Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2)

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  “I should like to meet him,” Jairem said after a thoughtful pause. “Though I am not old, this job has aged me and I grow loath to waste time in this matter. Mind, I do not wish him to know who I am.”

  “Of course not.”

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  “How could you lose him?” Seamas asked, his voice full of angry disbelief.

  “The storm took us by surprise, and we lost sight of our quarry in the confusion,” Tobias’ voice was confident and unwavering before Seamas’ piercing gaze.

  Seamas looked at Llewana and she nodded once. “It was one of the worst storms I’ve ever seen, and it did come rather unexpectedly. By himself, I doubt the man we were chasing survived the storm, though I’m not sure it even was Br... your brother,” Llewana cursed herself for her near-slip and hoped Seamas would not notice.

  “Why do you say that?” Seamas’ voice was thick with emotion.

  “His behavior doesn’t make sense, Sire. If it was Rhoyan, why would he return only to steal a boat and flee?”

  “More likely, this was simply a common criminal who bore a vague resemblance to your brother,” Llewana said. “I think it safe to assume that your father was right in believing that Rhoyan perished during his apprenticeship.”

  Seamas let out a breath of air as though he had been holding it for much too long. He gazed out at the rain that was pouring down, covering the land in grayness. It was as if the rain fell for Rhoyan, mourning his passing, and something within Seamas mourned as well. But outwardly his expression could have been anything, and steel glinted in his dark eyes.

  “Then it is a sad day indeed, not only is my brother dead,” he said softly, “but the king has passed from us as well.”

  Tobias and Llewana stared at him in shocked disbelief, but there was only truth and pain in Seamas’ eyes.

  “When?” Tobias asked with difficulty.

  “Sometime last night,” Seamas said sorrowfully. “I went in to see him this morning, for he had asked me to come, but he was gone. He lay there as though he slept, and his expression was easier than it had been in days. My heart leapt, thinking perhaps the illness had broken and he was recovering, but when I moved closer I saw that he no longer drew breath in this world.” Seamas turned to Llewana. “I am sorry, beloved, I had hoped he would live to witness our wedding day.”

  Llewana’s shoulders fell and she closed her eyes in quiet sorrow. Together, the three of them each mourned separately for a long, silent moment. The rain splashed down on the roof above them, the only sound in the great hall, and its rhythm pattered a mournful melody.

  “Then let the country truly mourn,” Tobias said at length. “But let it also rejoice. For though we have lost one such great man, another, just as great, stands before us ready to take his place.”

  “Thank you, my friend,” Seamas said. “Your words mean more than you could ever know. They are a comfort, such as can be found in a moment like this.”

  Tobias bowed. “Please excuse me, Majesty, I have much to attend to, and I know that you will be busy as well. Hail the new king!”

  Seamas nodded, too overcome for words.

  Llewana remained for a moment, studying Seamas intently. He bore his new responsibility well, and there was a lightness in his expression she had not seen for many days.

  Seamas looked at her quizzically. “What?”

  “I was just thinking of the first day we met,” she said.

  “You were the oddest thing I had ever come across,” he remembered. “I didn’t think you’d last a day among the Helm.”

  “I thought the same!” she exclaimed. “I was terrified you wouldn’t give me a chance, and even more scared that you would. I wasn’t sure which would be worse!”

  Seamas stared at her for a moment, his heart full of what he could not express. Joy and sorrow, regret and love, and the bitter taste of guilt churned together within his heart. He caught her hand up in his and drew her close.

  “I am glad you entered our camp that day,” he whispered fiercely, staring down into her bright green eyes, “so glad.”

  “Me too,” she whispered back.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  As the months passed, the days fell into an easy rhythm for Brant. He woke at the first glimmer of dawn and went into the fields with Arnaud and Uncle Barr. They would work until midday when Aunt Euphie would ring a great bell to announce that luncheon was ready. After the meal they would clean up the kitchen for her, allowing Euphie to rest, and then they would return to the fields until dinner time.

