Rhoyan raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Really.” His tone was disbelieving
“I do feel that it is time for a new lesson. Come outside,” Sheyardin said.
Rhoyan followed obediently. When they stood in the center of Sheyardin’s huge garden the teacher stopped.
“Attendeth to me.”
Sheyardin said something in what Rhoyan knew was Old Kraïc, but he could not translate the words. The air around the old instructor flickered and rippled like water when a stone is skipped across its surface. Then, suddenly, Rhoyan found himself standing in front of a huge creature; Master Sheyardin had vanished quite completely.
Rhoyan would have screamed, if he could have found the breath to do so. He stared in horrified fascination at the creature that could only be a dragon. The dragon had green scales, the color of Sheyardin’s robes, and muted silver wings sprouted gracefully from between its shoulder blades. The eyes were a glittering silver hue like great pools of mist.
A spurt of flame jerked Rhoyan out of his awe-struck stupor and he jumped back. The heat of the flames washed across his face painfully and he cried out in surprise. The dragon looked down at him with something like amusement.
“What do you think now, of the lore thou hast been learning? Canst thou trust my word?” the voice was Sheyardin’s, but fuller, deeper, and wiser.
Rhoyan blinked, the voice had come from the dragon. “What?”
“I did think it was about time we started putting thy knowledge to practical use,” the dragon said. “Knowledge that is not used is often wasted, and it is shameful to waste anything, especially anything as valuable as knowledge.”
Rhoyan felt clumsy and slow, his mind churned as though traveling through sand. He realized something important had happened, but he could not quite put his finger on what he had missed.
“If you don’t mind me asking, sir…” Rhoyan stopped, confused, not sure how to address the dragon.
“Yes?” the dragon snapped idly at something passing by its great head.
“Who art thou, and from where didst thou come?” Rhoyan remembered his manners enough to speak in Old Kraïc. Sheyardin had taught him that thus was he to address all myth-folk. The language was difficult for him, but he attempted it nonetheless.
The dragon leaned its head back and opened its great jaws and rumbled. Rhoyan took a step back, fearing he had angered the beast, and then he realized that the dragon was laughing! Rhoyan frowned in puzzlement; then his eyes widened as understanding swept over him.
“Master Sheyardin?”
“The same,” the dragon said, baring its teeth in amusement.
“You’re a shape shifter! A dragon disguised in human form! So that’s how your father could have spoken a prophecy hundreds of years ago. That’s how you know so much about the myth-folk and the history of Llycaelon, why, you must be hundreds and hundreds of years old! And that’s why your furniture obeys your voice; you yourself told me that dragon magic is the strongest in the world.” Rhoyan stopped, aware that he was babbling.
“Thou hast a quick mind, boy,” Sheyardin said approvingly, “methinks it will serve thee well, even if thy tongue doth sorely butcher the beauteous Elder Tongue. Thou hast derived an answer in very pleasing fashion. Thus, now that thou doth believe what thou hast been learning, may thy training truly begin.”
CHAPTER
FIVE
Seven years passed happily for Rhoyan. Sheyardin indeed taught him the ways of the myth-folk, but he also taught Rhoyan the ways of the common people of Llycaelon. He took the prince to visit the farmers and peasants who worked hard to produce a livelihood all across Llycaelon. Rhoyan spent many a day working alongside these people, who never guessed he was their prince. Everyone seemed to know Sheyardin, and they never questioned his request that Rhoyan spend a day or a month working alongside them. Most of them were so grateful for an extra pair of hands that they considered it rude to question the help, particularly since the help was free.
