“Rhoyan doesn’t even want to be king!” Ky burst out.
“Your brother doesn’t realize he has the opportunity to be king!” Lord Nills exclaimed. “No one has been allowed to tell him of this prophecy, it is a secret kept in the strictest of confidence.”
“Then how did you learn of it? By spying and eavesdropping?”
“Do not insult me. You know very well I am a member of your father’s Council. We are the only ones who know of the prophecy. I am one of a few who do not agree with the actions being taken in an attempt to fulfill its predictions.”
“No matter what the prophecy says, Rhoyan is not ambitious like that. I know my brother, Lord Nills.”
“Your Highness,” Lord Nills bowed his head, “forgive me. But let me remind you he did beat you in that tournament when you were just children. Oh, I’m sure he made excuses: he’d practiced more than you, he hadn’t meant to win, instinct took over... but he did win.”
Ky’s dark eyes flashed. “Now, you will answer my question: just what are you trying to do? I have been your apprentice for several years now. I have admired you my entire life, I have trusted you; but today you seem bent on your own ruin. I want to know why.”
“I am merely attempting to right an injustice that has been worked upon Your Highness without your knowledge. Your birthright has been given to your younger brother, and you do not seem to care! It is your right to sit on the throne after your father, and it is a right that I will not allow you to simply throw away,” Lord Nills’ voice became exasperated.
“An injustice!” Ky almost laughed. “An injustice that you cannot prove.”
Lord Nills brought himself up indignantly. “I am only attempting to look out for your best interests, Your Highness.”
“By slandering my family? By insinuating that my parents are part of some intricate plot to deprive me of my birthright and that my brother wishes to usurp a crown he craves not? These are traitorous, dangerous accusations, Lord Nills. Choose your next words carefully.”
“If you do not feel you can trust me to have your best interests at heart, or to be your loyal subject, then perhaps Your Highness should find a new apprentice-master,” Nills said stiffly. “I meant no disrespect to you or your family, but if you do not believe me, then someone else can finish your training.”
Ky pursed his lips. “I will pack my things and leave this evening. Sir Bors once expressed interest in taking me on as apprentice, perhaps he will be less inclined to speak rashly and treacherously, as you have done. I will forgive the offense this once, but never let me hear such words again.”
❖ ❖ ❖
A child’s screams filled the night as the monster spit flames that engulfed the house, turning it to cinders in an instant. She continued screaming as the creature turned to face her. She was swept to safety by a shadow that pushed her gently but firmly towards the protection of the forest.
The shadow man leapt at the creature, hacking at its head with his brightly gleaming sword. The creature threw him off and glared at the dark figure. Flames curled around the warrior and the child shrieked again, but the stranger jumped nimbly out of the way. He attacked the creature again, driving his sword into one of the monster’s great red eyes. The monster cried out in pain with a roar that shook the forest to its roots.
The warrior dropped and rolled under the monster’s great claws; with a mighty lunge he drove his sword up into its belly. A flow of hot steam and smoke curled out of the creature’s great, gaping mouth and it hissed angrily. The stranger stabbed upwards once again, driving his sword deeper into the creature. This time blood flowed from the wound and the monster swayed as though about to fall. The great claws lashed out, catching the warrior up, but he held tightly to his sword as the claw lifted him into the monster’s dark fangs. Then the warrior slashed his blade into the creature’s neck. With a gurgling, horrible cry the monster flung the warrior away and writhed in pain, clawing at the air. The man flew through the air and hit a tree with a sickening cracking noise. He fell to the ground and lay there, motionless. The child let out a sob of hopeless defeat, for surely no one could survive such a blow. Her sobs stopped suddenly though, and she watched in wide-eyed wonder. The warrior was not dead, but had merely been stunned. He was moving, pushing himself up with his arms and shaking his head to clear it.