  Brant grew to love this life he had stumbled into. He welcomed the relief from his constant wandering and he enjoyed the privacy that simplicity afforded. He had always enjoyed working the land, and while he loved the feel of a sword in his hand, he also enjoyed holding the handle of a shovel or a pick.

  He had hidden his sword and scabbard under his bed. Despite his contentment, he sometimes missed the excitement of his travels, and he would take out the sword and sit quietly in his room remembering his life before he had come to Aom-igh. These times were few, though, and when he ached for his old life he dealt with it by throwing all of his energy into his work. As he did so, he became a part of this family. They made it easy for him; from the first day Euphie and Barr had insisted that Brant refer to them as “aunt” and “uncle,” and Arnaud referred to him as “brother.” They all treated him like kin.

  “You are welcome to stay as long as you like,” Euphie had said one day at breakfast. “You are as a brother to Arnaud and a nephew and son to us. Cruithaor Elchiyl knows you are definitely doing your fair share of the work around here.”

  Brant had struggled with this, finding it difficult to refer to these people as family when he knew they were not related. Eventually the strangeness of it wore off and he found it surprisingly easy to feel as though he fit in. They accepted him as he was and asked no questions about his past. They understood it was something he would just as soon forget, and they allowed him to bury his past and lay it to rest. Days turned into months and seasons passed, and Brant grew to love and admire these people. With the passing of a year, they had become his family. Just as Euphie had said, Arnaud became a brother to Brant, and he found it interesting how fate seemed to twist for him. He had fled from all he knew, losing home, parents, friends, and a brother, and here in Aom-igh he had regained all of this and more.

  One morning Uncle Barr gave the two boys an unexpected day off. “You’ve more than earned it,” he said. “Go on then, there’s hardly anything to do today anyhow, go have some fun. Can’t have you working all the time, you’ll start to hate it.”

  Thrilled at their good fortune, Arnaud took Brant down to a pond where he liked to swim. They spent the hot hours of the afternoon playing in the clear water, swimming, diving, wrestling, and laughing. As the Dragon’s Eye traversed the sky, Brant and Arnaud climbed out of the water and sat on the bank, drying off and enjoying the rare luxury of an afternoon to themselves.

  “It’s so beautiful here.” Brant said.

  Arnaud nodded in agreement. “This is my favorite place on the whole farm.”

  “Me too. But I meant more than just this spot,” Brant gestured vaguely. “I love everything about it. The work, the routine, the satisfaction I feel at the end of every day…” Brant trailed off, unable to put what he felt into words, there was a moment of silence, and then he spoke again. “Do you think it’s true? Do you think that if you never took a break from the work you’d begin to hate it, like Uncle Barr said? Even if you loved it? Even if it was all you ever wanted to do?”

  “I don’t know,” Arnaud said thoughtfully, sticking a long blade of grass in his mouth and chewing on it. “I think love can turn into bitterness and that bitterness can turn into hate. I think sometimes it probably happens so gradually that you don’t even notice until it’s too late to wonder how or when it changed.”

  “I suppose it is that way with everything.”

  “This is a
ll I want. I don’t need anything else. Some people wish for power or honor or battles to fight or for a chance to prove themselves, but not me. I only want what you just said, a piece of land and the satisfaction of a job well done when I close my eyes at night. Add to that the love of a family and the ability to share laughter with a beautiful woman, and that’s my idea of perfection.”

  “Do you have any particular girl in mind?” Brant teased.

  Arnaud blushed and scowled. “Not that it’s any of your business... but no, not really. I’ll know when I meet her, though.”

  Brant gazed off into the distance, feeling a pang in his heart. Calla’s eyes seemed to hang before his own, and an unexpected wash of grief formed a painful lump in his throat.

  They sat there, not talking, just enjoying the way the cool breeze felt on their faces and the way the rays of the Dragon’s Eye sparkled on the water of the small pond. Brant thought he had never seen anything so beautiful in all his life. He had been in all manner of palaces, seen a fallen star, and journeyed through many different lands, but nowhere had he seen anything that could equal this moment. The peacefulness and the slow, quietness of this place held a fascination and beauty for him that could not be equaled by anything he had ever experienced before.

