At Brant’s recommendation, they left in secret, at night, when no one would know precisely when they had departed or what direction they had taken.
“You’ll take care of everything while I’m gone?” Arnaud asked Scelwhyn anxiously.
Scelwhyn nodded, smiling at the tone of concern in the young king’s voice. “I will.” He bowed formally then shot a sharp look at Brant. “Keep him out of trouble.”
“By my Oath, I’ll keep him safe.”
Scelwhyn shot Brant an odd look and Brant suddenly realized the words he had spoken reflexively would make no sense to anyone in Aom-igh. It was too late to take them back, so he stared at Scelwhyn steadily as though nothing out of the ordinary had been said. Scelwhyn did not drop his gaze, and it was Brant who was finally forced to look away.
“Come on then,” Arnaud said, not noticing the moment of tension he had just broken. “Let’s go.”
Brant nodded and swung his horse around, following Arnaud’s lead.
❖ ❖ ❖
Calyssia was puzzled by her youngest sister’s attitude. It had been several months since the great coronation celebration and Zara had not said one word about it. Calyssia didn’t really care to know about what Zara and the young king had talked about, but it seemed odd that the girl had not even mentioned it once. She had danced with the new king all night and Arnaud had practically ignored the rest of his guests in favor of Zara’s company, and yet she remained quiet on the subject. Calyssia was pondering this, and other things while helping Dylanna in the garden.
“Dylanna,” Calyssia said. “I have decided to return to the gate.”
Dylanna barely contained her surprise. “Is that so?”
“It is time to lay things at rest. I am not needed here. There is a difference that I could be making, but not here. You were right, Zara does not need me as a teacher. The gate does need a keeper, though. A real keeper, not just someone who drops by every now and then. And I am the only one left who knows of the entrance.”
“Have you told father?”
“Yes, he agrees with me. I think he would have urged me to leave sooner, but he understood my need to figure this out on my own.”
“I’m glad,” Dylanna said. “I didn’t believe it would be healthy for you to stay in Ayollan for the rest of your life.”
“You’re right. There are things I want to do, but I cannot do them here. I have decided to take up my responsibility once more. I will protect the gate, but I will also use the gate to create a haven for those who come seeking it. The gate will be my home, but it will be a home to others as well. I am going to set up a boundary around the gate.”
“A boundary? Do you realize what you are saying? You are going to attempt to set up your own kingdom? You can’t mean it! Do you know what kind of effort something like that would take? Have you even attempted to discuss the politics of something like that with King Arnaud? Is he willing to let part of his kingdom go?”
“The gate is not a part of his kingdom,” Calyssia countered. “It is a boundary; it is my job to protect that boundary. As to the effort that will be required of me…the gate generates magic of its own. I can tie off the boundary so that it will not wear me out so quickly. Of course, I know it could never last were I to leave it, but I don’t intend to leave until the gate is discovered by the one who would bring the myth-folk back above ground. Before Graldon died, he promised that such a one would come.”
“When do you leave?”
“Not until the king returns. Father needs all of us to help him maintain the throne until then.”
Together the two sisters worked on in companionable silence. Then Calyssia remembered the other thought that had been gnawing at her.
“Dylanna, is Zara upset with me?”
Dylanna looked up from the row that she was weeding. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, it seems she ought to have said something about the celebration, don’t you think? I mean, she spent the entire evening dancing with the king, and we haven’t heard a single word about it. It just seems strange to me to see Zara so close-mouthed about anything.”
“I suppose it would seem odd if you thought about it that way. Zara has a good reason for not saying anything, at least, to us. She has talked to Leila about it.”
“And that reason would be?” Calyssia asked in sudden interest.
“She doesn’t think we would approve. You see, sister, she does learn some things.”
“I’m not sure what you mean by that.”
“She’s learned to keep her mouth shut rather than risk upsetting you. This is more than any of us thought she would ever learn.”
“Hmmmph,” Calyssia snorted, a little at a loss for anything else to say.
Dylanna chuckled. “Is she wrong?”
Calyssia thought for a moment. “I don’t disapprove, I suppose,” she said quietly. “Though I’m not sure I exactly approve either. After all, he’s only human, and Zara is… well, she is the daughter of the most powerful wizard of this time, and half mer-folk as well. It was obvious that young King Arnaud was quite taken with our Zara, but of course I don’t mind that, what I would mind is if Zara feels the same way.”
“I believe she thinks she does, anyway.”
“Well!” Calyssia sat back. “Well. She’s young yet, I suppose; and anyway, the young king has left the castle to tour the country, and he probably won’t be back for at least a year. Zara will soon forget.”
Dylanna shook her head quietly, but she did not say anything.
“Dylanna?”
“Yes?”
“You will look after her for me, won’t you? When I return to the gate.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
Calyssia fell silent, and together they returned their attention to weeding and the subject of Zara and the king was dropped for the time being. From high up in the tree where she was eavesdropping, Zara clenched her fists tightly and pressed her lips together to keep from making a sound.
“I will not forget,” she whispered fiercely to herself, “I will not!”
