Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2)

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  The day of the tournament dawned bright and clear. Rhoyan woke up early and stayed in bed for as long as he could stand it, which was about five minutes, before jumping out of bed and dashing across the hall to Ky’s room.

  “Ky?” Rhoyan whispered, opening the door just a crack. Even in his excitement, he knew better than to wake his older brother should he still be asleep.

  No answer came from the lump on the bed, so Rhoyan quietly closed the door and tiptoed away. He heaved a sigh of bitter disappointment and paced back and forth in front of the door, bored and restless. He went back to his room and stared dolefully at his bed. Knowing he could not go back to sleep he pulled out his sword and began practicing his routine. For three months Rhoyan had been practicing his swordsmanship in his room late at night before bed. He had been using the sword his uncle had given him, and it was slowly building up his arm strength. He had also begun training with both hands. He was getting to be nearly as good with his left hand as he was with his right.

  Rhoyan ran through the other exercises Master Yevo had taught him to help build up both his stamina and his strength. The young prince had always been the best in his rank, mostly because he had more innate skill and speed than the rest of the boys in his age range. But now Rhoyan was determined to add hard work to his raw talent.

  Part of his new enthusiasm was due to his classroom studies. The young prince had been studying the great wars and the ancient Llycaelon heroes this year in Master Hobard’s class. The stories and histories had sparked in his young mind a love for tales of battle and a deep respect for the warriors of old. A desire to become one of those heroes had begun to grow within the young prince. Master Hobard was thrilled with Rhoyan’s sudden interest in history, though he suspected the prospect of a tournament had more to do with it than anything he was doing as a teacher. The old master did not mind though; the boy was learning, that was the important thing.

  Ky continued to be a reluctant attendant in the classroom, but he went to every class for two reasons. The first reason was that his father had ordered him to. The second, and perhaps the more significant of the two in Ky’s mind, was because Captain Ramius had begun to take over the boy’s warrior training, and he threatened to make him clean stalls if he so much as thought about missing class. Although he found it hard to forgive his uncle after his riding lesson, he still respected him, and if their relationship was strained by Ky’s humiliation in the pasture, it was strengthened by Ky’s respect for Ramius’ experience with weapons. Ky struggled with a dichotomy of feelings when it came to his new tutor. He longed for his uncle’s approval, even as he resented his need for it. He sometimes missed the laid-back, friendly relationship they had once had, but the rift formed by the riding lesson made going back impossible.

  “You need to learn your country’s history, adding sums, reading, writing, rhetoric, and you especially need to learn about government and how this country is run. Now don’t argue with me, boy: you will be king one day, do you hear? These are things you will need to know!” The gruff captain had made it clear that there would be no debating the point. So for the first time in his short life, Ky had a record of perfect attendance in Master Hobard’s classroom.

  “Rhoyan, you up?” Ky whispered from the doorway.

  Rhoyan halted his practice and sheathed the great sword at his brother’s voice. He walked over to the door, barely able to contain his excitement. “Ky! Finally!”

  “How long have you been awake?” Ky asked. Looking at Rhoyan with a discerning eye, he took in the fact that his little brother was fully dressed, flushed and breathing hard as though he had been running or exercising.

  “An hour or so,” Rhoyan said, shrugging, “I couldn’t sleep anymore. The tournament’s today!”

  “Looks like you’ve warmed up already. We should go down and get some hot breakfast; we don’t want to perform on empty stomachs.”

  They headed down to the kitchens. Queen Fiora was sitting at a table with Lita when they arrived. She beckoned for them to join her.

  “My two, fine warriors,” she said, giving them each a hug. “I knew you would be too excited to sleep, so I came down here early to ask Lita to prepare you some breakfast.”

  “Thank you,” Ky said, looking at the spread before them.

  Lita had prepared them a wonderful breakfast, but they soon discovered they could not eat very much. Their stomachs were jumping around in nervous and excited anticipation. Fiora smiled understandingly.

  “You’ll be hungry enough after the tournament,” she said.

