Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2)

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  “Just one adventure,” Arnaud burst out, excitement in his voice. “One adventure, and then I could live out the rest of my days in peace and never want anything again.”

  Brant did not answer. His heart held a warning for his friend, but he did not voice it, knowing Arnaud would neither listen nor thank him for it. There were some things, Brant thought, that one just had to discover on one’s own.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  “An impressive young man,” King Jairem said to his advisor when they were well on their way.

  Scelwhyn nodded, but said nothing. The wizard was deep in thought. Jairem noticed this and commented about it.

  “Pardon, Your Majesty, I was just trying to figure something out.”

  “The young man, Brant.”

  “How could you know that?”

  The king chuckled. “I know you, Scelwhyn. Something is out of place and it is bothering you. The only thing that could be is the second young man who is now staying with Arnaud. I am guessing he was not there before?”

  “I suppose that’s what I get for staying in one place too long,” Scelwhyn muttered ruefully. “Soon enough one’s thoughts are no longer one’s own. Very well, if you must know, I was trying to figure out where this young Brant fits into the puzzle. In case you did not notice, Jairem, he is not related to Arnaud, nor is he related to Arnaud’s aunt and uncle. It is a puzzle, and I feel I ought to try and solve it.”

  “Ah, Scelwhyn, perhaps the young man is just a hired hand, have you thought of that?”

  “Then why would Arnaud introduce the man as his brother?”

  “A family like that? I think anyone would become family if they remained long enough in that home. Euphie and Barr have certainly come to look upon Arnaud as their own son. Why not this young Brant as well? Given a few days, they probably would have adopted us too.”

  “Well, perhaps. I feel there is more to discover in that story, but I do not believe it shall be mine to learn.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My time grows shorter with each passing day,” Scelwhyn replied. “I will not be here to advise the next king of Aom-igh.”

  “But you have always been here, Scelwhyn.”

  “No, I have not always been here. I have only been advising the kings of Aom-igh since the reign of Llian.”

  “Only,” Jairem laughed. “That was over six hundred years ago! Where will Aom-igh be without you?”

  “In the same place it has always been,” Scelwhyn replied with a quiet twinkle in his bright blue eyes.

  “You know what I meant.”

  “What will Aom-igh do without you? We are none of us so important that the world cannot turn without us. We must all pass away, I am not an exception to that rule. I must either return to the sea like my wife or content myself to die and return to the earth as other men do. Those are my only options. Either way, I must face Cruithaor Elchiyl at the end. I am not allowed to live forever in this form. I am merely granted a few more years than your kind.”

  “I do not want to leave the burden of kingship upon one so young if he is to have no advisor, Scelwhyn.”

  “I do not believe young Arnaud will be without help. When I look at him, there is a brightness about him. His future may not be easy, but he will have many friends, and they will share his burden of responsibility, if only because he would never even think about asking them to. Our time is nearing an end, what this country needs is a pair of fresh eyes, a pair of hands that are not wearied from a lifetime of work, and a king who is too young to be afraid of failure.

  “Furthermore, there is the friendship of the so-called brother. Anyone with eyes can see there is more to this young Brant than a simple hired hand. No, I do not think you will leave him without support. I think our young King Arnaud will be in very capable hands, indeed.”

  “Perhaps you are right.”

  “Then you have made your decision?”

  “Yes, you are right about this boy. He may not know he bears royal blood, but he does not allow his seemingly low birth to dictate his actions. He offered us the gracious hospitality of a king, and he has confidence enough in himself that he was not too intimidated to befriend a few strangers. Anyone can see he has a good heart, is a hard-worker, and a kind man. Arnaud will be named as my heir. I will hold a public ceremony in one year’s time; I will summon the entire country to the event. It will be up to you to make sure Arnaud is there. Then I will name him my heir, it will be official and public, and he may go back to whatever he was doing until I die, at which time he must assume the throne.”

