Scelwhyn nodded. “Yes, Jairem, he arrived last night with his brother. They are staying at the Silver Gryphon, and right now they are strolling in the direction of the courtyard; and enjoying themselves immensely, I might add. Last I checked they were watching a man who was attempting to juggle daisies. But in answer to your question, yes, he is here.”
“Let us proceed,” Jairem said.
❖ ❖ ❖
Arnaud and Brant wandered through the crowd, admiring everything they saw. Much about the celebration reminded Brant of Yochathain. For a moment he tried to remember the minstrel’s name who had recounted the story of Yorien’s Hand, but Arnaud kept pointing things out to him in an excited manner that was infectious, and Brant found himself too distracted to think clearly. He let himself be propelled along through the crowd and up the walkway, content to admire the various forms of entertainment. There were jugglers, acrobats, and minstrels, as well as some more exotic sights, such as a dancing bear and a tame dragon. Brant was eager to see the advertised dragon, and Arnaud was curious as well. The “dragon” in question was really just an oversized lizard and Brant was acutely disappointed. Arnaud, however, having never seen a real dragon, was impressed.
“It’s too bad about the clouds,” Brant overheard one person say to another.
“I suppose it’s not ideal,” another person said. “But as long as it isn’t raining I don’t think anyone will mind.”
Brant looked up and studied the dark sky. The clouds were an unbroken cover of gray. They did not portend rain, they merely made the day rather dark and dismal. It was too bad, he thought, surely the king wanted to make his announcement on a perfect day, not on a day like this.
“Come on,” Arnaud urged. “It’s nearing midday, we should try to get closer to the platform.”
Brant followed after his friend. They were unable to get near the platform, for the crush of people was too thick to maneuver through, but they did manage to find a spot where they could see the platform clearly.
Arnaud said something and Brant nodded absently, glancing around. He had caught the barest glimpse of a face that reminded him of Calla, and it had grabbed his attention. The face was nowhere to be found now, and he gave up looking with a small sigh of regret. Inwardly he berated himself for allowing his imagination to so easily play tricks on him. He did not get very far in his inner criticism of himself, though, for midday had arrived and the crowd hushed. Brant and Arnaud looked up expectantly.
King Jairem stood at the door, ready to walk down among his people and name his heir. He knew his announcement would cause a stir, for the crown had always passed from father to son, or uncle to nephew, all the way back to King Llian himself. Never in all of Aom-igh’s history had that line been broken. Arnaud was indeed of the common people, but his heritage was also linked to the family of the first king. Jairem was unsure which credential better qualified his young appointee to the throne.
He stood still a moment more, gathering his thoughts. He made an impressive sight: ceremonial robes draped across his shoulders; his ornamental sword hanging at his side, perhaps not as comfortably as his everyday sword, but still an awe-inspiring sight; and the bejeweled golden crown resting atop his steel gray hair. He suddenly felt young again, as though he was facing his people for the first time. Standing tall as the doors opened, he took a deep breath and strode forward to the deafening crescendo of trumpets raised in regal honor and voices lifted in love.
“Look!” Arnaud whispered excitedly to Brant. “There he is! The king!”
Brant looked up and watched as the king made his way down the long stairs. He summoned up an expression of excitement for Arnaud’s sake; he did not want his friend to see any hint of boredom on his face. Then he blinked in momentary surprise, and his awed expression became very real. The king’s face was familiar. Brant tried to remember where he had seen the man before, but the memory flitted from his grasp. He squinted, thinking that his memory was playing tricks on him again, and focused on the king descending the long stone steps.
As King Jairem strode down to the platform where he would make his announcement, the crowd pressed forward eagerly and Brant and Arnaud allowed themselves to be jostled and pushed. They found themselves moving forward, pressed against the great crowd. Jairem’s eyes brightened and the crowd embraced their king with unbridled enthusiasm. Brant pondered the love he sensed in the courtyard. It was not an unfamiliar thing, he supposed, but he found himself wondering if Seamas was ever cheered like this. He was surprised to find that he hoped it was so.
As Jairem raised a hand for silence Brant found himself studying the man critically. He noted the determined line of the jaw, and the look of both compassion and steel resolve in the dark blue eyes. His hair was completely gray, and his face was lined with the cares that come with age, but there was a lightness in his step and strength in the way that he carried himself that made Brant think of a much younger man. The sword at his side was ornamental, but the ease with which he wore the weapon evidenced a skilled and worthy swordsman. In a rush of memory Brant recalled where he had once before seen that face, that stance.
“Arnaud!” he whispered.
“What?”
“That’s him! Don’t you recognize him?”
Arnaud looked up again, staring at the king’s face, his own expression confused. Then his eyes widened and his jaw dropped a little. Brant saw recognition in his friend’s eyes.
“It can’t be!” Arnaud breathed.
“But it is! He was in our home just last year.”
“Why was he traveling in disguise?”
“I don’t know,” Brant replied. “But it is very odd. Why was he traveling without an escort? Why would he stop at your house? Why...” but any more questions Brant had were going to have to wait, for King Jairem had begun to speak.
“I hope the entertainment has been satisfactory so far?” the king asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. The crowd fell into a hush, every person straining to hear their king’s words.
