“I would like to see that land,” Rhoyan said wistfully.
“Methinks thou wilt enjoy thine apprenticeship, traveling is one of the requirements.”
Rhoyan eyes filled with longing. “Oh!” he spoke softly. “To set foot in the great palaces of Chensar! To see the forges of Endalia! To cross the great oceans and meet the creatures of the sea: the mermaids and the great hydra!”
“And with this sword at thy side thou wilt always have a loyal friend.”
“It is a good sword. It has no ornamental value, but that is because it is crafted so well. It has no added decoration, but I like it that way. Plain and simple and attempting to appear as nothing more or less than what it is. Like me.”
“Good. It is a tool, young prince, remember that. The rich may use it to adorn their walls and the foolish may attempt to win honor with it. But it will not bring thee honor, and the work that thou dost with it is not to be taken lightly.”
“I understand.”
Sheyardin straightened and cleared his throat, “Now, to business. Rhoyan of the House of Arne, son of the noble eagle, by the power entrusted to me as thy tutor and through the consent of thine other teachers, I raise thee to the rank of Kestrel and I accept thee as my apprentice. Dost thou accept the responsibility of this rank and position?”
“Yes, I, Rhoyan of the House of Arne, do accept the responsibility of my new rank and position. I will strive to serve my apprentice-master well and bring only honor to my name.”
Sheyardin held the blade out to Rhoyan. “I bestow upon thee this sword which thou hast practiced with as a child, but thou art a child no longer. In the eyes of thy people thou art now neither child nor man. Before thou canst continue on thy journey into adulthood thou must speak the Oath of the aethalons. Thou hast already memorized these words, as every child born in Llycaelon is taught to do, but now thou must say the words and bind them to thy heart. When thou swearest this Oath it canst never be broken, to turn thy back upon this Oath is to turn thy back upon thy people, thy country, and thyself. Dost thou understand?”
Rhoyan took a deep breath and nodded. A shiver of both fear and excitement flowed through him as he stared at the sword. He had both longed for and feared this day since he was a child, and now that it was here he almost could not believe it was really happening.
“Hold out thy hand,” Sheyardin commanded.
Rhoyan held out his hand, knowing what was to come next and fearing it, but not shrinking from it; this part of the Oath was to test his courage and so he neither flinched nor jerked away as the blade of his own sword cut deeply into his hand. The pain of the cut almost brought tears to his eyes, but he blinked them away and clenched his teeth. Then he straightened, his jaw squared and his chin lifted, there was a far-away look in his dark eyes as he repeated the age-old words of tradition. He had learned them as a child and he had enjoyed saying them at the time, but never had they meant so much to him. As he said each word he bound it to his heart, feeling the weight of the words fully for the first time. The Oath was simple, not hard to remember, but to Rhoyan it was beautiful and full of a great promise for the future.
“Courage, purity, truth, and honor. These things will I walk with and give my life to uphold, I swear this by my blood and by my sword.”
“See that you do so, young Kestrel, and none will rise to challenge thee on the day of thy rite of passage. Bind those words to thy heart and they will strengthen and protect thee,” Sheyardin said gravely. Then he handed back the sword. “Our lesson for the day is over. You have three weeks to pack your things and say your good-byes.”
“Pack my things?” Rhoyan asked.
“We are leaving for Efoin-Ebedd.”
Rhoyan’s eyes lit up. “The country to the east, Uncle Ramius has spoken of it. Their main industry is mining and precious metals. But why are we going there?”
“I have work to do, I have tarried here long enough to teach thee what thou needst know in order to come with me. Thou art now ready and thou shalt accompany me and learn all that I deem necessary for thine education to be complete. Thine apprenticeship is begun. Be ready, I will summon thee in eight days.”
The days crawled by too slowly for Rhoyan’s liking. He grew impatient, but Master Hobard cautioned him against arriving at Sheyardin’s early.
“You never rush a dragon, lad, unless you are in greatest need, and even then you do not rush them, you challenge them or you speak your mind which amuses them, but you do not rush them.”