  “Let’s go check on our armor,” Ky suggested.

  “I have to get ready, as well,” Fiora said. “I won’t get to see you until after the tournament, I’m sure. Let me look at you.”

  They stood and she stared at them, a pride and love mingled on her face. “Fit to be kings,” she announced. “I can’t believe you’re both growing up so fast.” She embraced them both and kissed their foreheads.

  “Mother...” Ky pretended to grimace, but then he hugged her back.

  “All right, I know I can’t keep you here any longer. Go on, work out some of your restlessness. I’ll be cheering for you!”

  The stables and armories were already a bustle of activity. Many of the other boys were already there, doing last-minute polishing and running through their mental lists of things that needed to be done before they competed.

  Rhoyan checked his armor, but polishing it again would have been a waste of time, he could already see his reflection in the shiny black shoulder pads and breastplate. He checked his weapons next: stringing his longbow, testing the edge of his sword, and hefting his daggers to make sure their balance was still perfect. During the contests where the students would actually be sparring they would be using blunted practice weapons. However, there would also be a weapons and armor presentation and inspection ceremony at the beginning of the tournament and Master Yevo had threatened that anyone who had spent no time cleaning or polishing would be sent away from the tournament with strict instructions on how to care for his belongings.

  “I will find other things for you to do during the tournament,” Master Yevo had said, “and believe me, you won’t enjoy them.”

  When he had satisfied himself that everything was in order, Rhoyan went and looked at the schedule on Master Yevo’s door, even though he had already committed it to memory earlier that week. His first competition would be in the archery contest, then in staff fighting, then in knife throwing, then in hand-to-hand combat, and finally in the test of the sword.

  Rhoyan was glad he and Ky were entered in different ranks, because it meant their matches were all at different times and he could watch his brother compete. He did not mind facing Ky, but he would rather watch his older brother compete. This was partially because he enjoyed cheering for his brother, and partially because he enjoyed learning from the mistakes Ky’s opponents made without having to acquire bruises and scrapes by making them himself.

  Rhoyan was in the Gyrfalcon rank, the youngest of the classes, while Ky was a Hawk. This tournament was restricted to Gyrfalcon and Hawk rankings. Kestrels, Raptors, Falcons, and the Aetoli were all eligible for the real tourneys. In those, actual weapons were used and money could be won from the loser of a match. Also, the matches were sometimes held between two warriors who were in an argument over something. The king and queen allowed this type of competition to take place within the tourneys because a tournament was a convenient way for such disputes to be worked out without bloodshed or long-lasting family feuds. Real tournaments could also last for up to several weeks, depending on how many men entered, whereas this tournament would only last a day.

  Ky was entered in all the same contests as Rhoyan, with the addition of jousting. Ramius had declared the boy a good enough rider to enter this contest. He cautioned the young prince not to get his hopes up though.

  “You’re good enough to hold your o
wn, but you’re not good enough to win any prizes yet,” Ramius had said, “remember: you’ll be fighting lads who have been doing this all their lives. Lots of these boys were practically born in the saddle, so don’t get too discouraged if you lose more than you win this time. Your ability to even enter this contest after only three months of riding is a stunning accomplishment by itself.”

  Ky had nodded to show that he understood, but deep in his heart he longed to prove his uncle wrong.

  Ky joined Rhoyan at Master Yevo’s door and glanced at the lists. “We’re starting. Come on, you don’t want to be late, your rank is presenting arms first.”

  Rhoyan wiped sweating hands on his tunic and turned to his brother, his eyes filled with worry. “What if…?” his throat was suddenly very dry.

  Ky put his hands on Rhoyan’s shoulders. “You’ll do fine,” he said slowly and clearly. “I’ll be standing on the sidelines, watching and cheering for you. Just relax, Rhoyan, it’s only a tournament, not a matter of life and death.”

  Rhoyan managed a shaky laugh. “We should get out to the arena then.”