Rhoyan found himself deeply changed by these experiences. His life had always revolved around the palace and his lessons. His dreams had been of becoming a heroic aethalon and fighting to protect the land from invaders. His highest aspiration had been to attain the rank of Aetoli. Out in the fields, however, he began to develop a deep love for his land, and for the people who worked it. He learned of strength that would win no honors, but was as noble and heroic as a warrior’s. He learned what it was like to enter a home that was filled with a love that made the holes in the roof seem to disappear and the meager fare upon the table seem a feast fitting for a king. He learned what it was like to be so hungry after a hard day of work that he would have eaten the legs of his chair had they been cooked and set before him on a plate. He laughed with a family at the first steps of their youngest son and he cried with another at the loss of a single lamb whose death meant there would be little to eat that winter. The royal family was not prosperous like the kings of Kallayohm, nor did they live off the taxes of the people the way that the monarchs of Efoin-Ebedd did. The royal family of Llycaelon owned lands around the palace that they paid workers to cultivate in order to provide food for the royal family as well as to use as a reserve for lean years. However, Rhoyan had never thought much about where his food came from, and he had never before worried that he might not get enough to eat. Now, as he worked with the people of Llycaelon and he grew to love them; these hard, strong, often expressionless people, he also learned to respect them. He learned that their dark clothes and bleak expressions hid warm hearts and welcoming homes; he found that they were a cheerful people, a kind people, whose emotions ran deep. They cared for each other with every bit of their formidable strength.
When he was in the classroom and not out working alongside his countrymen, Rhoyan became fluent in the languages of the myth-folk, much to the delight of Sheyardin, who had, after months of listening to Rhoyan stumble over “thees” and “thous,” forbidden the young prince to use the Archaic Proper. Despite his clumsiness with the older version of his own tongue, Rhoyan learned other languages much as he learned everything else: easily and quickly.
Not all of his lessons were pleasant, however. It was a perfect day, and in honor of the gorgeous weather, Sheyardin said they might take their books and their lessons outdoors. Rhoyan was sitting comfortably underneath the shady branches of a tree listening to Sheyardin read a sampling of songs written by his favorite minstrel, a man who had been bard to High King Lews five thousand years ago. All was calm. A gentle breeze caressed Rhoyan’s face and played with his hair, the birds chirped merrily, and Sheyardin’s voice was soothing. Quite without meaning to, Rhoyan began to drift into slumber. He did not know how long he lay in that state of quiet contentment, but a desperate voice startled him into sudden wakefulness.
“Master Sheyardin! Master Sheyardin!”
A rough clad and red-faced man raced up to the tree where Rhoyan was supposed to be learning his lessons.
“I am Master Sheyardin,” the dragon spoke calmly.
The man stood there for a moment, breathing hard, and then he looked pleadingly at the dragon. “Please sir, I hear you’re a healer.”
Rhoyan was startled to see tears gathering in the man’s eyes. He rose quickly and looked at Sheyardin.
“I have studied the healing arts,” Sheyardin admitted, “why don’t you tell me what has happened.”
The man broke down completely. “It’s my daughter; she took a bad fall yesterday. We were worried at first, but she seemed fine and insisted she did not need a doctor. I suppose we should have called one anyway, but she was so perky. Anyway, today she’s awful sick and can’t keep anything down. Please sir, please come.”
“We will come. Rhoyan, fetch my things.”
Rhoyan nodded and hurried inside to get Sheyardin’s bag of medicines. They followed the man to his home, which was not far and Rhoyan quickly took in the concern of this man. The family was not wealthy. The house consisted of a s
ingle room. The windows had been covered with bits and pieces of cloth and a woman with disheveled hair sat next to a bed that was across from the front door. Two young boys were playing quietly by the fire.
“Send them outside,” Sheyardin told the man kindly.
Rhoyan stepped forward and beheld the sick girl who lay on the bed. He felt his knees buckling and he reached for something to steady himself. His hand found Sheyardin’s shoulder and the dragon looked calmly at Rhoyan’s face. He took in the anguished look and the pale face and nodded.
“Why don’t you go look after the two boys outside?”
Rhoyan nodded, not even bothering to argue at being sent away, and he turned and fled the little house. Once outside he collapsed; his back to the house. Time passed in a blur and to Rhoyan it seemed as though he had only been outside for a few minutes when Sheyardin shook him and told him it was time to go. Rhoyan looked around dully and noticed the gathering darkness. He heard the sound of a woman weeping, and his heart threatened to burst. He stood up numbly and in silence followed Sheyardin back to the dragon’s mansion.
