Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2)

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  Arnaud touched the bandage on his head and winced, remembering how he had gotten it. “What happened after I fell? Did the bandits get away?”

  “After your flying leap across the fire killed their leader, the bandits decided they’d had enough of us,” Brant said. “They called a retreat. I brought you back here, left you with your aunt and uncle, and then rode to the palace to bring Scelwhyn.”

  Arnaud shifted sleepily. “Thank you Brant.”

  “You don’t need to thank me,” Brant replied. “You’ve saved my life twice now, and that’s something I’ll never forget, no matter what roads we travel in the future; if you ever need my help, it’s yours.”

  Arnaud wondered vaguely what Brant was talking about; he could not remember ever saving Brant’s life before the bandit attack. He tried to muster the energy to tell him so, but found he was too tired to form words. He struggled against sleep for another minute or two, and then decided that whatever he had been going to say did not really matter anyway and he let his eyes fall shut once more.

  It was several more weeks before Arnaud was able to get out of bed and walk without feeling waves of dizziness buffeting him from every direction. It was even longer before he was able to lift anything heavy. He had lost a lot of blood during the fight, and although Euphie had managed to get some broth into him whenever he came close to waking, the extended period of healing had left him weakened. Scelwhyn warned him that it would take time before he was back to full strength. Arnaud took the warning stoically, but inside he grew impatient with how slowly he was improving. His restlessness took its form in long hikes through his uncle’s grain fields. Arnaud had always loved the fields, and walking through them was the only way he could get his mind off of all that had happened to him.

  At long last, the day came when Scelwhyn pronounced Arnaud well enough to travel back to the castle. Arnaud gathered his things and made ready to leave. He felt a strange joy welling up inside him at the prospect of returning to the castle and his duties as king. Despite his reluctance to take up the crown, the castle had become his home, and the people within it had become his friends. He noticed, however, that Brant did not seem quite as excited as he.

  One night, Arnaud ventured to ask Brant what was wrong. Brant looked away for a moment, unwilling to meet his friend’s eyes. When he turned to meet Arnaud’s gaze there were too many emotions in those dark eyes for Arnaud to read clearly anything Brant might be thinking.

  “I’m not coming back to the palace with you.”

  “What? But… you-you have to come!” Arnaud said, a note of panic creeping into his voice.

  “I’ve spent long hours these past few weeks talking with Scelwhyn while you were out walking, arguing with Scelwhyn... er... yelling at Scelwhyn, perhaps I should say, but in the end I think, perhaps he may be right. Arnaud, you have been called to the throne, you can’t lean on anyone else. You have knights, servants, people who need to see you strong and standing on your own as their king. We must go our separate ways, you and I, for a short time. But I will always come if you need help.”

  “So I am to lose the two people in the world I need the most, you and Scelwhyn, at the same time, is that it?”

  “Scelwhyn will take you back to the palace, but his time is over. He tried to explain it to me, but I’m afraid it doesn’t make much sense, even to me. Wizards aren’t fully human; they can sense when their life is about to end. They can even delay it, but not forever. He’s already delayed as long as he can.”

  “I see.” Arnaud looked at him oddly, but Brant ignored the unspoken questions. Arnaud paused, then asked, “What will you do?”

  “I thought I’d stay here and help Uncle Barr with this year’s harvest. After that, who knows? I’ll go wherever the wind takes me. I’ve always been a wanderer, staying in one place begins to gnaw at me after a while. Getting too attached to any one place is not a good idea for me. I’ve stayed in one place for too long, and I’ve been feeling the call of the road for some time. I need to be doing something again, I can’t sit still and be advisor to the king, I’m sorry. I’ll leave a trail you can follow, if you need me, you’ll be able to find me.”