  Having made up his mind, the king urged his horse homeward, and the wizard followed.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  “A naming ceremony?” Brant asked, slightly confused. “Who is he going to name? I did not think King Jairem had any children.”

  Arnaud laughed. “He’s not going to give someone a name! He’s going to proclaim his heir.”

  “I knew that!” Brant said, a bit irritably, resenting Arnaud’s laughter. “I was just wondering who he’s going to name as his heir in this case.”

  “That’s what everyone else is wondering too. That’s why it’s such a big deal! It’ll probably be some distant relative, or he might even raise a son of some noble house to the throne.”

  “So the common people have no chance?” Brant asked.

  “The common people?” Arnaud gaped at him with openmouthed astonishment. “Brant!”

  Brant stared back at him, wondering why this was such a strange idea. “But… doesn’t that seem sort of unfair that the king gets to choose which noble house his heir will come from? I mean, shouldn’t he hold a tournament or something? Let the throne fall to the strongest fighter?”

  “You can’t win a throne,” Arnaud said impatiently. “The king has to be of noble blood. In a tournament there’d be no telling who might win the crown. What if some cutthroat or peasant blundered along enough to win? Why, if such a tournament was held, even I might win the crown, and then where would this country be?”

  Brant glanced down as though abashed, but inside he was a little angry. Arnaud had passed off his comment as though it contained all the idiocy in the world. Brant tried to quench his anger. How could Arnaud know that in Llycaelon, if a king had no children or relatives, a test of arms was exactly the course he would take to decide who the heir would be? It was an old custom, and one that had not been used in centuries, but it had always seemed to him to be a fair and just method of choosing a king in the absence of a legitimate heir. Brant had the sense to keep his mouth shut though, for he knew that if he spoke he would say something he might regret later, and besides, Arnaud did not know that Brant was from Llycaelon. Brant doubted very much that Arnaud even knew Llycaelon existed, let alone any of its customs, so he let the unintentional insult pass, and he quietly forgave his friend for his ignorance.

  “So, do you think we’ll get to go to this naming ceremony?” Brant asked.

  “Maybe, it depends on how much work we get done. The ceremony is a few weeks away yet, and this is harvest… but perhaps, if we get all the crops in. It would be so exciting to get to go!”

  Brant didn’t truly care who was to be the next king of Aom-igh; in his opinion one king was very much like the next, especially to the commoners, among whom he now counted himself. However, he was curious about the naming ceremony, a strange custom, to be sure. He was also eager to see more of this country, and in particular Ayollan, the capital city. Most importantly, Arnaud wanted to go, so Brant nodded enthusiastically.

  As the days passed Brant and Arnaud both worked harder than ever. They got up before dawn and worked in the fields all day. They took their lunches into the fields so they would not have to take long breaks for meals. They would come in for dinner and then retire to their rooms, exhausted. Brant found that sometimes it just took too much energy to crawl into bed, and on those occasions he would simply stretch out on the soft rug at th
e foot of his bed and sleep there.

  Euphie fussed over them a bit, warning them not to work too hard, but they shrugged off her concern. The two young men poured their strength into their work, and in the end they accomplished their goal. The entire harvest was safely in the barns three full days before the ceremony.

  “Well, I never,” Uncle Barr said in amazement. “When you two boys put your minds to something, it sure gets done! What’s that? Of course you can go to the ceremony, you deserve it! I don’t think I’ve ever seen the harvest completed so quickly! We’re days ahead of all our neighbors. You can take the plow-horses, they’ll get you to Ayollan in time for the ceremony.”

  Euphie packed more than enough food for their journey, while Barr provided them with money, encouraging them to enjoy themselves and warning them to be careful. Euphie told them to be on their best behavior and to make sure they remembered their upbringing. This last comment amused Brant a bit, sometimes Euphie forgot he had not always lived with them. He sometimes wondered if she truly thought he was her own son. If he were to start calling her “mother” she probably would not bat an eye. She would act as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Perhaps it would be, after all, he had practically been adopted by these people from the moment he had stumbled into their house, almost two years ago.

