Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2)

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  “I see,” Euphie’s face grew concerned. “Arnaud, you aren’t angry at us for keeping this from you? It was never meant to hurt you, we simply didn’t know if it was important or not.”

  “No…” he said, “I’m not mad. I guess I’m just tired. There have been too many surprises over the last few days. Anyway, the king seemed in perfectly good health to me, so I don’t suppose this news will affect me anytime soon.”

  Uncle Barr nodded. “That’s true, you may have years before you have to worry about being king.”

  “I don’t want to worry about it at all,” Arnaud muttered, “I don’t want to be king, doesn’t that count for anything?”

  “Things could be worse, Your Highness,” Brant spoke up, making light of the situation. “You could have jealous relatives trying to figure out ways to take the throne from you. There are advantages to being the last living relative to the king; no one can dispute your right to the throne. Worse, the king could have told you all this and then promptly died, which would have been so much more inconvenient.”

  Arnaud laughed, his expression lightening for the first time in days. “You will help me, won’t you Brant? When I become king, I mean?”

  Brant nodded, suddenly turning solemn. “I swear it,” he said, holding out his hand. Arnaud took the offered hand and shook it firmly.

  Upon my honor as an aethalon, Brant thought silently, I will support you as king, and I will stand by you as I would have stood by my brother, against all.

  Uncle Barr and Aunt Euphie retired for the night, leaving Brant and Arnaud sitting at the table, sipping the hot tea that Euphie had made for them. The night was quiet and still, the silence broken only by the chirping of the crickets and the wind blowing softly through the trees.

  “I noticed, you know,” Arnaud said at last.

  “Noticed what?” Brant asked lazily, warming his hands on his mug.

  “How you seemed so comfortable in the palace.”

  “I’m comfortable anywhere. I was even comfortable sleeping on the ground when we traveled.”

  “Yes, I noticed that too. But I meant... nothing seemed to touch you. Not the crowded city, the amazing things we saw in the courtyard, the business of the inn, but out of all the places we went, the situation you seemed most comfortable in was when we were in the palace itself. You acted as though you’d seen it before, the huge windows, the vaulted ceilings, the wealth that adorned every room we passed… oh, you tried to look as awed as I was, but you weren’t. It just didn’t surprise you or amaze you; it was like you expected it. I almost think if it had been less grand you would have been the one surprised.”

  Brant shifted uncomfortably. “Well, what did you make of it then?”

  “I don’t know. You’ve been a mystery since the day I met you. I found you sleeping in a place most people avoid at all costs. You know how to farm and how to care for livestock. You’ve obviously traveled before: you know how to make camp quickly and efficiently. Yet, you’re as comfortable in a grand palace as I am in my cottage. Then there are just basic things that you don’t know, too, history and old stories and basic geography. It doesn’t make sense. If you weren’t the same age as me, it would be easier to understand how all of that is possible,” Arnaud shrugged. “I know you’re not going to tell me, and I don’t care, I don’t need to know. But I do know I’ll need your help if I am to be king. I’m not sure how I know that, but I do.”

  “Well, I have promised my help, and that promise will always stand, no matter what happens.”

  “Then, perhaps being king won’t be too awful after all.”

  “I’m sure you won’t mind living in a castle and being so wealthy, anyway.”

  Arnaud chuckled, “There’s more to being a king than that,” he said, mock reproach in his voice.

  Brant laughed as well.

  “Well, I’m going to bed,” Arnaud suddenly announced, draining his mug and standing.

  “Goodnight,” Brant said absently.

  As the days passed, Brant and Arnaud soon fell back into their accustomed routine. With all the work that needed to be done, it was easy to ignore what had happened. The trip to Ayollan began to fade in their memories and, although they never forgot it, they did not worry overmuch about it either. It seemed like a distant dream that becomes fuzzy upon waking. The days were long and hard, but rewarding, and a cheerful atmosphere surrounded them despite the thought in the back of everyone’s mind that perhaps today would be the last. Even that growing possibility seemed to soften all arguments and avert most of the minor conflicts that might otherwise have sprung up.