  The boys marched in to the fanfare of trumpets, dressed in their armor and bearing their weapons. The inspection was merely for show, but Rhoyan knew Master Yevo was taking mental notes. After the inspection, they filed out of the arena, leaving Master Yevo standing alone. He addressed the crowd and gave a brief introduction to the audience. He explained the rules and guidelines of the tournament and praised the boys for how hard they had been working. Then he announced that there would be medals and ribbons for the winners of each contest. A murmur or excitement rippled through the boys at this, for it was an addition to the tourney they had been unaware of. Then Master Yevo announced the archery contest and walked to the side of the arena from where he would observe the contests.

  The judges of the events took their places around the ring as the Gyrfalcons lined up. They did not wear armor for this contest; instead they wore their family colors. As each boy entered the ring, his family let out loud cheers and called out words of encouragement.

  Rhoyan lost his nervousness the moment he entered the ring. He found himself suddenly calm and focused under the eye of the audience, his entire thought on the target. He barely even noticed his family cheering for him. The only thing he could think of was that he was glad he did not have to wear armor for this contest because it was hot in the arena.

  Rhoyan loved it when he got to wear the colors of the royal house: maroon, silver, and black. His shield bore the family crest, two triangles meeting to form a square, the top one was silver and the bottom one was maroon, with a black eagle soaring across the center of the crest. His shirt, however, bore his own personal crest: a tongue of flame leaping out of a cluster of stars.

  Rhoyan’s turn to shoot came. He approached the line drawn in the sand with a casual stride that belied the anxiety he had been battling all morning. Focused only on the target he chose an arrow. In his bubble of calm he told himself this was mere practice, and he hit the bull’s eye dead center. The crowd cheered and Rhoyan walked back to his spot in line. None of the other boys hit the center of the target, so Rhoyan was pronounced winner of the contest without having to face a rematch.

  The rest of the contests followed in a similar fashion. The only test that gave Rhoyan any amount of trouble was that of hand-to-hand combat. Being smaller than some of the older boys, Rhoyan could not depend on strength to defeat his opponents. He had to out-think and out-maneuver the other boys, which he managed to do by a stroke of luck in his final match. The last boy he faced was five years Rhoyan’s senior, one of the oldest Gyrfalcons, and much stronger than the young prince. Rhoyan relied on his speed and only won the match because the older boy was overconfident. A swift kick to the legs brought the older boy down and Rhoyan managed to pin his shoulders to the ground for the five-count. Rhoyan was glad when that particular competition was over, as was Ky. The older prince had been watching all the events, but the hand-to-hand combat was the only one that made him nervous. He was confident that Rhoyan could hold his own in all the other areas of combat, but hand-fighting could be dangerous for the younger, smaller boys. When the event was over, Ky breathed a sigh of relief and cheered at the top of his lungs.

  Rhoyan’s best event by far was the test of swordsmanship. With all of his extra practice, the heavier sword, and his experience sparring with Ky none of the other boys could even hope to match the young prince’s skill. He won the event easily. Even Ky was surprised at his brother’s skill. At the end of the contests Rhoyan had won every event and was given the title Champion Gyrfalcon and awarded the Dragon Medal for his display of unmatched skill. The medal was a cheap imitation of the awards that were given out at the higher tournaments, but for the pride that Rhoyan felt at its presentation it could have been real.

  When he left the arena to join the crowd, Ky was waiting at the gate to congratulate him. “Rhoyan!” Ky waved him over.

  Rhoyan went over to where his older brother was standing and showed him the medal.

  “It looks real!” Ky whistled. “You were amazing! How did you stay so calm? You were all nerves before the competition.”

  “I just told myself it was practice and the crowd disappeared.”

  “I don’t know if I can go out there, I’m starting to shake.”

  “You’ll be fine the second you enter the arena. Just remember that I’ll be right here,” Rhoyan echoed the words that his brother had said earlier.

  “Thanks.”