  “Here it is, Brant,” Arnaud exclaimed once they were on their way, “our adventure!”

  “That it is!”

  Arnaud urged the old horse he was riding into an unenthusiastic trot. Brant fell behind him, allowing his horse to plod along at a walk. He grinned, sometimes Arnaud seemed so young to him, and yet, he was considered to be as much an adult as Brant himself was. Arnaud could move out of his aunt and uncle’s home any time he wished, he only stayed because they needed the help, and because he loved them.

  That night, as they rested on the banks of the Farrendell River, Arnaud commented on the simple efficiency Brant had made of setting up camp.

  Brant shrugged. “It’s not as impressive as your harvesting ability, and it certainly requires less effort.”

  “What would you do if you were a king, Brant?” Arnaud asked as they were eating.

  Brant’s face darkened. “What would I do?” he whispered into the darkness of the night, he remained silent for a long time, wrapping the night around him.

  Arnaud waited, content to be quiet and listen. After some deep thought, Brant spoke.

  “If I were a king, I think I’d do what Yorien did.”

  “You’d leave?” Arnaud’s face was aghast in the faint light of the fire. “Abandon your people? Give the throne to someone else?”

  “He didn’t abandon them,” Brant said defensively. “He left someone in charge, someone he trusted.”

  “Look where it got him. But really? You wouldn’t take a crown if it was handed to you?”

  “That life isn’t for me, I wasn’t meant to be king. I’d rather wander forever. The only mistake Yorien ever made was when he tried to go back home.”

  “Mistake? How was it a mistake? His family was there,” Arnaud argued, “why wouldn’t he return to them?”

  “Because when he left they forgot him, so he ought to have forgotten them as well,” Brant’s voice was harsh, too harsh, he realized, but he could not seem to stop. “It would have been better for everyone if he had simply remained forgotten. Instead, he tormented them by returning home. Don’t you see? They thought he was gone forever, and then, there he was again, but how could they ever be certain he would stay? How could they ever trust him again?” There was pain in Brant’s voice that he could not hide.

  Arnaud fell silent, thinking about what Brant had said. After a moment he spoke, his voice serious, “I’d take the crown like a piece of land and do everything in my power to cultivate and grow that land. When I could do no more, I’d hand the reins to the next good man so he could continue the work.”

  “You might find it hard to give up,” Brant warned bitterly.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, like you, I wouldn’t want it in the first place. I’ve told you, all I want out of life is a quiet little piece of land somewhere that’s just mine. A place to watch the Dragon’s Eye set and to know I’ve spent the day well, working the land and caring for my family.”

  “A charming dream,” Brant murmured, keeping his voice low. “But is such a life possible?” His voice lowered even further so that Arnaud could no longer hear him, “It seems as though it would get interrupted and I would just have to run again. No, better to stay unattached to anything, that way leaving doesn’t hurt so much.” He laughed at himself ruefully, knowing even as he said it that he was already attached. He had grown to love Arnaud’s family, leaving them would also leave a great wound inside him.

  It took Arnaud and Brant two more days to reach he city of Ayollan, but it was immediately apparent that it had been worth the trip. The palace was on the southern side of the city, immediately before them as they exited the forest. They could see its turrets from the city’s gates. Brant considered the defensibility of the fortress, while Arnaud stared in wonder at the great, gleaming walls and architecture. Shielding his eyes from the dying daylight reflecting off the huge windows, Brant could see that the walls were strong, but the palace had been built not for battle, but rather for beauty.

  The two travelers were directed to an inn by one of the city guards. Arnaud began to offer a coin in thanks, but Brant gently grabbed his friend’s hand, stopping him from completing the insult.

  “Thank you,” Brant said apologetically.

  The guard nodded and replied, “A young man versed in the code of a knight. I wish you well.”