  Some things changed after the trip to Ayollan. Aunt Euphie hovered a bit more and Uncle Barr seemed to find more excuses to put work aside. He spent more time with Brant and Arnaud than he had before, accompanying them to the swimming pond, and telling them stories about when he was their age. The biggest of the changes was that Brant began practicing his sword drills again, but this change went unnoticed, as he practiced in secret.

  Determined to regain all the skill he may have lost or forgotten, Brant put himself on a rigorous training program. He knew he could tolerate no weakness in himself, especially if he was going to be of any help to Arnaud. Each night Brant would wait until everyone else had gone to sleep, then he would slide his sword out from between his mattresses and slip outside and into the woods where he had whittled an old tree stump into a suitable practice post. He performed all his old exercises, chopping and slicing at the practice post with speed and precision. He was amazed at how quickly his muscles remembered the moves. He was much stronger than he had been before coming to Aom-igh. He practiced with both hands, making sure that neither arm was weaker than the other. After practicing for a good hour, Brant would go for a quick swim to cool off and then he would slip quietly back into the house where he would immediately fall asleep. He kept his practice sessions a secret mainly so as not to alarm Aunt Euphie, but also to avoid any inevitable questions about his past. Brant knew Arnaud would need a protector when he came to the throne, rightful heir or not, and so he continued to practice, honing his skill and his muscles each night until the day came for Arnaud to take up the crown.

  The day they had all been awaiting and dreading came suddenly and unexpectedly. It came earlier than Arnaud had anticipated, but later than Brant had expected. Just over two and a half years had passed since that fateful trip into Ayollan, the capital city. It was Arnaud’s twenty-first birthday, a special day as it signaled his true coming of age. Brant found it all rather strange, yet interesting, this focus on one’s day of birth. He thought about how different it was in Llycaelon. Each person kept track of his own age, of course, but one’s rank and place in life was not determined by how old one happened to be, but rather by how skilled one was. The big celebrations were reserved for moments of achievement: moving up in rank, passing through the corridor, things like that. He acknowledged that skill came with age, and so one could expect to pass through the corridor around the age of forty, but sometimes it was earlier and often it was a few years later, depending on the maturity and proficiency that had been achieved by an individual.

  Though the custom was foreign to him, Brant enjoyed the celebrations. He had allowed Arnaud’s family to celebrate his birthday, although he had not told them the truth about his age. Brant’s birthday was a few months after Arnaud’s, and he was allowing his new family to assume that he would be turning twenty-one as well. He made no move to correct them, or to explain that he was actually a little more than eighteen years older than Arnaud and, in fact, turning forty. In essence, forty in Llycaelon seemed about the same as twenty-one in Aom-igh, so Brant decided his deception didn’t really matter.

  Arnaud’s twenty-first birthday was a huge deal to his family, but they planned to celebrate it quietly, without inviting their friends and neighbors. This was mostly because Arnaud had insisted on it. He wanted the celebration to be simple, and he made it clear that he wanted to celebra
te with just his family. Since it was his birthday, they had consented to this, though Brant thought Aunt Euphie looked particularly disappointed. She loved to cook for people, and there was rarely occasion for a big celebration out here in the country. She hid her disappointment well, though, and threw her entire effort into making the day special for Arnaud.

  The morning of Arnaud’s party dawned bright and cloudless, and as far as Aunt Euphie was concerned, everything was perfect. Everyone enjoyed themselves, especially Brant and Arnaud since it was an extra day off from working. The usual chores had to be done in the morning, of course, but after that the day was theirs to spend however they wanted. After dinner, they presented Arnaud with their gifts.

  The most surprising gift of the evening was Brant’s. He had thought long and hard about what to give his friend, and finally the answer had presented itself in an unusual way. He held back until all the other presents had been opened, and then he stepped forward almost shyly and offered Arnaud his gift. It was lumpy and wrapped in brown paper. Arnaud looked at it curiously and opened it quickly. His eyes lit up when he saw what the wrapping contained. It was one of Brant’s several throwing daggers, along with a wrist sheath that could be hidden beneath one’s sleeve.

