“It just might work. We’ll need to get the details figured out... but maybe...”
Dru yawned and Rhoyan felt himself growing tired as well. He glanced up at the sky and realized with a start that the hour had grown very late. Yorien was already past the zenith and sinking lower on the horizon, and the Toreth was following the Wanderer closely, signaling that the night was almost half over.
“We can talk more about it later. And until I learn the language, there’s not much we can do yet anyway. Until then, we’ll bide our time. Best get some sleep now, in case they insist on marching us all day again,” Rhoyan said.
“It would be best if you work real hard on learning the language, Rhoyan,” Dru said quietly. “We can bide our time for a bit, but unfortunately we may have less time than you think. We’re marching to a city, and when we get there, the Ramblers will set up shop and sell everything they’ve acquired this trip. We need to escape before we reach the city.”
“How much time do you think we have?”
“They said something about spending Cold-Term somewhere before going to market, so if we’re lucky and the weather is real bad, we may have two or three months,” Dru said after a few moments of speculation. “But if not, then perhaps only a few weeks.”
Rhoyan mulled this over for a moment then he nodded shortly. “Right. Before we reach the city, then.”
CHAPTER
NINE
Five long years had passed since Rhoyan first stepped onto Captain Delmar’s ship. During their travels, Sheyardin had made sure to send messages to the king and queen on a regular basis. But after the fourth year the letters stopped. As months passed with no word, Queen Fiora and King Stiorne were forced to face the idea that Rhoyan might never return from his quest. Queen Fiora held out hope the longest, refusing to believe the worst, despite the sad fact that not one word had been heard from either Sheyardin or Rhoyan for over a year.
After many long months of keeping their hopes up, King Stiorne finally made the announcement to the people that the youngest prince and his teacher had, in all likelihood, been lost. The whole land mourned this great loss and they grieved for their beloved monarchs who had so obviously loved their son. Queen Fiora grieved more deeply than any the deepest of all, having refused to admit to the possibility until King Stiorne made the official announcement. After that, she shut herself up in a room and ate little. She grew thin and gaunt and never ventured out of the castle anymore, and so, the people mourned the loss of their lovely queen as well.
To keep himself from sinking into despair at the loss of both his son and his wife, one to death and one to grief, King Stiorne threw his energy into training Seamas how to rule a kingdom. Seamas mourned in his own way as he worked alongside his father and began to accept the greater responsibilities of his position. The fears that had plagued him before and during his rite of passage eased with the news that Rhoyan was not coming home, but guilt at his relief gnawed at his thoughts. Seamas tried to put such things aside, throwing himself into his duties wholeheartedly. He sat in on important meetings with the councilors, he went as the King’s Emissary to settle disputes among the people, and he accompanied his father everywhere. On occasion, the king would turn to Seamas and ask his advice on certain matters. The king was proud of Seamas and recognized his thoughtful answers and intelligent responses, and grew keenly aware that Llycaelon was in very good hands, prophecy or no.
Seamas was in his element; there was no doubt of that. He had an aura of confidence in himself that made others believe in him as well. Besides working alongside his father, Seamas also continued his military responsibilities where he excelled and was soon promoted to commander of his own battalion, years before most aethalons were even assigned to battle.
Seamas hand-picked the finest aethalons for his battalion and trained them himself. He designated his men the King’s Helm, and they were his pride and joy. Seamas often volunteered himself and his men for the most dangerous and difficult of the assignments along the border repelling the vicious seheowks that plagued their shores. He was a tough leader, and most men would think very seriously about how much they valued their own necks before crossing him, but he also possessed a fierce sense of justice that gave his men to know that their requests and even their complaints would be given a fair hearing.
“Milord Commander?” a warrior poked his head through the door of Seamas’ tent. The King’s Helm had been sent on a new mission, one which had taken them far into the southern reaches of the kingdom. Brigands had been attacking the southern nobles and robbing them.
Seamas looked up from his charts. “Yes?”
“There’s someone here to see you, sir. Wants to join the King’s Helm and won’t speak to nobody but you.”
“Send him in,” Seamas said with a sigh. This was not the first civilian who had wanted to join them, nor would it be the last. The name they had made for themselves, even as a very new regiment, had already spread to all the corners of Llycaelon and it went before them like a shield. Seamas was proud of his men, in less than a full year they had accomplished more than he would have ever believed possible.
The tent flap opened again and a slim girl entered.
“My Lady,” Seamas said in confusion, “are you lost? This is a war camp you have stumbled into, may I help you?”
The girl laughed and saluted. “Sit, please, Commander,” she said quietly. Her voice was light and Seamas sat down, a questioning look on his face.
“Let me speak plainly,” she said, “my name is Llewana, daughter of Emmerich, captain of the archers. I have come here to petition for a spot among the King’s Helm.”
Seamas stared at the girl. She was young, her face was that of a child’s and it was full of childlike hope. Yet her words were strong, she was obviously used to getting her own way. She was neither tall nor strong; indeed she was slight of build and looked as though the next breath of wind might blow her away.