  Arnaud glanced from Brant to the guard and back, a puzzled expression on his face.

  The guard continued to offer information, “You two are just in time. The ceremony is to be held in the courtyard tomorrow at midday.”

  “How do we get to the courtyard?” Arnaud asked.

  “Just follow the crowd, I imagine,” the knight replied cheerfully. “There will be all sorts of entertainers set up throughout the streets; they’ll point you in the right direction.”

  Brant thought about his journey through Yochathain. “Thank you, sir,” he said politely.

  “And you, young master,” the knight returned seriously.

  They followed the directions and found the inn without difficulty. The place was cheerful, but not too rowdy, and Brant commented that it was probably the nicest inn he had ever stayed at. The innkeeper overheard him and was so pleased at the compliment that he gave both Brant and Arnaud free dinners.

  “That was kind of him,” Arnaud said as they sat in the dining room, eating a very delicious stew.

  “I wonder if he’s always so generous?”

  A man at the table next to them leaned over. “Sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation and I thought I might answer your question. Old Drake, that’s the owner, he’s a fairly generous man by nature, but I’d guess your meal is more due to the ceremony tomorrow than anything else. It’s a huge event, and has put the whole city into a celebratin’ mood. Besides, his inn is busting at the seams, what’s a little free bread and some stew?”

  “Ah,” Arnaud said with a nod.

  “This your first time in Ayollan?” the man asked.

  Arnaud nodded again, his eyes still wide and sparkling with the things he had seen. The stranger laughed, “I guess so! I’ve seen that look before.” He glanced at Brant. “You, however, have the look of one who’s not easily impressed, perhaps you’ve seen quite a bit.”

  Brant shrugged. “The castle of Ayollan was enough to impress me, everything since then just can’t compare. I’m just a farmer,” Brant informed him. “Like my brother here.” He clapped Arnaud on the back.

  “Well, then!” the stranger chuckled. “Perhaps I was wrong about you. It’s happened once or twice.”

&nbs
p; ❖ ❖ ❖

  “Majesty! Where have you been? The tailors want to do a final fitting. Have you figured out what you want the musicians to play when you come down the stairs? Everyone’s been asking about you and I’ve not known what to tell them. Milord, you cannot go disappearing just before so huge an event! It’s nearly midday!”

  “It has all been taken care of, never fear,” King Jairem assured Ewan kindly. “My robe fits, the musicians have been informed of what to play, I know what I’m going to say, and I have ordered the clouds to disappear and the fountains to sparkle just so at the moment I appear at the top of the stairs.”

  This last bit was said with an exasperated air of impatience, and Jairem knew immediately after speaking that he ought not to have said it, for Ewan’s expression instantly changed from one of flustered anxiety to true hurt. He sighed, sometimes the sarcasm just slipped out without his consent. It was unfair to Ewan, who had been with him forever. Actually, Ewan had been a loyal servant to Jairem’s own father. He was one of the two pillars Jairem leaned heavily on, and it was insensitive of him to treat Ewan’s concerns lightly. He understood that his counsellor only wanted these things to go smoothly, it was his job to make sure of it.

  “Forgive me, please, Ewan,” Jairem’s voice was remorseful. “I should not have said that last bit. I know how hard you have worked to make this event the grand occasion it needs to be. You have done a spectacular job. I should be thanking you, and instead, here I am making fun. Not very kingly of me, is it?”

  Ewan’s old eyes brightened. At that moment Scelwhyn arrived, and Jairem breathed a quiet sigh.

  “Is he here?” he asked excitedly, feeling much younger than his sixty-odd years.

  “You are quite sure of all this?” Scelwhyn asked quietly, ignoring the question. “Everything is as it should be?”

  Jairem directed his gaze at Ewan. The older man bowed his head and addressed the wizard, “All is in readiness.”

  “What I need to know is, is he here?” Jairem demanded.