❖ ❖ ❖
Arnaud let out a long sigh, leaning back on his horse and staring up at the sparkling night sky. “Now this is peace.”
Arnaud noticed the twinkle in Brant’s eye. He sat up straighter and stuck his chin out defiantly.
“Of course it’s all right for you,” he said. “You don’t have people badgering you about what you ought to wear. You just tell Tucker, ‘I’d like a simple outfit in black, please’ and he goes right ahead and makes you normal clothes. If I ever asked for something simple, it would have at least forty-five extra yards of material for no apparent reason, heavy gold embroidery, and probably a few diamonds here and there just to add weight, and Tucker would have a conniption fit if I ever tried to wear it out in public because he would argue it was too plain!”
Brant struggled not to laugh. In Llycaelon, the servants were just as fussy, but the royal house had always preferred to dress a little less excessively. The colors they used were darker, better for hiding in the shadows if need called for it. Brant supposed that was the difference between his country and Arnaud’s. His people spent most of their time training to become warriors, even the women and the commoners, whereas the inhabitants of Aom-igh spent most of their time living and making a life for their children.
“We start from the assumption that we will never be safe, they start from the belief that they will never be in danger, and who is to say which is the better way to live?” Brant muttered to himself.
“What was that?” Arnaud asked, breaking off his tirade.
“I was just agreeing with you,” Brant said casually.
“At least someone does,” Arnaud growled. “Oh well,” he said, brightening considerably. “I bought myself a small respite, in any case. Why, who knows? This tour could take a year or so!”
The tour remained uneventful until they reached the Mountain
s of Dusk, which took them a good two weeks to do since Arnaud was setting the slowest pace he could manage. The mountains were only a five day journey from the castle, three and a half if one was in a hurry. The foothills began just on the south side of the Aura Wood, but Arnaud was not in a hurry. They had not traveled in a straight line, either. Instead they had zigzagged across the countryside, visiting small towns and villages here and there, where they had been treated kindly by all they had encountered. Brant put up with the slow, meandering pace without complaint. He enjoyed being outside and he loved living on the trail; he also understood Arnaud’s need to say good-bye to the life he had left. Their conversations remained light and cheerful, neither one of them raised any of the darker questions that could have been asked. Brant carefully avoided any subjects that dealt with kingdoms, crowns, wizards, or castles, and Arnaud was careful not to ask Brant anything about his past, though the more he got to know his friend, the more he found did not fit with much of what Brant had told him.
“There they are,” Arnaud said at the end of the fifteenth day that they had been on the road, “the great Mountains of Dusk.”
Brant stopped and stared in familiar wonder. They had been able to see the mountains in the distance several days ago, but then their view had been obscured by the trees as they entered the forest. Now, as they emerged from the wood, the mountains rose up before them in all their unbroken majesty. In all his travels, he had never seen anything so breathtaking, and no matter how often he saw them, the mountains never ceased to amaze him. Even after living within sight of their peaks for two years, the sight of them still made him pause. They rose up into the air like giant towers, each one an ancient sentinel, watching over the land. The Dragon’s Eye was just setting, and each peak was lit up with golden fiery light that ended in dark deep-reaching shadows.
“We’ll be beyond the foothills and in the mountains by noon tomorrow,” Arnaud announced excitedly. “If it weren’t getting dark already... but no, let’s stop.”
They set up camp and sat by their small fire cooking a simple yet satisfying supper. The Toreth rose, a silver disk of pale light, and a chill wind raced down Brant’s spine. He looked up warily, knowing that something was not right.
“Have you ever traveled through the mountains before?” Brant asked casually. He maintained a relaxed air, but every sense was on full alert, searching the darkness for the source of what was amiss.
“Several times. Aunt Euphie and Uncle Barr had friends in one of the villages on the other side of the mountains. We used to go visit them every year or so. I hadn’t realized, but we’re only a few miles from the farm.”
“Are we going to visit them tomorrow?”
“I was planning to visit them on the return trip.”
There was a soft noise behind them and Brant was suddenly on his feet. Arnaud stared at him, wondering how he had risen so quickly. One instant Brant was sitting against a log, looking for all the world like he was about to fall asleep, and the next he was standing, sword drawn and eyes searching the darkness.
Arnaud stood too, drawing his own sword. “What is it?”
“I don’t know... highway-men most likely.”
Together, the two men stood facing the darkness, tense and ready for battle. Brant felt blood and adrenaline rushing through his veins as he anticipated the fight. The attack came without warning. One moment Brant and Arnaud were alone, and the next found them beset by howling marauders. Brant could not get an accurate count, the bandits were moving about so fast, but he thought there were at least ten of them.
The robbers dodged and feinted, darting into range and then out again just as quickly. Brant parried their blows and taught them a healthy respect for his own speed. One of the men who leapt in for an attack left the clearing with a howl, holding his limp sword arm close to his chest with his other hand. Arnaud was not quite so skilled with his weapon, but he was managing to hold his own and now there were only eight attackers.