“I am sorry;” he said gently, “but the King’s Helm is an elite fighting force. We are the absolute best, the fiercest warriors in the land. The work we do is usually that which nobody else is willing or able to do. This camp is no place for a lady, even a lady warrior such as yourself.”
Llewana’s green eyes were full of determination. “That is precisely why I am here. If I am to be the best, I must fight among the best. I have trained as a warrior, the same as you and all your men. If you turn me away without a fair test, then you are not the commander I thought you to be.”
It was plain that she was not going to take “no” for an answer. A test of skill would probably be faster than trying to talk her out of the notion. Seamas relented. “All right,” he said, “a fair test, but I warn you, when I say fair, I mean fair. You will be required to match skills with the best of my men. If you cannot do so I must ask you to return home.”
“I would not ask for more.”
Seamas barked an order to his attendant and the man hastened away to prepare the tests. Llewana would have to lift a wounded comrade and take him to safety while fending off several attackers. She would have to prove she could keep her head in the midst of chaos. She would also have to string a longbow and hit a bull’s eye from the back of a galloping horse.
When the tests were prepared, Seamas led Llewana outside and hailed the men who were assembled as ordered. “Men!” Seamas barked. “This is Llewana, Emmerich’s daughter; she wishes to join the King’s Helm.”
There was dead silence. The men struggled not to laugh as Llewana was presented to them. Llewana stared at them quietly, her large green eyes daring each one to speak up.
“Let the tests begin!” Seamas commanded. At this, all thought of laughter vanished.
Despite the slightness of her frame, Llewana barely managed to pass the first test. The strain of lifting her fallen comrade showed in her gasping breaths when the test was over. Seamas had not picked the tallest of his warriors, but in fairness, he had not picked the smallest,
either. He was impressed by her strength despite her small stature, and nodded to acknowledge that she had passed the first test.
The woman breezed through the second test, showing that chaos and noise did not bother her in the slightest. She had an ability to focus that amazed all the onlookers.
Finally, it was time to begin the final test. Llewana mounted her horse and swung her longbow across her back. Then she urged her horse into a fast gallop. When she reached a full gallop, Llewana un-slung her bow and quickly strung it, she grabbed an arrow and shot it, almost without seeming to aim. A warrior ran out from behind the target and raised his arm, she had hit it dead-center. But Llewana was not finished; she urged her horse to go even faster and wheeled about, coming back for a second pass. This time, she flung herself sideways and an audible gasp went up from the men as they feared she would be crushed beneath the flying hooves. But Llewana had not fallen from her horse; she was merely hanging on from the side, using her horse as a shield. She raised her bow and shot once more, this time over the back of her galloping horse. This second shot hit the target dead center, knocking the first arrow from its place.
Llewana brought her horse to stand in front of Seamas and she grinned down at him triumphantly.
“Lady,” he said, “never before have I seen such a stunt.”
“You forget my father is captain of the archers. More, he is an Aetoli warrior, he taught me well, my prince.”
“You have passed all three tests. Welcome to the King’s Helm, Lady Llewana.”
“Thank you.”
“You said that you trained just as I did, it is not uncommon for women to become warriors, but it is rare for them to actually take the final tests and accept a rank. Have you done so?”
“I hold the Accipiter rank, Your Highness.”
“You might just prove to be a constant surprise,” he said dryly, Accipiter was the highest rank a non-officer could attain. “Why didn’t you just tell me that when you first arrived? You suffered yourself to take my tests, when you could have joined on the merit you have already earned.”
“You may have accepted me on my word, Highness, but your men never would have,” she said quietly. “Warriors tend to believe their eyes more than anything else. I had to give them something they could see, some evidence of my skill, or I would have always been an outcast among the Helm.”
“And why did you want to join the Helm so badly? Surely you had a spot among the archers, under your father?”
“I have just told you that I wanted to prove myself, and you ask why I did not accept a position in my father’s command? Would I have been accepted there, my prince? Would they have believed I had earned my way in, Llewana, the captain’s daughter?”
“But you must know that even here it will be difficult. Even as a part of the Helm I cannot allow you to take part in hand to hand combat.”
“I understand that, the king’s orders stand and I believe they are good ones. I am perfectly willing to be an archer or a strategist or even a water carrier. So long as I can say I earned a place in the King’s Helm, I do not care what position you give me.”
“An archer for the King’s Helm you shall be then. But I warn you, I may need to take you up on the water carrier idea.”
Llewana stared at him in shock for a moment, and then she noticed his dark eyes were dancing and she laughed out loud. “Anything to serve the crown.” She gave an exaggerated bow. “Your Highness.”
She turned and made as if to leave when Seamas’ voice stopped her, “My men call me Seamas,” he said, “or, when they’re feeling particularly high-minded they call me ‘my lord commander,’ you may call me either.”
“As you say, Seamas.” She threw him a dazzling smile and then left to pitch her own tent.
❖ ❖ ❖
The days passed, each one much the same as the next and they soon began to blur together for Rhoyan. Cold-Term had been long and the days passed slowly in the Ramblers’ camp. They had made it into the mountains before the first snows, and they spent the days inside an extensive cave system. The hideout was well-stocked, leading Rhoyan and Dru to believe that the Ramblers returned here often.