  The Hawks were presented and they entered the arena to the cheers of their families and friends. The contests went in the same order as the Gyrfalcons, except that jousting was the last event. Rhoyan watched and cheered loudest of all as Ky competed in each event. There were moments of worry, as Ky faced opponents up to ten years older than him, and Rhoyan found himself closing his eyes at moments. He needn’t have worried, however. Ky had always been something of a prodigy when it came to the skills of a warrior. As the end of the day drew near, Ky had won every event in his rank. The only event left was the jousting.

  It was a great achievement for the boy, being among the youngest in his age-rank, and the crowd recognized this achievement and appreciated its implications.

  Rhoyan was nearly bursting with pride at Ky’s display of skill in all the areas of combat. He was impatient for the jousting event to begin, though. He knew it was the event that worried Ky the most, and though he had every confidence in his brother’s skill, he was still anxious about it.

  Finally the call to mount up was given and Ky faced his first opponent. The two horses galloped at each other, their riders each holding their practice lances and trying to judge each other’s weakness. Ky hit his opponent straight on the shield, and was hit himself just below the center of his shield. His opponent’s lance shattered and he rode down to the end of the row where the monitor handed him a new one. On the second pass Ky was more confident and he threw his weight into his hit. His lance struck the other boy squarely, throwing him back in his saddle, but the boy stayed on his horse. On the third pass, Ky positioned his lance just below the center of the shield and tilted his weight up, this time lifting his opponent from the saddle and sending him flying off his horse.

  Rhoyan jumped up from his seat excitedly, feeling a sudden release of nervous anxiety as he cheered for Ky’s victory. After that, Ky’s confidence grew with every opponent he challenged. However, Ky was new to the sport, and the strain of the intensity began to show. He had faced almost half of the boys in his age group when it happened.

  The boy Ky faced for his next round was a final-year Hawk. The boy was much bigger and stronger than Ky, as he was nearly ten years older than the prince. His family was known throughout the land for their horsemanship and their lances. Rhoyan recognized their family crest: a rearing golden stallion on a red and purple background, and he held his breath.

  Ky sent his horse into a gallop towards his opponent, full of confidence
and assurance. Rhoyan wanted to warn his brother to be careful. He wanted to tell Ky not to be overconfident, for here was an opponent whose skill and experience surely surpassed Ky’s. On the first pass, they each hit each other squarely on the shield. Ky’s lance broke on impact and he removed his hand from his shield to shake it as the monitor handed him a new lance. On the second pass, both lances shattered. Each boy was throwing his entire weight and skill into this, the final competition of the day.

  On the third pass, Ky went flying. It was not a bad fall, but as the prince slowly stood up, Rhoyan knew that Ky’s wounded pride and dignity was what hurt the most. The elder prince shook his opponent’s offered hand graciously. Although it had taken the older boy until the third pass to send Ky flying off his horse, Rhoyan could tell the defeat still stung.

  Ky was given first place ribbons for every event he had won, but he won no ribbon for the jousting competition, and the disappointment showed on his face. He was still declared the Victor of the Hawks, and given a Gryphon Medal for winning every event except one. There was no Champion announced in the Hawk ranking, for that honor was reserved solely for the rare occasion in which one competitor took first in every competition. Rhoyan tried to console his brother, pointing out how well he had done and how many opponents he had defeated, but Ky merely sighed.

  “I didn’t even last the whole match,” he mumbled disconsolately, “I only made it halfway through.”

  “But it’s your first time jousting for real,” Rhoyan insisted, “you should be proud that you beat as many as you did! You only lost to Cynfarth, and he won the whole event, so who knows? If you’d faced him last you might have taken second.”

  “I guess,” Ky shrugged. “I just got my hopes up too high. Maybe next year.”

  The two brothers returned to the ring side to hear the closing ceremonies. The festivities were nearly over; all that remained was the feast that would be held out in the gardens. Master Yevo stood up to declare the end of the tournament when the crowd began chanting something. The demand grew louder and louder until the whole arena was filled with the cry. Master Yevo cast an alarmed glance at the king and queen, hoping for help, but they looked as shocked as he. The crowd was calling for a match between brothers, the two champions of the day.