“You know he’s a dragon?” Rhoyan was surprised.
“Only a select few have been entrusted with that knowledge, but yes. Your parents have long hoped a day may come in the near future when myth-folk might be welcomed back to their rightful place here in Llycaelon. Best not to mention it to anyone outside of your tutors and your parents, though.” The teacher paused, and then passed a hand across his eyes. “It’s been an honor being your teacher, lad. I wish you well on your journeys and the next step in your lessons.”
“Thanks, Master Hobard.” Rhoyan found suddenly that he would miss his old teacher.
To pass the time before Sheyardin summoned him, Rhoyan sparred with Master Yevo. He had perfected most of his technique, and Yevo hardly ever had anything but praise for the young prince’s swordsmanship. One day, after a long practice, both of them sat on the ground under the shade of a great tree, breathing hard. It had been a week and a half since Sheyardin had told him they would be traveling to Efoin-Ebedd.
“Master Yevo?”
“Yes?” Yevo replied, stretching himself out and staring up at the great blue sky, his hands behind his head and his eyes closed.
“Master Sheyardin once spoke of a prophecy about me, but he never told me what the prophecy said. I think I know everything there is to know about that prophecy, except for what it actually says. Do you know how it goes?”
Yevo sat up, rubbed his eyes with his fists, and then sighed, “If Sheyardin did not see fit to tell you then perhaps it is not for you to know yet.”
“Please, Master Yevo? Everyone knows it except me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong lad,” Yevo replied. “It is the best kept secret in the country. Your parents know it and your teachers know it, but no one else has even the faintest idea the prophecy exists. It has been the secret of the royal family for five hundred years. I think there is good reason for it to remain so.”
Rhoyan opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again, not sure what to say. He had no convincing argument as to why he ought to know the words of the prophecy, besides the fact that everyone said it was about him. He hunched his shoulders and felt a chill creep up his neck; his face darkened.
“Seems to me that no real good ever came of anyone knowing the future,” Yevo continued, “and prophecies are especially tricky.”
“Yes, but this one is about me,” Rhoyan argued half-heartedly, “seems like I have a right to know.”
“But that’s just it! The prophecy may be about your life and your future, and that’s all the more reason not to know what it says,” Yevo said, as though it ought to be obvious. “If I told you what the prophecy says you might take it to mean one thing when it really means another, or worse: you might see it for what it really is and let it rule your life. If it were me, I’d never want to know. Let the future happen, I say; I don’t want to know about it till then, thank you very much!”
Rhoyan furrowed his brow thoughtfully. There was a lot of sense to what the swords master was saying. It did not mean he liked being left out of the secret, but perhaps Master Yevo was right when he said it was better that way.
A flurry of wings and a loud shriek disturbed Rhoyan’s thoughts. He sat up as the falcon swooped down to a branch near his head. The bird cocked its head and observed him solemnly for a moment, its yellow eyes glittering with the uncanny wisdom possessed of its kind. Rhoyan returned the gaze steadily, and then he noticed the message attached to its leg. He removed it
and the bird seemed to nod, then it flew away.
“What is it?” Yevo asked.
“A message,” Rhoyan said, unrolling the parchment. “It’s in Old Kraïc,” he muttered, “from Master Sheyardin.”
He read silently for a moment and almost dropped the paper in his excitement. He jumped to his feet with a shout of triumph.
“Lad?”
“I’m to leave at once!” Rhoyan exulted. “Trouble has risen in Efoin-Ebedd and we are needed right away! Master Yevo, I’m finally going to travel, I’m going to see the shores of Efoin-Ebedd! I’m going to see all the places that I’ve read about.”
“Good luck to you, Your Highness,” Yevo said quietly, “I wish you safe travel and safe return.”
“Thank you, Master Yevo,” Rhoyan said, clasping the man’s hand. “Good-bye.”
