and waved one flipper back.
     
 

     
 
    Boden rode for four days under the canopy of trees that shaded the road. The occasional open field warmed his bald head and made him wish for a hat. He emptied his waterskin the first day, but there were enough streams and rivers to keep both horse and rider well hydrated. The food the women of Kaild had packed in his saddle bag got him to the first inn, and after a restless night on an itchy bed, he filled his stomach and his bag for the next day’s ride.
    His battle mount wasn’t a patient animal, always nudging him when he was relieving himself or walking off without him, and he realized Fidget was an apt name. At first, he found Fidget’s badgering annoying, especially the third day when he’d slept past sunrise, but it occurred to him that perhaps the animal was simply dedicated to its purpose. That was when he realized he had a kindred spirit in the horse.
    Once they arrived in Jolver, a bustling city full of stray dogs and children chasing them with sticks, he asked directions to the Legion headquarters. People pointed down the street without barely a glance, no doubt used to young men asking the same question as they arrived from across the country.
    As he rode, Boden couldn’t help but notice the houses and shops alike were painted in nearly every color of the rainbow without any thought toward a larger aesthetic purpose. Here a blue one, then brown, then orange, then green, with other colors and shades across the street. Some looked freshly painted, others washed out and dull. There seemed to be no pattern to the selection of color. Not once did he see a white or gray building, nor were any of them red. Not one, he mused as he continued through the streets, avoiding slow-moving carts, toppled crates, and children too careless to watch where they were going.
    High above the rooftops, he saw the black and red flag of the Serocian Legion hanging motionless in the still air before he spotted the stately, black building itself. While the other buildings he’d passed were made of wood and clay bricks, the Legion headquarters was made of unpainted granite.
    Spaced every dozen feet along the wall were white statues of warriors in battle poses, weapons poised to strike and faces taut with fury. They resembled the battlers of old, with their hair worn long and dressed in leather trousers, soft-soled boots, naked above the waist. Every statue was