There was a slight pause, and then all eight of the bandits converged upon the two travelers with a triumphant cry. Brant whirled and slashed, keeping the deadly weapons away. He did not leave much room for error, only exerting as much energy as he needed and no more. He ducked a hair’s breadth beneath the sword that threatened to take his head from his shoulders. The dagger aimed at his heart whistled by so close to his shoulder that it sliced through his sleeve, but he remained unscathed. Parrying and ducking and slashing, he sent another thief stumbling backwards yowling in pain.
Arnaud was having a more difficult time, now boasting several deep cuts on his arm and a shallow one across his chest. He was losing blood at an alarming rate, but he fought gamely. As the battle wore on, there was a desperation in his movements. He was quickly tiring and knew he could not keep up the fight much longer. His meager months of training had not prepared him for an extended battle, and he was already having trouble catching his breath. Brant seemed as fresh as dawn, barely winded. But the bandits were determined and kept coming.
As the battle continued, Arnaud suddenly found that he and Brant had gotten separated. They now stood on opposite sides of the campfire. There was nothing he could do about it so he continued to fend off the two bandits who had followed him. Though their numbers were dwindling, their attacks grew more vicious. Arnaud disarmed one of his attackers and the other one tripped over a log, hitting his head with a dull thud. Arnaud turned to see how Brant was faring. Brant was battling three of them at once. Arnaud suddenly saw that one of the men who had been out of the fight had returned and was sneaking up behind his friend. The steel of his dagger glinted in the firelight. Arnaud acted without thinking.
With a mighty cry, Arnaud leapt across the small campfire, sword out. Brant turned at the cry, just as the bandit was raising his arm to strike. Brant threw up his arm as though to ward off the attack, but it was too late. The bandit’s eyes gleamed with victory, and then a look of mingled horror and shock spread across the villain’s face as he stumbled and fell, Arnaud’s sword sticking out from between his shoulder blades.
At this sight, the remaining bandits halted. As one, they seemed to agree that the risk was considerably more than they had bargained for, and they retreated into the woods like shadows, dragging their wounded companions with them. Brant sank to the ground, letting his exhaustion overwhelm him for a moment. Then he noticed that Arnaud was lying on the ground, blood staining the ground around him.
“Arnaud? Can you hear me?”
Arnaud lay still. Brant knelt down next to him and rolled him over. He recoiled at the sight of the wound on his friend’s forehead. He wondered for a moment what had caused it. Then he saw the rock Arnaud had landed on. Checking quickly, Brant found to his relief that his friend was still breathing, but he was badly hurt and unconscious. Brant grabbed his pack and found some clean cloths. He poured water onto a cloth and mopped up Arnaud’s face, then he bound a strip of cloth around the young king’s head to try and stop the bleeding. Brant tended to his friend’s other wounds as best he could, then he leaned back on his heels and tried to think of what to do. It would take five days to return to the castle, four if they rode hard, but Arnaud could not make such a journey.
Arnaud’s aunt and uncle were only a few miles away, on the other side of the forest they had just come through. Another look under the bandage on Arnaud’s head made the decision for him. Brant rigged up a drag out of branches and blankets, which he harnessed to the horses and rolled Arnaud onto it. By this time it was nearly dawn, and Arnaud still had not awoken. A sense of urgency and dread in his heart, Brant began leading the horses back into the forest, hoping he would not be too late.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Arnaud slowly opened his eyes to a blurry world filled with far too much light. He closed his eyes quickly, then opened them once more, this time more cautiously. His surroundings were familiar, but he could not think clearly enough to figure out why. Just opening his eyes took all
the strength he had. Arnaud sighed deeply, feeling safe, and then he fell asleep once more.
When he woke again, it was to quiet, concerned voices. He lay there with his eyes closed, listening, feeling as though he had returned from a great distance.
“He seems to be sleeping easier now,” a voice said.
“I think he’s waking,” another voice replied.
Then there was silence, and Arnaud opened his eyes. He blinked a few times, trying to focus. He saw the smiling, teary-eyed face of his Aunt Euphie. Uncle Barr was there, too, along with Brant. Arnaud blinked as he gazed up at them.
“Arnaud?” Aunt Euphie asked.
“What happened?” Arnaud asked. “Oh, Aunt Euphie, I’ve had the most horrible dream.”
“It’s good to see you awake again, young man,” suddenly Scelwhyn was there as well and Arnaud groaned as the memories surged back with all the brightness of reality.
“It wasn’t a dream, was it?” he asked miserably.
“No,” Scelwhyn replied. “Though from what Brant tells us, you’re both very lucky to be alive.”
“I guess this means my vacation is ended?”
“I think it would be best for everyone if you returned to the palace just as soon as you regain your full strength.”
“How long have I been asleep?”
“About ten days,” Brant offered helpfully.
“Ten days!” Arnaud could hardly believe it. “I’ve been asleep for ten whole days!”
“You’ve been in and out of consciousness, but I doubt you’d remember the other times you woke,” Euphie said.
“That was a nasty gash you had on your forehead, I believe it will be quite sore for some time, but I believe I have managed to heal it well enough that there won’t be any scar,” Scelwhyn added, not without a trace of satisfaction in his voice.
Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2) Page 36