  Aunt Euphie made a warning noise in her throat, but Uncle Barr leaned forward in interest. Together, Arnaud and his uncle examined the dagger and its sheath. Arnaud pulled the knife out, his eyes bright with excitement as he tested the blade, which Brant had kept in perfect condition trained as he was by a race of warriors.

  “It’s exactly what I wanted,” he murmured, looking up wonderingly at his friend. “But, how did you know?”

  “I saw you practicing with Aunt Euphie’s kitchen knives,” Brant admitted, much to Aunt Euphie’s dismay. “You were fairly good, but I think you’ll do better with the real thing.”

  “It’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten!” Arnaud exclaimed, “Thank you! Thank you, everyone, for making today so perfect.”

  It was at that instant the moment came. The austere knock on the door wiped the joy from their faces. They exchanged nervous glances.

  “I’ll see who it is,” Aunt Euphie said, pushing herself up.

  “No!” Arnaud said. “I’ll get it.”

  He opened the door, and the night spilled in as though it were a living thing. It was chilly, though it was already mid-New Term, and a soft breeze floated into the house causing Aunt Euphie to draw her shawl closer about her shoulders with a shiver. Arnaud stepped aside, allowing the tall wizard to enter.

  “Aunt Euphie, Uncle Barr, this is Master Scelwhyn, wizard and advisor to the King of Aom-igh,” Arnaud’s voice was steady, but there was a look of despair in his eyes.

  The wizard bowed slightly. “We have met before, though under different circumstances. I am afraid that the news I bring you tonight is not as cheerful as the occasion appears to call for,” he turned to Arnaud. “Many happy returns of the day. I do believe that today marks your twenty-first year?”

  Arnaud nodded, not bothering to ask the wizard how he knew that.

  “I suppose you know why I am here,” Scelwhyn continued. “It brings me no pleasure to tell you that King Jairem passed away last night. Nobody else knows this as of yet, and I have ridden hard to bring this news and call you to your duty.”

  “Your horse must have sprouted wings to get you here so fast. Why did you need to get here so quickly?” Arnaud asked in amazement.

  Scelwhyn sighed and took the seat offered to him by Aunt Euphie. “My dear boy,” he said, “the death of the king will not be easy for anyone to hear. Jairem was a good man and he did much for his people. His death will be mourned by many. Nobody has yet seen your face. There will be sorrow, but selfish men may try to make a bid for the throne by putting forth their own puppet to play your part. The people need someone to turn to. They need to see that they will not be left without a ruler, and they will be eager to meet their new and rightful king.”

  “Then, must I leave with you tonight?” Arnaud asked dully.

  “No, I must rest, and you must rest too. We will leave at dawn.”

  Arnaud was not sure how much sleep he actually got, but it did not feel like much. Dawn seemed reluctant to approach, and he had lain awake for what felt like ages. Finally, the horizon began to grow brighter. Unable to stay in bed any longer, he got dressed and packed. He did not pack much. He took the things that meant the most to him. Among these items were several books, the gifts he had received the night before, a small painting his friend Sara had made for him when he was younger, and the braided horsehair chain he had made from some of the tail hairs of his first pony. He felt a catch in his throat at the memory, clutching the thick braid in his fist tightly. He did not worry about packing more than one change of clothes, he had seen the way King Jairem had dressed and he assumed that his own attire was not proper for a king. When he was done, he sat on his bed and leaned his head against the wall, waiting.

  “It’s time to wake…” Brant stuck his head through the doorway and his sentence died on his lips as he saw that Arnaud was already up and dressed. He entered the room. “Scelwhyn told me to get you up... but I guess I don’t really need to.”

  Arnaud looked up dazedly. “Is it time to leave?”

  “Are you all packed?”

  Arnaud tied his sack shut and strapped his new throwing dagger to his forearm. “Now I am.”

  Leaving was the hardest thing Arnaud had ever had to do. It took every bit of his willpower not to show the pain he felt or let the tears fall. Brant said his farewells too, but for him saying good-bye had become a necessary evil. He hugged Aunt Euphie and Uncle Barr and said good-bye. He promised Aunt Euphie that he would watch over Arnaud and keep him out of trouble, and he promised Uncle Barr that he would watch out for himself and stay out of trouble. Then he stood with Scelwhyn and waited for Arnaud.