  “Come on,” Arnaud said suddenly, his voice breaking into Brant’s thoughts, “dinner ought to be ready by now.”

  “We wouldn’t want to miss that! Aunt’s cooking is the best in all the realms!”

  Arnaud looked at him oddly, but made no comment. The two of them hiked the short distance back to the house. They stood for a moment on the top of a rise and stared down at their home, once more Brant marveled at how easy it had been to fall in love with this country. There was nothing spectacular about it. The setting was simply the emerald fields that surrounded them, and just to the north was the line of trees that signaled the beginning of the Aura Wood. To the east was the great and terrible expanse of sand and rock that comprised the Harshlands. The house was on the smallish side, but there was something about it, just like the little pond, that filled Brant’s heart with peace.

  “Looks like we have guests joining us for dinner,” Arnaud said casually, pointing at two strange horses tethered outside the house.

  Brant stared at the two horses; his face was calm, but inside he felt a great storm raging through him. A moment of the old panic rose within him, but he pushed it down, fighting the urge to run into the forest and disappear.

  “Do you have unexpected guests often?”

  “Not often. People who are passing through sometimes stop here; the Aura Woods are fairly common hunting grounds. We get travelers once or twice a year. We usually give them a place to sleep and a couple of good meals, it’s just good courtesy.”

  Brant nodded. He still worried that the strangers might be aethalons, searching for him, but the possibility of that seemed less likely now. It had been a full year, surely if they were still hunting him they would have found him before now. He knew it was unlikely that anyone could have tracked him so far; especially across the Harshlands, but the fear was still there sometimes, the panicked urge to run for his life, though it was not as strong as it had been. Instead of turning and running, he took a deep breath and followed Arnaud down to the house.

  “Ah, here they are,” Euphie announced as the two young men entered the house.

  The two strangers turned and Brant’s heart jumped up and lodged itself in his throat; however, as he saw the faces of the two strangers, the panic was gone almost instantly and his worries were assuaged. The two men were not from Llycaelon, and Brant’s relief was so great he almost laughed out loud. He bit his tongue and kept his face quiet, not wanting to offend their visitors.

  The two men were unlike anyone Brant had ever encountered before. They were both tall and thin, although the one with the staff was considerably taller and thinner. The shorter man did not look quite so old as the taller one, but it seemed as though a heaviness weighed upon him. There was sorrow and exhaustion in his steel-gray eyes and yet there was triumph there as well as he turned to greet them. Brant had seen such a look before: it had been in his own father’s eyes. He stared hard at the man, thinking that there was something hidden about him and wondering what it was. The shorter man was built like a warrior, obviously very strong, but Brant could tell by the way he moved that he was quick as well. Brant had a sudden urge to challenge the man to a duel of swords, just to see how good he was. As he fought down the urge, he suddenly saw that the man was wearing a sword. He marveled inwardly at how easily the man wore it, and he recognized that confidence.

  The taller man was obviously a wizard. Brant knew that without asking. He kept trying to stoop over as if to hide his height, but he disguised his identity poorly. Brant decided he must be a very old wizard indeed, or his disguise would have worked better. Brant could see that he was very powerful, and it was because of his power and his confidence in his own abilities that he could not disguise himself. But then, Brant had come to realize that the people of Aom-igh had all but forgotten magic, so perhaps there was no real reason for a wizard to work hard at a disguise, as no one would recognize him anyway.

  Too much pride, Brant thought, hiding his smirk. The old wizard stared at him hard, as if trying to figure him out. Brant stared back keeping his expression closed. Brant wondered suddenly why such a powerful wizard would be traveling around the country like a beggar without a home. Such a man ought to be advisor to a king, living in a palace and keeping the country safe.

  The shorter man came up to Brant and held out his hand. Brant shook it warily, but the warmth in the man’s eyes was no deception. He looked searchingly at Brant and nodded as if to himself.