  Arnaud grimaced. He didn’t want to admit it, but a part of him understood, a part of him even envied the adventure his friend was about to begin. “Don’t be sorry, my friend. I cannot ask you to be something you clearly are not. Perhaps you’re right; I need to learn to rely only on myself. If I have to be king, I can’t do it halfway; better to give the throne to someone else! And I have decided to be king. I don’t know if I am the right person, but I seem to be the one stuck with the job, so I might as well do my best. To do anything less would be a betrayal, not only of myself, but of those who raised me and believe in me.”

  “Take care my friend,” Brant said, clasping Arnaud’s hand firmly. “May justice reign on your side, and may you find yourself blessed beyond your wildest imaginings. May Cruithaor Elchiyl bless you and keep you.”

  “And you,” Arnaud said, smiling broadly to hide his sadness. “May the roads you take lead you into adventures and back out of them safely, and may you finally find the true road, the one that will bring you home in the end, wherever that might be.”

  “Farewell, my friend.”

  “Farewell,” Arnaud said, looking at Brant steadily. “My brother.”

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  “This is a season of good-byes,” Calyssia said quietly to her sisters.

  “Calyssia,” Zara said, tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry I was such a worry to you.”

  The older girl stared down at her youngest sister, her mint green eyes full of compassion and understanding. “You were not such a bother, child,” she said kindly. “It was a pleasure teaching you… when you showed up for class,” her eyes twinkled.

  “Good-bye, Calyssia,” Zara said.

  “Good-bye,” Calyssia returned, mounting her horse.

  Leila stood silently, gazing off into space with a solemn expression on her pixie-like face. A squirrel peeked over her shoulder and wiggled its nose at Calyssia, its bright black eyes peered curiously at Calyssia for a moment, and then he ducked down into the hood of Leila’s cloak, nibbling busily on an acorn. Calyssia shook her head wryly; Leila always had some wild thing about her. Leila’s black hair flew about her face and the expression in her violet eyes was wistful.

  “May your horse never be lame,” she said with an air of triumph, as though she had been searching for the perfect words and finally found them.

  Calyssia nodded solemnly, hiding her amusement. Leila said the oddest things, but they always made sense, in a roundabout way. Dylanna had said her good-bye earlier, and now she remained silent, a look of peace on her face that made Calyssia more certain than ever that she was doing the right thing in leaving.

  The eldest daughter of Scelwhyn turned her horse away from the palace, away from her family, away from her home. She kicked her horse into an easy canter. She was headed into the future. She had dwelt in the past far too long, and now she was ready to face it and move beyond it. Tears slid down her face as she said one last farewell. It was her own good-bye, one that she said to someone who had been gone for a long time already, but at last she could finally say it without pain.

  “Farewell, Graldon,” she whispered. “I have missed you, my friend. I will always miss you, but I have found the strength to live again. I will keep the gate to your world safe like you asked. My home will be a safe haven to all who seek protection and rest. You would have liked that, I think, dear friend.”

  There were no answering words that came to Calyssia’s ears, but there was a momentary warmth in the breeze and Calyssia thought she felt the old familiar tingling sensation she used to get whenever Graldon was smiling. She sighed deeply, knowing the pain of a dragon-ward without a dragon, but also peace at last.

  “It took me a long time,” she whispered to herself. “But last I have found peace. Now I must move on to the next great journey
, and who can tell what I will find at the end?” Calyssia urged her mount on. The gate was waiting for its Keeper, and she had a promise to fulfill.

  The three sisters stood and watched as Calyssia disappeared in the distance. There was a melancholy silence for a span of several heartbeats, and then normalcy asserted itself.

  “Well,” Dylanna said briskly. “Father and King Arnaud should be returning any minute now, and we have things to do…. Leila, if you let that squirrel inside again, I swear, I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’m sure you won’t like it. Cats are perfectly acceptable pets, as are dogs, rabbits, and even horses for that matter, but squirrels need to be free… mice too for that matter, and sparrows and hawks… and your moles keep trying to burrow through the carpet. Darling, would it be too terribly much to ask that you keep your wild things out of doors?”