  Arnaud lingered in the doorway as he looked back at his home, his gaze sweeping the little house one last time. He hesitated, not wanting to say farewell, as though time might stall, as though he would not have to leave so long as the words were never said. Scelwhyn understood this and more, and he did not rush the young man.

  Arnaud dropped his bag and ran back to his aunt and uncle, hugging each of them fiercely. “Thank you,” he whispered to them, “for all that you’ve done for me. If my parents had lived, I would have wanted them to be just like you.”

  At that Euphie did begin to cry and even Barr seemed a bit choked up, he hugged Arnaud and said, “You may not have been our true son, but you’re the son we would have picked. Never forget that we love you, and we’re proud of you, and this is not good-bye forever either. We’ll come visit whenever we can.”

  Arnaud nodded, his heart too heavy for words. He knew what life on the farm was like. They would not have the time to visit, and he would not have the time to come home. He felt as though this good-bye meant forever, and in his heart he knew that he was not simply leaving his home and his family, he was leaving a bit of himself as well. The boy Arnaud must stay here, while the man he had become traveled to the city and took up the responsibilities awaiting him.

  Finally, he turned to Scelwhyn. “I am ready, now.”

  Scelwhyn led the way to the barn where three horses stood tethered. Brant saw then that the wizard had known before departing the palace that Brant would accompany Arnaud to his new responsibilities. Brant was glad to see that he would not have to follow behind and walk to Ayollan. Wizard or no, he was coming.

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  Scelwhyn did not stop when the Dragon’s Eye set, and it soon became apparent that he had no intention of stopping for the night at all. Brant and Arnaud had ridden all day without speaking, each dealing with his own grief alone. As the Toreth rose, Arnaud finally broke the silence.

  “Brant,” he said quietly, “are good-byes always so hard?”

  Brant started at the unexpected voice, and then he found himself
smiling at the question. In his mind he heard himself, much younger and much more innocent, asking the same question of one much wiser than he. His master had answered him with words that had not satisfied him at the time, but experience had taught him the wisdom of those words and he spoke them now to his friend, though he changed them slightly.

  “No,” he replied, “sometimes they are harder.”

  Arnaud accepted this without comment and they rode on. By late evening the next day, they entered the city, but not through the main gate. They left their horses in the stables and followed Scelwhyn on foot through a secret passage that ended in the library of the palace. Arnaud was impressed by this, and he seemed to forget some of his sadness and fatigue as he questioned Scelwhyn about the tunnel.

  “Are there more secret passages like this in the castle?”

  “Yes,” Scelwhyn replied. “I will show them all to you. First, we must get you ready for your coronation.”

  Arnaud nodded solemnly and Scelwhyn continued, “The king’s death was made public at noon today, and your coronation has been scheduled for noon tomorrow. Sorrow will reign for one day, and then celebration of a new royal era will begin,” Scelwhyn paused, looking thoughtfully at the young man walking next to him. “Arnaud, you look puzzled.”

  “It’s just that… don’t you think that’s rather quick? I mean, the people need time to mourn.”

  “Yes, it is quick, and I don’t entirely approve, but this is as King Jairem wanted it, and that will be explained to the people as well. He did not want any mourning period for him at all, but I convinced him that the people need this time, and he said, ‘very well, but make it short, Scelwhyn,’” the wizard paused. “I thought very highly of King Jairem, and his public image was always strong and admirable, but when the public was not present, well, then he was human. He had a sense of humor and a work ethic that I always admired and respected. Perhaps it would not have appeared proper to most people for a king to have a sense of humor, but I always thought he should have showed that side of himself to the people. He had little use for custom and anything he considered to be ‘silly traditions that have no purpose but to bore one to death’ -well… he was a rather opinionated individual, but he knew enough not to dismiss anything truly important. As this is his last request, I fully intend to honor it, whether it be proper or no.”