It did not take Rhoyan long to gather his belongings; he had been ready to leave for days. He brought with him only those things he was certain he would need. His weapons, four changes of work clothes and his plainest cloak. He did not bring any of his fine cloaks and tunics; Sheyardin had cautioned him against traveling among the people of the world as a prince.
“You will learn more if you travel as a commoner,” the dragon had said firmly.
Finally, Rhoyan strapped his throwing daggers to his wrists beneath his sleeves and he tucked one into his boot. He stood in front of the mirror for a moment, trying to see if his weapons were visible, then he grinned at his reflection. He looked around his home one last time, but did not really see it, instead he saw the mountains of Efoin-Ebedd, the rolling plains of Kallayohm, and the sparkling expanse of ocean he would soon be crossing.
At last, he felt ready. He descended the stairs to where his parents were waiting. They wore expressions of pride and love as they hugged him farewell. His mother kissed his forehead and asked endless questions about whether or not he had packed thoroughly. His father shook his hand, clasped him in a strong embrace, and admonished him to heed Master Sheyardin and to comport himself like the warrior he was. At long last, the farewells were over. Rhoyan practically flew to Sheyardin’s house, ready to begin his adventure.
If Rhoyan had had visions of flying swiftly over the seas to far off lands, perhaps using dragon magic to suddenly appear wherever they were headed, or perhaps riding on the great dragon’s back, he was disappointed. Sheyardin was still in his human form. Rhoyan’s disappointment lasted only until his teacher informed him that they would be traveling by ship. Growing up listening to his Uncle Ramius’ stories, Rhoyan had always wanted to sail the seas, face the storms, battle the sea serpents, and earn the right to sail unchallenged wherever his compass should lead.
The two were traveling under assumed names. Sheyardin had chartered a ship called the Silver Hydra. It was a huge vessel, and her captain was a rough man, but an honest one, and he was known by sailors as a fair man. He called himself Delmar, and he was renowned as being the best sailor ever born in Llycaelon. Rhoyan took an instant liking to the captain, despite his gruff manner, and the prince almost made a nuisance of himself, following the captain around and asking questions. The captain feigned annoyance at first, but he was truly delighted at Rhoyan’s earnest wish to learn, so he did not send the young man away.
“How long of a voyage is it to Efoin-Ebedd?” Rhoyan asked one day.
“Abou’ eight weeks,” the captain replied. His voice was deep and rough from shouting into storms and from breathing the salty sea air.
“Eight weeks!” Rhoyan was shocked.
“That’s accountin’ fer rough weather and sea monster, of course,” the captain added, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes. “We’ll be making port a few times along Llycaelon’s shore to pick up goods fer trade with Efoin-Ebedd, too.”
“Good,” Rhoyan replied, “then I will have plenty of time to learn how to sail.”
The captain laughed. “You dinna learn to sail so quickly boy!” he boomed, his voice full of merriment. “Most of us ha’ been sailing since we was jist lads, barely old enough to walk. But, I s’pose, if you truly want to learn, my boat is the best place to do it,” Captain Delmar conceded. “My men are the best in all the ports, you will not find no better, search where you will.”
Rhoyan set to work immediately learning as much as he could. The crew started him out on the menial chores, swabbing decks, coiling ropes, and washing dishes. In such manner had the crew discouraged other over-eager passengers who thought they wanted to learn to sail. However, Rhoyan did not merely ask questions or seek some romantic dream of the sea; Rhoyan learned best by doing. He insisted on helping in any and every way. When he had finished all the chores they assigned him he worked alongside the other sailors folding canvas, manning oars, standing watch, and everything else that needed doing. His cheerful attitude and his willingness to work hard soon endeared him to the whole crew, and they grew willing to answer his questions. Slowly, Rhoyan became acquainted with every inch of the ship, and became a sailor in the process.
There were very few quiet moments in the life of a sailor, but Rhoyan did manage to steal a minute one morning before the Dragon’s Eye began to rise. Sheyardin happened upon him at the bow of the ship, his arms resting on the railing of the deck, his face thoughtful.