  “Yes,” he thought he heard the man mutter, “this one has the very look of royalty.”

  Brant narrowed his eyes, certain he had misheard. The wizard cleared his throat. The other man looked back at him, startled, and the wizard shook his head, almost imperceptibly. The man looked at Brant and then at Arnaud. The wizard moved forward and took Arnaud’s hand.

  “Arnaud of the Aura Wood, I am pleased to meet you,” he said smoothly.

  Brant watched all of this closely, and he saw something like recognition flutter in the other man’s eyes. He wondered suddenly if the wizard’s move had been a signal. The strange way the two men were acting gave him to believe that, for some reason, the shorter traveler had mistaken him for Arnaud. It was almost as if the two of them had come here on purpose, looking for Arnaud. He wondered why any such two would be looking for a simple country boy like Arnaud and he furrowed his brow, puzzled and confused.

  “I am pleased to meet you, as well,” Arnaud said, he hesitated, not knowing how to address the stranger, and the wizard cut in smoothly.

  “Zeanos,” he said quickly, “my name is Zeanos, and my friend here is Galen.”

  Brant thought it somewhat odd that both men were named “stranger” but he said nothing, thinking it was probably just a coincidence. Euphie bustled around. She was in her element with so many mouths to feed. She glowed with pleasure, and was as hospitable as if she were serving royalty and not just two lonely travelers.

  “This is my brother, Brant,” Arnaud said, pointing.

  Brant blinked, taken aback at being introduced as Arnaud’s brother, but he hid his surprise and shook both of the strangers’ hands. The wizard studied Brant for a moment, and Brant grew suddenly uncomfortable under such scrutiny. He glowered at the wizard angrily, wishing he could disappear. Somehow, the wizard knew that he was not related to Arnaud. Brant was not sure how, but he was sure this was the case. He did not understand why, but knowing the wizard guessed the falsity of his relation to Arnaud made him angry. After a moment of silence, Euphie broke the tension by announcing dinner.

  As they ate, they talked and laughed and Brant soon forgot his anger at the wizard. The two strangers had many tales to tell and their company proved to be both welcome and enjoyable. They had ma
ny questions about the life of a farmer, which Arnaud was pleased to answer for them. He told them about his life and his interests and his dream of settling down somewhere quietly and farming the land and raising sheep as his Uncle Barr did. As they talked, Brant felt his wariness and suspicion falling away from him, and soon he was also drawn in to the conversation.

  The next morning, the two strangers left. They thanked Euphie for the wonderful meal before mounting their horses and riding away. Brant and Arnaud saw them off, and stood together waving good-bye until their guests had ridden out of sight. With a sigh, Arnaud turned away.

  “Back to work,” he said. There was resignation and a bit of discontent in Arnaud’s voice and Brant wondered at it.

  “You okay?” he asked his friend in concern.

  “Yeah,” Arnaud paused, as though unsure of whether or not to go on, then his shoulders dropped and he spoke again, “it’s just that, whenever strangers stop here, they always bring their tales of adventure, glory, and honor. For all my talk of wanting nothing more than a piece of land and a quiet life, I guess a part of me wants the adventures too. A part of me would love to ride into battle, striking fear into my enemies’ hearts and…”

  “Adventures rarely turn out the way you expect,” Brant said wryly.

  Arnaud looked quizzical, but Brant was not ready or willing to speak of his own adventures. There were many things he did not want to remember, and he did not wish to discourage his friend. The faces of the ones he had lost flashed before his eyes: the faces of those he had endangered, of those he would never see again. And there was the one face that haunted him in particular: that of a girl with golden hair, blue eyes, and a sweet face. His vision grew blurry for a moment and his throat tightened.

  “Calla,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

  “What?” Arnaud asked.

  “Nothing, I was just thinking of... nothing.”

  Brant looked away and pretended to be scanning the horizon. He cleared his head of the memories and faces, and when he met Arnaud’s eyes again, his own face was clear and open.