“Your Highness,” Jhasen’s tone was stern, but gentle, “that is not true. The only thing that has kept him going throughout all this distress is the pride he has in you. The man you have become is the bright light in the midst of his personal darkness. Your father is a great man, capable of loving both his sons. Of course he wishes for Rhoyan to return, what father wouldn’t? However, this does not diminish your place in his heart. This sorrow has nothing to do with you.”
Seamas’ expression softened. “Yes, sir.”
Seamas held the old physician in awe. The man had been around since long before Seamas had been born, and as far as he could remember, Jhasen had always been old and cranky. He wrapped himself in mystery and that enigmatic air had served to instill a certain kind of fear in both the young princes. Seamas and Rhoyan had used to run and hide whenever the physician was about. Seamas remembered how he and his brother would make up stories about the man, believing him to be thousands of years old. They told each other that Mister Jhasen would never die because he had concocted some sort of potion that would allow him to live forever. They used to giggle a bit at him too, at his polished and proper air, and the funny way he walked; but very quietly, for they were convinced the old physician had some way of hearing them.
“Too bad he couldn’t come up with a potion for eternal youth too,” Rhoyan had snickered once, causing Ky to laugh uproariously. He had halted his laughter almost immediately, feeling a peculiar sense of guilt for laughing at the physician.
Seamas thought of those stories now and seemed to feel that same twinge of guilt once more. He wondered if the physician had ever known the terror he had struck into those young boys’ hearts. With his stiff and proper way of stalking about the castle and his cavernous wrinkles, he was a sight that could have scared a dragon. Seamas bit down the sudden and almost uncontrollable urge to laugh, feeling as though he were but a naughty child again, hiding in the corridors of the castle.
“May I see him?” he asked.
Jhasen gazed at him searchingly for a moment and Seamas regretted his childhood memories, for he felt as though they were written all over his face for the physician to read, but after a long, agonizing moment, the physician spoke, “Of course you may go in to see your father. But mind, do not stay overlong, and do not expect him to be coherent. He is very sick, and it would not do to upset him.”
“I understand. I just want to see him. Perhaps the news of our victory might cheer him.”
He half expected the physician to forbid him to speak of his journey, but the old man surprised him with a thoughtful nod. “That it might, Your Highness that it might. Go on in then, but remember, do not stay long.”
Seamas entered the sickroom and was astonished to see how aged his father appeared. When he had left with the Helm, Stiorne had seemed so strong, every inch the king he had always been. Seamas remembered the bright smile upon his father’s face as he came down to see them off on yet another mission. Before him now lay an old man burdened heavily by too many great troubles. Oh Rhoyan, you should be here. The thought was there before Seamas even had a chance to stop it; he was disturbed by the strange ache he felt at the thought of his brother.
Trying to hide what he was feeling, Seamas knelt next to the bed. “Father,” he whispered.
“Rhoyan?” the king asked. “Is that you?”
“No, father,” Seamas said quietly, biting down his jealousy before it had time to make him feel hurt that Stiorne had not recognized him, “it’s me, Seamas.”
“Ah, Ky, I thought you were your brother.”
“Rhoyan is…” Seamas paused. “He will come soon, father.”
Stiorne closed his eyes and patted Seamas’ hand. “Good boy,” he whispered, “… so glad you are here.”
“The Helm has returned with me, milord.” Interest seemed to flicker faintly in Stiorne’s eyes and Seamas leapt upon it, “We managed to capture the bandits, father; every single one. Nobody was lost on either side.”
King Stiorne’s face relaxed into an expression of delight. “Proud of you,” he whispered, “you will make a fine king one day.”
“There is someone I want you to meet, when you are well,” Seamas continued. “Her name is Llewana. She is the newest member of the King’s Helm, I think you’ll like her.”
“Llewana...” the king tilted his head. “Captain Emmerich’s daughter?”
Seamas was pleased to hear some strength return to his father’s voice. “The very same.”
“Yes, I would like to meet her,” King Stiorne said, and then he sighed as though a great burden was weighing him down.