“Is she…” Rhoyan could not bring himself to say it.
Sheyardin shook his head. “No, but she will be soon,” he rubbed a hand across his face and sat down in his chair heavily. “She is in Cruithaor Elchiyl’s hands, now.”
“She was so young.” Rhoyan tried, but he could not banish the image of the tiny white face, the emaciated little hand, the frightened and unfocused brown eyes. “So young.”
Sheyardin reached out a hand. “Are you all right?”
Rhoyan shook off the comforting hand, wanting to shout that he could never be all right again, that the world had been turned upside down, that a world where tiny little children could look like that was not all right and never could be. He bit back the words though and put his hands to his face.
“I don’t know why it affected me so much,” he whispered. “I’ve seen poverty before. I’ve even seen people who were dying before. I guess I didn’t expect it to be so bad, I didn’t expect her to be so young.”
Sheyardin was silent. Rhoyan looked up at him, but the dragon was not looking at him, he was staring out the window at the dying light of the day.
“I think I’d like to go home, now,” Rhoyan choked out the words.
“Very well.”
Rhoyan felt suddenly and unreasonably angry. “I may not come back.”
“If that is how you wish it,” Sheyardin’s voice was calm.
“It is.” Rhoyan gathered up his things and left. He strode out into the dusk, but his feet did not direct him home to the castle. Instead, he wound his way into the forest, where the caves below the castle opened. He lost himself in the familiarity of the tunnels, turning first one corner, then another, until he had reached the overhang where he and Ky had spent so many days playing and swimming together. He sat down, dangling his feet over the side of the cavern and staring up at the stars. It felt as though a heavy weight had been placed on his chest, and he took deep gulping breaths of the cool night air.
The sound of footsteps behind him startled Rhoyan out of his thoughts. He spun, half-rising, ready to face the intruder.
Ky held his hands up placatingly. “I didn’t know you were here.” He stood there awkwardly, taken aback by the look on his younger brother’s face. “I-I’ll just leave.”
“No,” Rhoyan shook his head, surprised to see his brother. “Stay. You just startled me. I thought you wouldn’t be coming home until... I didn’t realize you were... When did you get back?” he chuckled at himself as his surprised words tumbled out of his mouth.
Encouraged by Rhoyan’s laughter, Ky inched closer, and then sat down as well. “I just returned a couple of hours ago, actually. Lord Nills is traveling to Kallayohm to check on some of his holdings there.”
“He didn’t ask you to go with him?”
“He did... but... I needed a break.”
“I know the feeling.”
“What are you doing down here, anyway?”
“I had to figure some things out.”
“Okay, don’t tell me.”
Rhoyan looked up, startled by the hurt in Ky’s voice. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he began to apologize, then stopped. He started again, “Master Sheyardin was asked to help a sick child today. I went with him on the house call... he...” his voice caught. “He couldn’t help her.” The entire story poured out of him. Ky simply listened. When he was through, Rhoyan felt a weight lifted from him.
Ky sighed sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”
“I just felt so helpless, you know? There wasn’t a single thing I could do.”
“Well, that... that’s...”
Rhoyan caught the hesitation in his brother’s voice and looked up, a question in his eyes.
“That’s not entirely true. You were there,” Ky finished slowly. “You cared. That’s not nothing.”
The weight in Rhoyan’s chest began to dissolve. “I hadn’t thought of it like that, I guess...”
Ky offered a tentative smile, which Rhoyan returned. The pain was still there, the questions, the feeling of helplessness, but somehow it was easier to bear. Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t such an uncomfortable silence anymore.
Rhoyan stayed away from Sheyardin for the entire two weeks that Ky was home. In that time, Rhoyan felt like things almost returned to normal. There was less silence, less awkwardness, less distance between them than there had been in years. They talked, they even laughed together. When the messenger came to summon Ky back to his apprenticeship, Rhoyan watched his brother until he and his horse had disappeared from sight, and then he returned to Sheyardin’s home. The dragon had no words of reproach, and no questions either.