The man struggled to his feet, his sword impossibly still in his hand. In one swift motion he hurled his sword at the creature. The sword pierced deep into the scaly armor below the monster’s left foreleg, burying itself to the hilt. The creature staggered back, stunned. It clawed feebly at the protruding hilt for a moment, and then fell with a deep groan of defeat. For a moment, the creature lay there, trembling, then it burst into flame and disappeared in a cloud of dark black smoke.
The stranger stood up slowly and stumbled to the spot where the creature had fallen. The ground was charred and smoking, and the grass was curling and turning brown from the heat of the flames. He retrieved his sword from where it had fallen and examined the blade closely. The blade was clean and unmarked; the metal was not even warm from the flames that had engulfed it when the creature died.
“As I said,” a tall man suddenly appeared behind the warrior, “Endalian-made. Good job, Rhoyan.”
“What was that?” Rhoyan asked.
“A wyvren, yet another kind of were-folk.”
“How many kinds are there? In Llycaelon we’ve only ever seen seheowks. Since traveling with you, I’ve encountered half a dozen other variations.”
“As many as there are myth-folk, they were created from their likenesses, but the power that produced them can only mock, never create.”
“Sheyardin, these attacks are getting more and more frequent as we travel East, why?”
“I have a feeling our answer lies in the Nameless Isles.”
The child decided that these fierce looking men were friends and she tottered out of her hiding place. She toddled over to Rhoyan and looked up at him mournfully. He knelt down to speak to her.
“Where is your family?” he asked kindly.
She pointed across the fields and then raised her arms to be held. The warrior grimaced in sympathy and picked her up. He could feel her shaking as he lifted her up. He sheathed his sword and held the child close, patting her back gently. She snuggled down into his arms and closed her eyes; her shaking eased and her breathing became more regular. Rhoyan tucked her under his chin.
“I fear someone was in the house with her, they probably sacrificed themselves to get her out,” he said quietly to Sheyardin, his voice filled with regret. “If only we had gotten here sooner. We had better go and find her parents.”
The family was out in the field, trying to save a calf that had been attacked by wolves. They looked up questioningly when they saw the two strangers striding towards them with their youngest child. Rhoyan explained what had happened as gently as possible. They were horrified to learn of the wyvren and the sad remains of their home. As Rhoyan had feared, another child had been in the house with the toddler. It had been their youngest son, a child of ten; too young to help tend the flocks or fight off wolves, he had been left to care for his little sister. Rhoyan sadly told them he had not been quick enough to save the boy; then he handed the little girl back to her mother, who clutched at the child and shook with silent sobs.
“I’m sorry we were too late,” Rhoyan said with true regret.
The father thanked him for saving his daughter. “We are in your debt,” he said quietly.
“No, never in my debt.”
The little girl reached after him as he turned to go, probably feeling as though safety and protection were leaving with him. She whimpered and Rhoyan halted. He turned and knelt down, looking into her eyes.
“The monster is gone,” he said quietly, “he will not frighten you anymore.”
The child stared at him so solemnly that Rhoyan could not bear it. He turned and walked very quickly away, fe
eling as though he were carrying a great burden he could not put down. When they got back to the main road, Rhoyan sank wearily to the ground and declared that he needed to rest. Sheyardin offered him some water and the young warrior drank it gratefully.
“I wish they wouldn’t say that. They’re not in my debt, I didn’t even stay to help them rebuild.”
“We did what we could, Rhoyan. We saved the little girl, and you destroyed yet another of the were-folk,” Sheyardin said comfortingly. “Remember, the people of the town said the wyvren has been ravaging the surrounding area for many months. They have lived in fear for a very long time, unable to work their lands freely because of all the precautions they have had to take. You have saved them from that.”