“What troubles you, lad?”
“We knew I was leaving Llycaelon for nearly two weeks before you summoned me,” Rhoyan answered.
“So?”
“Ky didn’t even send a note. I didn’t expect him to gallop home and see me off... but he didn’t even send a word of congratulations.”
“You miss him.”
“Aye,” Rhoyan sighed, turning to resume his duties, “that I do.”
The voyage did not quite take eight weeks, due to the absence of difficult weather, and the threatened sea monsters never arrived to terrorize them. The report among the men claimed this journey as their fastest ever to Efoin-Ebedd, thanks in no small part to their passenger-turned-comrade. They called Rhoyan a good luck charm and the captain offered to hire him as an extra hand for their next voyage.
“We could use a strong sailor like you where we’re going,” Captain Delmar said. “The next part of our journey is through treacherous waters and I’m short a man.”
Rhoyan shook his head. “I can’t,” he said regretfully, “I wish I could.”
The captain shook the prince’s hand. “It has been a pleasure meetin’ you. I never would ha’ believed that a sailor could be made in less than half a year, but you’ve made me eat my words, lad, and ‘tis not often I have to do that,” Delmar ran his hand over his beard ruefully. “You’re always welcome on my ship lad. In fact, if ever you need a boat, look up my Silver Hydra an’ I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, no charge. And remember, if you ever need a job, my offer stands.”
“I thank you sir,” Rhoyan grinned. He knew the captain was just being kind, that he could not yet take the place of a full-fledged crew member, but he appreciated Delmar’s method of acknowledging how much he had learned in just under two months.
Rhoyan joined Sheyardin with a sigh. The tall man looked down at the prince with a twinkle in his eyes. As they left the docks, Rhoyan looked up at his teacher with a grimace.
“Are good-byes always so hard?”
“Not always,” Sheyardin said, and then added after a small pause, “and sometimes they are harder.” The dragon had dropped into less formal speech since leaving Llycaelon.
“The second I get used to something, I have to leave,” Rhoyan muttered. The first twinge of homesickness tugged at his heart.
“That is the way of the world.”
“I wish you would stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Giving me answers I can’t argue with. You say something like that as though it is the great solution that everyone has been looking for, when really all you’re saying is that there is no solution so we have to accept things the way they are.”
“K
eeping up with your logic gives me a headache.”
Rhoyan looked at his teacher sharply to see if he was being mocked. There was no mockery in Sheyardin’s eyes, but there was a hint of laughter about his mouth.
“I don’t see what’s so funny.”
Now Sheyardin did laugh aloud. “You tell me that I give you answers you cannot argue with, but you go ahead and argue anyway.”
Rhoyan chuckled a bit, and then he changed the subject, “So where are we going? What are we here to do?”
“A storm is rising,” Sheyardin said, almost absently, then he closed his mouth and refused to say any more.
The words were said quietly, but there was an ominous tone behind them. Rhoyan shivered, pulling his cloak tightly around his shoulders. The air felt suddenly cold and the Dragon’s Eye seemed to grow dim.
CHAPTER
SIX
Ky gazed steadily at Lord Nills. “I do not believe you.”
The eldest prince had grown during his apprenticeship; he was tall and muscular with sharp, defined features. His once laughing eyes had grown darker, and now they hardly ever smiled, his expression was stern and confident. Much as he had changed, however, there was still a kindness in his austere expression, a steadiness in his gaze that named him trustworthy. There was something of compassion in the depths of his eyes that drew people to him, something about his strength that was comforting. People who met him whispered that he would make a fine king one day.
“Ask yourself this: what could I possibly gain by lying to you?” Lord Nills said.
“I don’t know what game you are playing, but I warn you to tread carefully. If you think I will go easy on you just because you were my apprentice-master, you are wrong. Lying would be a very dangerous move on your part,” Ky’s voice was low.
“I am telling the truth about the prophecy. You will…”
Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2) Page 8