Once the snows melted, the group set out for the city. The weather was bad, and the trip to the city was taking much longer than the Ramblers liked. Their wagons could not travel quickly through the mud and they were forced to wait out the many storms that poured down on them. Often they had to camp for days as they waited for the roads to dry. With Dru’s help Rhoyan was quickly learning the Rambler’s language, and he knew the time was drawing near to make good on their escape. Rhoyan had another source of help in learning the language, though she was unaware of her role.
Shortly after he was taken captive, one of the young Rambler women grew interested in the way that Dru babbled at the new prisoner. She came over and inquired after his name. It took her a moment to make herself understood, but finally Dru caught on to what she was asking.
“Him?” he asked, in his broken understanding of her language. “He don’t understand a word I say to him. That’s probably why we get along. I don’t know where he comes from or who he is, but he don’t seem to mind me talking at him.”
A dazzling smile spread across her face and she laughed at the absurdity of the situation. She pointed at herself, “Calla,” she said, and then she made a questioning noise.
Dru pointed at himself, “Dru,” he said.
Rhoyan pointed at himself as well, “Roy.”
Calla repeated their names, rolling the unfamiliar sounds around in her mouth, and then she giggled in unconcealed merriment. Her laughter was like a spring of water that bubbled up into a fountain; it was wild and cheerful and could not be contained. It made those around her want to laugh as well.
“I also will come and speak with you,” she announced before leaving to attend to her other duties.
Dru and Rhoyan puzzled out the meaning of her words after she left. Rhoyan was excited about her return, but Dru was more suspicious. Finally Rhoyan explained his excitement.
“With her around talking to us, we will learn much more of their language. Who knows what she might say? And besides, she seems intent on making us understand. We’ll be fluent in her language much faster this way.”
“I suppose you’re right. I hope she doesn’t catch on though.”
Calla was as good as her word. She returned to speak with them every day. She seemed to be endlessly amused by their lack of comprehension and she never tired of repeating herself and trying to make herself understood.
Slowly, Rhoyan began to view her as a friend. He spoke Gryphonese at her, which seemed to delight her even more than talking to two prisoners who did not understand her. The rough clacking and clicking of the language sent her into peals of laughter, and Rhoyan grew to truly enjoy the girl’s company. He loved making her laugh and he began to care deeply for this Rambler girl. In return, Calla unwittingly taught him much of her language and when he began to understand her, he realized she often spoke of her people and their customs as well. In this way, he grew to know the Rambler people. Through her voice and eyes, he began to have a grudging admiration for his captors. In the end, Calla even won over the distrustful Dru with her bright blue eyes and her sparkling laughter.
Rhoyan was grateful to have been blessed with two unlikely friends, though he was not entirely sure if Calla thought of him as as such in return. He was very glad of Dru’s company and conversation as the days wore on. They both missed their homeland, and they exchanged stories of their childhoods. Dru, Rhoyan soon learned, was much more than he seemed. The man confessed that had been a highwayman, a common thief, who was quite good at what he did. He had been traveling East in an attempt to escape the aethalons who were pursuing him. He had gained passage beyond Efoin-Ebedd when their vessel was lost in a tempest. Dru had floated on wreckage for days and landed on these same shores at death’s door. He was salvaged and soon found himself a prisoner of the R
amblers, who had later performed the same service for Rhoyan.
“It probably serves me right, the life I’ve been leading, a thief captured by thieves; I suppose it’s fitting, somehow,” Dru admitted. “From what I’ve figured out, these Ramblers set out every year, collecting goods and taking prisoners. They wander for months at a time, and when they feel they’ve got enough goods they take it back to the city and sell or trade everything they’ve acquired.”
Rhoyan nodded absently, he felt he knew enough of the language now to try and escape, but he still didn’t know how to escape his chains. It was a disheartening task and he said as much to Dru. The thief laughed, causing Rhoyan to stare at him in bewilderment.
“I didn’t know you were worryin’ about that. You just leave that to me. Tell me when you want to leave, and I’ll take care of the chains.”
Rhoyan shook his head ruefully. It was exactly the type of answer that he should have expected from Dru. He had no idea how the man expected to take care of their bonds, but he had trusted the man with too much not to believe in him now.
“We leave tonight then. I overheard someone say that we’re about a week’s march from the city, so we’d better not leave anything to chance. If we make our escape tonight, perhaps no one will even bother to come looking for us, as we’re so close to our destination. Surely two prisoners can’t be worth very much to the Ramblers.”
“Tonight it is!”
Calla made her way over to them at the mid-day meal and sat down with her bowl of stew. She waited until they were served to begin eating and Rhoyan was surprised at this small act of kindness. He felt a pang of regret that he would not see her again after today. It surprised him how much he cared, and he tried unsuccessfully to shake the troublesome feeling.
“We reach the city in less than a week.” Calla said conversationally. “Have you ever been to the city?”
Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2) Page 15