Seamas felt sudden hot tears sting his eyes. “Rest now. You need to get your strength back.”
“Waiting for your brother… rest then.”
Seamas shook his head silently, not knowing what to say. His father seemed to be fading in and out of the present. He seemed to remember neither Seamas’ new name, nor the fact that Rhoyan had been pronounced dead.
“Will you send your brother in when you leave? I would like to speak with him.”
“All right,” Seamas said gently.
The king nodded quietly, looking satisfied, then he gave a long shuddery sigh and closed his eyes. Seamas stood and quietly left the room. At Jhasen’s questioning glance Seamas rubbed his eyes and shook his head.
“He’s sleeping now, it’s worse than I had imagined. He had a moment where I thought... but then he was gone again.”
“I tried to warn you, my prince. I’m sorry. I truly am doing everything that I can for him.”
“I know, Jhasen, and I thank you for that.”
“Truly, I think there is only one thing that might cure him, or perhaps two.”
“Either my brother’s return or my mother’s health to be restored.”
“I fear it is so.”
“I can give him neither, and he has not the strength to forgive me for it.”
“Some things we possess to give to others. Neither of the things your father needs are yours to give, nor should they be. It is you who must do the forgiving; you must find it in you to forgive yourself, young prince,” Jhasen spoke gently.
❖ ❖ ❖
The three travelers stumbled along the road all night and well into the morning. Calla and Dru had been all for stopping to rest at dawn, but Rhoyan urged them on until the Dragon’s Eye was directly above them. Their pace became slower and slower until Calla sat down.
“I give up! Let them capture me,” she moaned. “This is awful! Surely marriage to Count Willem couldn’t be worse than this. You are a very tyrant, Roy.”
Rhoyan glanced around and decided that they might do well with a bit of rest. “We can stop, but not here in the middle of the road, let’s move out of sight.”
Calla and Dru followed Rhoyan into the bushes where they found a small clearing hidden from the sight of anyone who might pass by, but still within sight of the road. Dru produced some of the food he had taken from the Rambler’s camp, and the three travelers fell to eating as though they were starving.
“Where are we going?” Calla asked after a bit.
“To the city,” Rhoyan replied.
“The city! But my people are going to the city! We should run in the opposite direction!”
Rhoyan shook his head. “No, the fact that the Ramblers are going to the city makes it the one safe place that we can go.Your people know that only a fool would walk from the dragon’s lair into the hydra’s pool, so they will never expect to find us in the city. We will go to the one spot where they will not be looking for us. We can walk the streets and blend in; they’ll never find us, possibly they won’t even see us. Cities are big, and filled with people.”
Calla looked to Dru for confirmation, he nodded encouragingly. “What he says is true, little one. The safest place for us may well be the city. Besides, if we want to hire a boat, we must go where there is a harbor, is there a harbor near this city of yours?”
“There is a harbor in the city. It is the best place in all of Yochathain to hire a boat. And... it is a large city.”
“So we are in Yochathain,” Rhoyan mused as though to himself. “I’ve been wondering about that.”
“Now that we have a few moments,” Calla said looking at her two companions, “would you mind answering a few questions such as: who are you? And where do you come from? And how did you come to be in Yochathain?”
“Now that is a long story,” Rhoyan replied. “Come, Dru and I will tell you our stories as we travel, but we mustn’t linger here. The road beckons and I would we were in the city as quickly as possible.”
“It may still be two or three days on foot. We’ll travel faster than my people, though, without all the carts and tents to pack up each morning.”
Rhoyan and Dru accepted this without complaint, though Rhoyan still hoped that they might reach the city sooner than Calla expected.
They made camp that night, but slept only a few hours. As they took to the road in the early rays of dawn, Dru told his story; he confessed that he was a thief and he told the girl, somewhat sheepishly, of how he had come to be a prisoner of the Ramblers. Then he spoke of his home with a look of longing on his face and explained that his greatest wish was to see the shores of Llycaelon once again.