Brant could see why this man was so well-loved. It was not merely because he had kept the peace for forty-five years; it was because there was no deceit about him. This man was exactly what he appeared: strong, compassionate, determined, and truly concerned about the well-being of his people and his country. Here was a king who would walk among his people as a friend first; here was a king who would not be above working in the fields among his people if need required it of him. This king was not dictated by rank or custom, and Brant both recognized and admired him for it.
“Enough of these pleasantries,” King Jairem said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement, “I know why you are all here, and it is not to discuss the weather or to see the various entertainers that have come here from all over the country, am I right?”
The crowd cheered and King Jairem’s face grew delighted. Brant watched him closely now, for it seemed to him that the man was making this more of a show than it needed to be. He wondered why. It was almost as though he feared they would not accept his decision without some persuasion, but why would the people reject their beloved king’s decision?
“Yes,” the king said, “I know why you are all here, and I will not keep you waiting any longer. The rumors you have been hearing are true: I have finally chosen an heir to succeed me in the ruling of Aom-igh. In fact, the man I have chosen is standing among you today.”
Brant and Arnaud exchanged astonished glances, and every person in the crowd did the same. The people shifted and murmured questioningly, everyone was glancing around surreptitiously, trying to get a glimpse of the heir. Even Brant did so, though he knew he would not recognize the man even if he did see him.
King Jairem was still speaking, “As most of you are aware, my dear wife passed away without leaving me an heir. In my devotion to her, I never remarried, and thus there has been no crown prince, nor has there been any visible heir during my reign. I provided for this anomaly by giving my advisor, Scelwhyn
, the power to name a new king in the event of my untimely, or perhaps unexpected, death. However, as that has not happened, it is my good pleasure to announce that an heir has been found.
“As some of you know, my mother was from a small family, and my father was an only child. I grew up with no siblings, no cousins, and there is now no one of my family left, except one. My mother had a second cousin on her father’s side, and that cousin had a daughter. This daughter, we will call her my mother’s niece for convenience’s sake, married well beneath herself and went to live with her husband away from the city and the society in which she had been raised, forsaking her own birthright. Her family hushed up the marriage partially because they were ashamed, and partially because they wanted to honor their daughter’s wish to be left alone. However, now the story must become known, for that girl had a son, and that son will be my heir.
“Scelwhyn and the Court have confirmed the accuracy of this story and this young man’s lineage. The son is indeed the rightful heir to the kingship of Aom-igh, maintaining the line of King Llian himself.”
The crowd gasped in appropriate astonishment and there were a few rumblings of wrath at the unfairness that had been shown to the young woman. Brant grinned in spite of himself, acknowledging a master storyteller when he heard one.
“The boy has grown to manhood now, without any knowledge of his heritage. As of now, he does not even guess at it, but it is to him, my last remaining relative, that I will entrust the throne.”
The crowd was truly excited now. A fairy tale had come to life in their midst, and it thrilled them no end. Every neck was strained as people looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of this commoner-who-was-really-a-prince. One young woman, staring at both Brant and Arnaud, pointed them out to her friends. She blushed and giggled prettily when she saw that Brant had noticed her.
“Him?” a friend asked with a snort, but then she saw Brant watching and murmured, “Well, perhaps…”
The first girl began arguing her point, her voice lowered so that Brant could no longer hear what was being said. He chuckled ironically to himself as the other girls giggled politely behind their hands, commenting on the family resemblance they imagined was there. Brant turned away and ignored them. Inside, however, he was grinning. He could have told them that although he did not know who the true heir to the throne was, he did know who the true heir to the throne was not. In fact, he thought wryly, there was probably only a single person in the whole crowd who could not even qualify for the position, and it was himself. He was safe from acquiring this particular unwanted throne.
“You have come here to learn his name,” King Jairem said after a pause, the crowd fell silent, sensing that he had come to the climax of his announcement at last. “I came here to give you his name. He has his entire life been called Arnaud of the Aura Wood, but today he will learn that his true name is Arnaud ap Tierna.”
Arnaud felt Brant turn to stare at him, but he could not move to acknowledge the look. He was frozen in place. He was numb. He felt Brant tugging on his sleeve and slowly the words of the king registered. He turned to his friend and saw his own disbelief mirrored in Brant’s eyes. Horror snaked its way through him and he felt as though the ground had suddenly been turned into the ceiling without anyone informing him of the change. Brant saw the distress on Arnaud’s face and he began to quietly maneuver him through the crowd and back to the Silver Gryphon. They had just broken free of the mass of people when a tall man suddenly stood before them. Brant recognized him immediately as the man who had been the king’s traveling companion the day, so many months ago, when they had dropped in unexpectedly on Arnaud’s home.
“Young Arnaud,” the man said gently, “come with me, please.”
“Brant!” Arnaud gasped in terror, his face going white.
Brant stepped between his friend and the stranger. “He goes nowhere without me,” he said firmly.
The tall man did not even acknowledge Brant’s words as a challenge. He merely nodded once as he turned and motioned for them to follow. “Well, come along then.”