“I know that, it’s just… I feel so helpless against what these people fight. I can kill their monsters, but I can’t guarantee a good harvest, I can’t make sure they have enough food and warmth in the Cold-Term, I can’t keep their children healthy and strong, I can’t keep their livestock from falling ill…”
“You are but one. All you can offer is what you have to give, and no more, whether you like it or not. The rest is not your job. It is theirs. Theirs and Cruithaor Elchiyl’s. You did a lot more for that family than you think, and if it pleases them to believe themselves in your debt, do not take that away from them. They are too poor to pay you for the service you have rendered in freeing them from that evil beast, do not take their pride from them by refusing to allow them to thank you with what wealth they carry in their hearts.”
“What do you think is causing these attacks? The seheowks only attack when they have numbers on their side. But these creatures, attacking and rampaging alone, as if half-crazed and driven by something... it makes no sense.”
“I’ve heard rumors…” Sheyardin began, but then broke off. “I had no idea it would be this bad.”
“Rumors of what?” Rhoyan persisted. “I’ve traveled with you long enough now, and I need to know what we’re up against. Don’t try and protect me anymore, I should think I’ve more than proved myself.”
Sheyardin glanced down apologetically at Rhoyan’s aggravated tone. “You are so young according to the standards of my people…. Forgive me, Rhoyan, I keep forgetting that according to your kind you are nearly full grown. You have proved yourself, and you do deserve to know the whole story. The rumors I was speaking of are the ones I picked up from the sailors; they speak of a powerful enchanter in the Nameless Isles, they believe he is commanding the were-folk that have been plaguing the western islands. According to rumor, he has become the pawn of Haeronymous, an ancient power that has been chained for centuries,” Sheyardin paused and shuddered. “I dread the day when he comes again to power.”
Rhoyan bit his lip in concern. His master seemed frightened, and that was an unsettling concept. Rhoyan could not even begin to imagine what kind of creature could strike fear into the heart of a dragon.
“Do not worry, Rhoyan, the day of Haeronymous’ return is far off yet, perhaps he has been caged forever. The fact that he is using others suggests that his own power is still very weak, as it should be.”
Rhoyan did not fully understand, but he reined in his questions. He was worried about his master. The old dragon was preoccupied and pensive of late, often stopping mid-story and lapsing into quiet thoughtfulness. They had journeyed across Efoin-Ebedd and then sailed south to Kallayohm, where they had resumed their cross-country wandering. A chain of seven islands, Kallayohm was the most beautiful land Rhoyan had ever seen. Familiar with the harshness of cliffs and mountains, Rhoyan found the sloping green fields and the un-ending acres of forest refreshing and enchanting. The water of the Etharae Ocean lapped gently up onto golden beaches of fine sand; the people of the land were hard-working, playful, and kind-hearted. They had welcomed Rhoyan and Sheyardin with open arms.
In every village, the story was often the same. Rhoyan would render some service, either great or small, and the people wanted to show their gratitude. Most tried to offer him gifts or money or their most prized possession; one family had even tried to give him their oldest daughter’s hand in marriage. Rhoyan had turned a deep shade of red and politely explained to the family that he did not want to take anything of theirs, and though their daughter was indeed very beautiful, he was not yet old enough to marry. He had left that town very quickly, unable to meet the girl’s eyes, and Sheyardin still teased him about it occasionally. The feeling he left with was always the same though, no matter what service he had performed, or the gifts offered in return: he always wished he could have stayed and done more, somehow.
In his time traveling with Sheyardin, Rhoyan had seen more strength in the face of devastation and poverty than he had ever imagined possible. Everywhere he went, he found himself lauded as a hero. He had more friends than he could remember, and half the world seemed intent on being in his debt. But Rhoyan knew he was not a hero. He knew the true heroes were these people he had met along his journey. The real heroes were the ones who faced the possibility of poverty every year, whose lives were at the mercy of the weather, who faced starvation if there was an early frost or an ill-timed storm, these people who worked every minute of their lives just to try and make sure their children had a better chance. He had seen these people lose their livelihoods, their family members, their time, and their homes; and yet they all took deep breaths and shrugged it off. They mourned, certainly, but they picked up and strode on, struggling to put the pieces of their lives back together because that was all they could do.