  Leila’s expression was penitent. “I’m sorry Dylanna, I’ll try to keep them outside, but they follow me, and it’s so hard to tell them ‘no.’”

  “Well, as long as you’ll try.”

  “Do you need me to do anything right now, Dylanna?” Zara asked.

  “No, you may have the afternoon to yourself.”

  Zara clapped her hands and danced off in the direction of the wooded area behind the castle. Dylanna watched her go. There was much she needed to do, now that Calyssia had gone. So much had to be put in order, and Leila would be leaving soon as well, Dylanna could feel it. Her younger sister was not cut out for palace life; she needed to be somewhere open and filled with magic, some place filled with life but un-crowded, and Ayollan was definitely not that place.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  “King Arnaud, I have every confidence in you,” Scelwhyn said gravely as they rode within sight of the palace. Distantly, the sound of waves breaking on the shore could be heard, and Arnaud knew this was the last he would see of the ancient and wise wizard who had stood beside every king of Aom-igh since Llian himself.

  “I wish I had every confidence in myself,” Arnaud replied.

  “You will gain that confidence, I am sure of it. But you cannot find it while I am looking over your shoulder. I must leave you now. I do not like good-byes any more than your friend, Brant, and I have no wish to say them. Rule well, King Arnaud. In a time of confusion, you alone may well hold back the darkness, but do not be too proud to accept the help of those who would walk to the door of shadows and back for you.”

  Arnaud offered his hand and Scelwhyn shook it.

  “Good-bye, Scelwhyn. You will be missed in Aom-igh. May your journey be filled with light, and may it neither tire your feet nor parch your throat.”

  “Thank you, my young friend,” the old wizard bowed his head. “I leave you now, but I do not leave you alone. I leave you with enemies who will plot against you, but also with friends who will be quick to defend you.”

  Arnaud rolled his eyes a bit. “That is not much comfort.”

  “There is a knight you can trust above all the rest,” Scelwhyn said, as if he had just remembered something important. “His name is Garen and he is loyal and true. He is almost as good with a sword as young Brant. He was my last student. Garen had only a few drops of wizard’s blood in his lineage, but he could have been a great wizard all the same. He chose the life of a warrior instead. I can’t say I blame him. He was always headstrong and inquisitive, and he longed to see the results of his actions immediately. If you want an advisor, you could do worse than Garen, and I doubt you could do better. He seems young, but his years number many more than your own. He has knowledge and understanding as well as strength of arms.”

  “Garen,” Arnaud said, committing the name to memory.

  “There are others who will be able to help you in times of need as well,” Scelwhyn continued. “I leave you to discover them on your own.”

  Scelwhyn wheeled his horse around and headed towards the great ocean that lay just on the other side of the trees. Arnaud sat and watched him until he was out of sight, and then he sighed and turned back to the palace. He shook his head and urged his horse forward.

  “Come on,” he said, in a voice that hinted at both resignation and anticipation, “we’re almost home.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  Brant sprang lightly from his horse’s saddle and crouched down to examine the tracks on the road. Just under four years had passed since the night he had decided not to return to Ayollan with Arnaud. He had helped Barr and Euphie with the harvest that year and had spent the Cold-Term with them as well. When Cold-Term ended, Brant knew he was ready to be on the road again. He battled the uneasy feeling that he was being watched or hunted, and he was disinclined to stay longer with the good people who had given him a home. It would be better to leave than to remain and endanger his loved ones.

  Euphie cried over him when he announced his intent, and she insisted on sending enough food with him to keep him well-fed for at least a season or two. Brant secretly returned much of the food to her kitchen, knowing he would not need, and could not carry, all of it. He had left one morning in early New-Term. He bought a good horse with the money Barr had insisted on paying him for his help, and he had been exploring and observing Aom-igh ever since. He was now well acquainted with much of this land he had adopted as his new home. He knew of the two safe passes through the Mountains of Dusk, he had crisscrossed the country from one end to the other, drawing his own map as he went. He catalogued the different forests, marked the mountain passes, discovered small rivers and lakes, and in general enjoyed his freedom. The only place he never went near was the Harshlands. It was interesting work, mapmaking.