Brant stared after the man in disbelief, with not a little disappointment, then he grabbed Arnaud’s arm above the elbow, pushing him forward. Arnaud seemed content to walk ahead mechanically as Brant propelled him. His face was devoid of expression. He felt lost and was content to remain so while the world passed him by.
From his place on the podium King Jairem saw that Scelwhyn had managed to find Arnaud, so he waved broadly at the crowd. “Enjoy the rest of the day,” he said expansively as he turned and walked back up the stairs and into the palace.
The people stared after him for a moment in shocked disappointment. They did not move, thinking that they had missed something. The doors to the palace remained firmly shut, and no herald of trumpets called to announce any further presentation. The crowd did not remain in shock for long. The general thought was that they had, after all, gotten exactly what was promised: a name. They also understood that this special holiday of celebration was meant for their enjoyment, not the king’s. As the day faded, they returned to their work and their homes, but the name “Arnaud” hung in the air. Whether it was whispered or hailed with cheers, it remained on everyone’s lips and in everyone’s minds.
Brant and Arnaud were brought up through the palace by a side-entrance. They followed the tall man closely, not wanting to lose either him or their way. They hurried through long corridors and Arnaud’s jaw dropped a bit more every time they passed something new. Brant was unaffected by the display of wealth, to him it was commonplace, something to be expected, but he tried to hide his lack of surprise from his friend. They were brought to a room that was considerably less ornate than most of those they had passed earlier. The color scheme was soft browns and grays, and there was a large, comforting fireplace on the far wall with a beautiful painting above depicting a fox hunt.
The tall man motioned to the couches. “Please sit down. You will be attended to shortly.”
Brant sat down. To his surprise, the couch was luxuriously soft and comfortable. He thought he could happily take a nap there. Arnaud followed his example, though more cautiously. He seemed afraid that the chair might be inclined to snap at him. He stayed straight and rigid, not noticing the softness or comfort around him. Instead he stared at the wall with wide-eyes filled with fear.
“What is happening, Brant?” he asked. In the large room, his voice seemed very quiet indeed, and Brant tried to think of something comforting to say.
“I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “But I don’t think we’re in trouble.”
Arnaud nodded, accepting this and he leaned back tentatively in his chair. At that moment, the door to the room swung open, causing Arnaud to jerk upright once more. Brant hardly blinked.
A man entered the room. He was dressed simply, and he was unarmed, but both Brant and Arnaud stared in shock and a little awe. The man, motioning for them to remain seated, was King Jairem himself.
There was a moment of silence as the king strode across the room and seated himself on a third couch that was facing Brant and Arnaud. He sat there and gazed at them for a moment, his eyes searching, then he nodded brusquely and leaned forward as though about to share a secret. Arnaud leaned forward as well, and Brant found himself leaning closer as well, as much as he tried not to.
“I suppose you are feeling rather overwhelmed,” King Jairem said quietly to Arnaud.
The young man nodded, unable to speak.
“That is mostly my fault, I suppose,” King Jairem sighed. “I am sorry, but I thought this way would be best. I ask for your forgiveness if I erred.”
“What…” Arnaud’s voice came out in the barest of whispers and he stopped, gathering his thoughts. He cleared his throat and began again, “What do you want with me?”
King Jairem stared at him in open confusion. “But… were you not at the ceremony?”
Arnaud nodded cautiously. “I was.”
�
�Then you must know why you are here,” King Jairem said, and at Arnaud’s blank look he continued more gently, “I have named you my heir.”
“No, there has been some mistake,” Arnaud laughed nervously. “I am not who you said I am. I am a simple farmer, a commoner; I can’t be your heir. I’m sorry, but you’ve made a mistake.”
“On the contrary,” King Jairem replied. “We went to great pains to make sure you were the person I said you were at the ceremony.”
“B-but you don’t even know me! You don’t know anything about me,” Arnaud argued desperately. “And besides, I don’t know the first thing about ruling a country! I’ll probably mess up and be a horrible king! A tyrant!”
Jairem was shaking his head in amusement. “No chance,” he said lightly, “We have been watching you for a long time; we believe you will make a rather good king.”
Arnaud looked at Brant helplessly, a trapped expression in his eyes. “Brant… tell him! Tell him I can’t be what he says I am!”
“We’ve met before. You said your name was Galen, am I correct?” Brant asked.
King Jairem looked properly astonished. “Why, yes,” he admitted. “That was me.”
“And your wizard,” Brant continued, “where is he now?”
“I am here,” the tall man who had led them into the castle stepped out from behind a door; the look on his face was one of mingled respect and curiosity. “Scelwhyn, wizard and advisor to the kings of Aom-igh, at your service, sir. Though I would like to know how you guessed my identity, few recognize me for what I truly am.”
“We all have our secrets,” Brant said vaguely, “you would not be inclined to tell me yours.”
Scelwhyn looked sharply at King Jairem, and then he spoke again, “An impressive answer from one who appears to be so young. Who are you?”
“I am exactly what I appear to be,” Brant said steadily. “I told you my name a year ago.”
“Yes, your name is Brant, I remember that much, but there is more to a person than just his name,” Scelwhyn said impatiently.
Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2) Page 31