As one man had told Rhoyan, “I suppose I could sit down and cry, and then, when my strength gave out I could simply give up, lie down, and die. Certainly, that’s all I feel like doing right now. That creature killed my wife and burned my crops and destroyed my home, I guess I’ve got more right than most to just sit down and fade out of this world. But then, what good would that accomplish? What good would that do? So I pick myself up instead, and I go on living, one day at a time, hoping to find something worth living for or some deed worth doing, because right now that’s all I can do.”
“What good indeed?” Rhoyan wondered to himself. “What good indeed?”
Perhaps that was what he was fighting for. Perhaps it was enough to do good wherever he went. Perhaps as he journeyed he could learn the truth about heroism and he could honor these hardworking people in his heart.
All I can do, Rhoyan thought, is my best. And all I can give, I will give. And when my strength runs out and my breath fades, I shall laugh at death and say that it cannot take life from me, because I lived so hard that I drained life dry. And the only reason I shall leave it will be because life no longer has anything to offer me, so I will leave it behind and journey into death with no regrets.
That night, Rhoyan lay on his back, staring up at the great constellations. It had been an uncomfortable journey, at best, but he had grown accustomed to it, and he was surprised to discover how much he had grown to love this way of life. He liked the activity, he liked sleeping on the hard ground and cooking over an open fire. But most of all, he loved being useful. This kind of life put to practical use everything he had learned as a child.
“Trouble sleeping again, Rhoyan?”
“Just thinking about all sorts of things. The families we’ve helped, the lives they live, how much I’ve enjoyed traveling with you. Also... Ky’s rite of passage is soon. I was just wishing that…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “Best not to wish for the impossible, we’re months from Llycaelon and we can’t very well just pack up and go home, not with whoever is behind these attacks on the loose. If we don’t stop him, it won’t take him long to reach Llycaelon,” Rhoyan shuddered. “Ky won’t even notice whether I’m there or not anyway.”
“He will notice, but he will also understand.”
Rhoyan nodded mutely. Sheyardin gazed at the prince, grown so strong and tall, and yet in so many ways still a child. The dragon’s eyes filled with sympathy for what the young man was go
ing through now and with sorrow for how quickly he would be forced to grow up.
“This is your thirtieth year, is it not? Your birthday is arriving soon, I believe,” Sheyardin asked abruptly. “Yorien is almost directly overhead tonight.”
Rhoyan looked up, startled. Sure enough, the familiar figure of Yorien was nearly at the zenith. He nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
“Have you ever been told the story of your constellation?”
“My constellation?” Rhoyan laughed. “It does mark the day that I was born, but I never thought of it as mine. It’s Ky’s sign, too, you know. Our birthdays are only a few weeks apart.”
“‘Born ‘neath the sign of Yorien’s stars,’ well, it’s not the only factor...” Sheyardin spoke absently, almost to himself, then he met Rhoyan’s questioning gaze. “Very well, a story then.”
Rhoyan settled back onto his bedroll to listen as Master Sheyardin once again slipped into the role of teacher. The tall man’s voice grew soft as he began to unwind his tale.
“This is the story of Yorien the Wanderer,” Sheyardin began. “Yorien could have been a king, in fact, he was born to it, but he preferred to feel the dust of the road beneath his feet and the hard wood of a staff in his hand. He scorned both the ease of the throne and the weight of the crown, and he left his birthright so he might travel and see the world. Do not get me wrong, he loved his people and he was brave and devoted to his duty, but he simply had no wish to be a king. He was young, and he enjoyed being alone, and he preferred to give to his country by doing what he loved. So, Prince Yorien left the crown under the protection of his younger brother and promised to return someday.
“Yorien wandered from shore to shore, he sailed the seas and fought monsters, both those that were real and those that waged war within himself. He helped people everywhere he went; much as you have done these past few years. He was known as the protector of the innocent, and that is still the name attributed to his constellation.
Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2) Page 9