❖ ❖ ❖
In Ky’s absence, Rhoyan buried himself in his studies once more. He missed his brother, and the easy camaraderie they had enjoyed in those two weeks made his loneliness oddly harder, rather than easier, to bear. The lessons helped stave off the melancholy that often accompanied the loneliness.
There was another reason for his dedication, however; Sheyardin was fond of unexpected surprises and the tests he devised were unpleasant and often came when Rhoyan was least expecting them. At the end of one such test, Sheyardin announced that Rhoyan’s studies were overdue for yet another change.
“Iannack will be giving you your lesson today,” Sheyardin said, and then promptly disappeared.
Iannack turned out to be an elderly gryphon who spoke no Llayic. Rhoyan’s knowledge of Gryphonese was refined in fire over the next several weeks. At the end of the month, Iannack pronounced him fluent. Before he took his leave the gryphon smiled, or at least Rhoyan thought it was a smile – the beak made it impossible to tell – and praised his student’s accent and pronunciation. He presented Rhoyan with one of his own feathers, an honor that took the prince’s breath away. Gryphon feathers were worth a small fortune on the underground market, though they were mere trinkets compared to dragon scales.
“To the only human I have ever met who speaks the gryphon language better than I do,” Iannack clicked proudly, “and the best student I have ever had.”
Rhoyan sewed the feather to the inside of the leather vest that he always wore over his tunic. Gryphon feathers were rumored to have the power to turn the points of even charmed arrows and daggers. Sheyardin would neither confirm nor refute this superstition, so Rhoyan positioned the feather over his heart, just in case.
“Young prince,” Sheyardin said in Old Kraïc, and Rhoyan was amazed once again by the language that was as beautiful as it was difficult.
“Yes, Master?”
“I have petitioned to have thee officially apprenticed to me.”
“B-but I don’t even graduate to Kestrel for another three harvests!” his surprise made him fall back into Llayic.
“Pay attention,” Sheyardin snapped, “what wilt thou do if thine enemy surprises thee someday? Revert thyself
to the play thou knewest as a child?”
Rhoyan cast his eyes down. “Thy wisdom is perfect, Sheyardin, forgive thy student.”
“In answer to thy question: thine other tutors and I have deemed that thou art ready to advance.” Sheyardin stopped, falling, for the first time that Rhoyan could ever remember, out of Archaic Proper. “That is really just a fancy way of saying you have advanced beyond what they are capable of teaching you.”
“Master Sheyardin that cannot be possible!” Rhoyan protested. “You are so much wiser and more knowledgeable than I… you know so much more and you are so much older…”
Sheyardin laughed and reverted back into formal speech, “I said ‘they’ young prince. Although I will admit that thou hast learned more than I thought possible in such a short time.”
Rhoyan flushed at the praise.
“Hand me thy sword,” Sheyardin commanded, “thou hast been acting as apprentice for some time now, but ‘tis best that we make it official.”
Rhoyan did as he was told. Sheyardin hefted the great blade and nodded.
“It is a good sword; thine Uncle Ramius hath a good eye for weapons. He chose this one well. It looks to be of Endalian craft.”
“You think it might be?” Rhoyan asked.
Sheyardin chuckled. “It never ceases to amaze me how eternally curious thy mind is, young prince. Although Endalia is far west, beyond even the shores of Aom-igh, and although seldom doth anyone travel to their home, their craftsmanship has journeyed across the world nonetheless. I do not believe thine uncle has voyaged as far as their fair land, but they are a fine people, and they enjoy listening to the words of what goes on in the rest of the world, which causes them often to travel far from home. Not much is known about them, but their craftsmanship causes them to be welcome wherever they roam. They are known for their love of peace and their skill in crafting weapons: a contradiction in its finest form. But the odd combination allows them to enjoy both. Nobody will venture war with them because of their skill with weaponry, yet because they are so peace-loving and trustworthy everyone wants to trade with them for those self-same weapons.”
Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2) Page 7