“Ah, little one! If you had but set eyes upon that dark green forest that borders the shoreline; and beyond that the great mountains, all but hidden from view in the morning mist; and smelled the fresh scent of cinnamon that lingers on the breezes of my homeland you also would be loath to ever leave it.”
Calla was enraptured by this description and her face held a look of longing. Even Rhoyan, who had grown up in Llycaelon felt Dru’s words tug at his heart. A fresh wave of yearning for home swept over him.
When Dru finished, Rhoyan told his story, leaving out his true identity. It wasn’t that he did not trust the Rambler girl, but he had learned the hard way that it was better to remain alert and suspicious. Calla stared at him in wonder when he told how he had slain the dark dragon named Khentarrick and frightened away a hydra with nothing more than a few arrows.
“I was on my way home when I was taken prisoner,” Rhoyan concluded, “and you know the rest. Dru and I are trying to get home to Llycaelon, you are welcome to travel with us as long as you want.”
Calla’s eyes grew wistful. “I should like to see the shores of this Llycaelon that you speak of,” she said shyly. “If you don’t mind me coming, that is.”
Rhoyan and Dru shared a look, they had grown fond of their companion and each of them had been trying to think of a way to persuade her to come to Llycaelon with them.
“Lady Calla,” Rhoyan said grandly, “we would like nothing better; you’re welcome to travel home with us. That is, if you can put up with Dru’s conversation. I warn you, he never stops talking.”
Dru chuckled. “Well, Calla, I may talk too much, and I don’t speak as grandly as our Roy here, but between the two of us, I think we can put up with him, don’t you agree?”
“Neither of you is worthy of a response,” she spoke grandly, and then let out another peal of laughter. “Listen to me, speaking as though I were a real lady, and not just a Rambler girl!”
The three of them laughed and talked until they came within sight of the city. They had traveled quickly, and the Dragon’s Eye had only just begun to set behind them. The dying rays of light framed the city in fire. The great spires of ancient buildings stretched up into the sky and great windows reflected the light of the Dragon’s Eye like the sea.
“If I climbed to the top of one of those buildings, I’d be able to walk with Yorien,” Rhoyan breathed in wonder.
“Who’s Yorien?” Calla asked.
Rhoyan pointed to a constellation that was only just beginning to appear. “The Wanderer, Protector of the Innocent. He is my guide home.”
“We too have a name for him,” she said quietly, “we call him the Avenger.”
“Why is that? I have never heard that name for him.”
“When the Nameless King was unjustly locked in the dark prison of the night sky, he vowed to be the instrument of justice for his enemies. And so, though it cost him greatly, he allowed part of himself to fall from the sky. It smashed down on his home, killing his enemies. That is why his shield lies at his feet; he no longer has a hand to hold it.”
“An interesting addition to the legend,” Rhoyan mused.
“Horses! Behind us! Off the road now!” Dru whispered, diving into the shadows on the side of the road, and crawling beneath a few scrubby bushes.
Calla and Rhoyan followed him and the three travelers lay still, hiding in the long grassy weeds. Three men on horses rode into sight and stopped mere feet from their hiding place.
“The road has grown rocky,” one of the riders said, “it would be impossible to follow any sort of trail now, even if we hadn’t lost it earlier.”
“The chief isn’t going to like this.”
“So what?” the first man argued. “We’ve done our best; it’s not our fault the trail vanished! Does our all-wise chief expect us to track ghosts now? My guess is they wandered off the road back in that rocky canyon and got eaten by wild animals.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” the silent third man spoke up, “but there’s no harm in going on a bit further, just to make sure. If they stayed on the road, they’ll have to stop somewhere for the night, it would be a shame to find the remains of their camp just another mile up the road and have to explain that one to the chief.”
The other two grumbled in agreement and the three urged their horses on.
“I think we should stay here for the night,” Rhoyan whispered, when they were sure the horsemen were not doubling back. “Maybe even get a little further back into the bushes. If we go any further tonight we risk running into those horsemen again on their way back to the Rambler’s camp.”
“Did you recognize them, Calla?” Dru asked. “Were they looking for us?”
“The third one was my brother,” she confided. “The other two are his friends, the best trackers in our group.”
“Who is the chief that they were speaking of?” Rhoyan asked. “I don’t think I met him while I was in your camp.”
“No, you wouldn’t have met him. The chief is our leader. He makes decisions for the good of the group, in most Rambler camps he’s the best warrior, and usually a very wise man as well. But he doesn’t have dealings with common slaves, he leaves that to others. He is also…” Calla stopped as though struggling with herself for a moment, and then she continued, “he is also my father.”
Rhoyan and Dru stared at her in shock. Their mouths moved but no sounds came out. Calla hung her head silently, and winced under their silent judgment. Finally it was Rhoyan who spoke.
“You’re the daughter of the chief?” he asked in a strangled whisper. “A princess? Well, this is great, this is just fine! No wonder you said it was your duty to marry well, a princess would bring a high price, except this princess wasn’t content to let her duty bind her. No, she had to go running off, pretending to be all innocent and helpless so she could get two prisoners in a world of trouble! There’s no way they’ll just drop the hunt, not with you being who you are!” Rhoyan was speaking loudly now, his anger making him forget his caution. His senses felt clogged and before his eyes he could see himself being bound and whipped and then sold to the highest bidder. He would spend the rest of his life in chains. The prospect filled him with panic.
Calla looked at him pleadingly and then raised a hand to cover his mouth. “If you want to continue shouting at me then go ahead, I’m sure I deserve it, but my brother won’t have any trouble finding us if you insist on giving them such a signal,” she whispered desperately.
Rhoyan’s good sense took over and he took a deep breath. He glowered at the girl and shook his head. Dru made a gesture as though he hoped to make peace between the two, but Rhoyan’s glare mad
e him think better of it. The thief opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it, not knowing what to say.
“Is a ‘princess’ as you put it not allowed to long for freedom then?” Calla asked in sudden anger. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparked with resentment. “We will not be found, and we will sail for Llycaelon as we planned. I understand why you’re worried, but I don’t understand your anger. When we met you lied to me, do you so resent my treating you with as much distrust as you treated me? Can you not understand another’s need for secrecy? Perhaps you think you’re the only one who can go around pretending to be something you’re not?”
Rhoyan’s cheeks reddened as the stinging blow found its mark, he opened his mouth as if to retort, then thought better of it. His first burst of anger was fading. He raised his hands helplessly, as though to ward off her attack or perhaps in surrender, but it was Dru who saved him.
“We all have our reasons for not placing trust in others,” the thief said, “but now that we know each other to be friends and comrades rather than enemies, shall we agree to trust one other? I think perhaps it would bode well for the rest of our journey if we could agree to such terms.”
Calla and Rhoyan nodded, both a little abashed at their own outbursts. Rhoyan held his hand out to Calla in a gesture of remorse. He grimaced at her look of disdain, he felt he had not been completely at fault, and he was not sure he was in the wrong, but he also realized he would have to apologize first if he ever wanted Calla to speak to him again.
“I suppose I deserve that. I’m sorry I shouted at you. A princess has just as much right to freedom as anyone,” he said quietly, “friends?”
Calla took his hand coolly. “My behavior was inexcusable as well and not befitting my rank. I am sorry also.”
Dru sighed. “There, now that’s settled, we should move further off this road and try and get some sleep.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
The city was far grander than Rhoyan had imagined it would be. He managed to pass among the great towers and the busy marketplace without gaping like a foreigner, but it took all of his willpower. He had seen impressive cities with Sheyardin, but Chellayn surpassed them all. Everything about the city was beautiful. Beauty was the objective of its residents. Buildings were supported by delicately curving arches. Windows were painted in a myriad of colors. Fountains sprang up everywhere. Elaborate flower gardens lined the streets. Musicians played sweet tunes under trees draped with soft moss.
Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2) Page 17