  He worked here and there when he grew tired of sleeping out of doors, but he never stayed long in any one place. As long as he kept moving, the eerie feeling of being hunted was held safely at bay, and the dark nightmares did not trouble his sleep.

  In the past year of traveling, he began to hear many tales and stories. Some of the more recent ones tugged at his curiosity. Knowing the nature of rumors and tall tales, he wanted to find the truth behind these stories. Brant generally tried to remain unnoticed, but word got out, and he had made it into many of the local legends. He recognized himself now in the newer songs in which he was named “the Wanderer.” There were many rumors and tales about him, and he had come across some fantastic ones. Some were near the truth, telling of his friendship with the king. Others were wilder, claiming he was the ghost of King Llian wearing flesh and walking about in the daylight to keep from being recognized. Brant did not mind these tales. He found them useful.

  But now there were other, stranger rumors flying about the land. Rumors of a sorceress who had laid claim to a small portion of Aom-igh and made it her home. Tales were told of a magical veil that marked the border of the sorceress’ territory, and people who had wandered too close to this boundary were never seen again.

  Brant did not put stock in rumors, since he knew the truth behind the ones that shrouded himself in layers of mystery. However, he did find this one in particular intriguing. He had tried to put it out of his mind, but it kept tugging at his imagination and so he decided to investigate. It was probably nothing more than an old house with a thatched roof that was the home of some poor old widow who wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Maybe she muttered a few nursery rhymes in an attempt to keep her house from falling apart, or perhaps she even possessed a little real magic. In any case, Brant had decided to find this so-called sorceress and satisfy his boundless curiosity.

  When he asked around, everyone pointed him to the same place. Brant found that encouraging, at least these rumors were all originating from the same spot; that gave the stories more validity. He followed the stories through the western pass of the Mountains of Dusk. Spread out before him lay a great forest. He urged his horse on through the woods. The forest was ancient; Brant could feel that it was brimming with life and magic, but it also felt tired and withdrawn.

  It reminded him of the forest on Emnolae, but
he understood it better now. That forest had been angry as well as suspicious and distrustful of intruders. This forest felt disconnected, as though it had forgotten its own name. Brant shuddered at that thought and quickly repeated his own name several times to assure himself it was still there. The trees near him seemed to stand up straighter as he whispered his name out loud.

  “So,” the shivery voice floated on the breeze, “someone yet walks Aom-igh who still remembers his name and recognizes its import.”

  Brant stopped in his tracks, the voice was not unlike the one which had spoken to him in the forest of Emnolae, but this one sounded older, sadder, and far less angry. This voice rang with memories that burst in his mind like tiny fish that leapt from the water and into the daylight for the briefest of instants and then were gone again, lost beneath the dark water that rippled quietly in the wind. He concentrated for a moment, and this time he got bigger glimpses of these memories. There were nymphs dancing lightly in the soft light of the Toreth, young children playing in the forest, dancing through it and talking to it, their cheerful voices and innocent laughter holding the dark monotony of loneliness at bay. That had been a time when the forest had told everyone its name, giving it without care or worry. Unicorns had lived here, and pegasi too - the dragons and the gryphons had always kept to the Harshlands and the Mountains of Dusk, preferring the rocky terrain and the open skies, but the forest had not minded, it had plenty of company.

  Now, too many had forgotten, and it was left all alone again. First, the myth-folk had faded from the land, leaving to go… somewhere. Brant struggled to determine where they had gone, but the forest did not know. Then, the people had forgotten and moved closer to the larger towns and cities, and so the forest had stood silent for many tens of years. He could tell it had not spoken to anyone in a very long time.

  “They have forgotten the old ways, but we remember,” the forest said quietly, “we remember, but we do not tell. Many are the dark ones who would use such knowledge for evil. We remember though…” there was a quiet hesitation, then the voice continued in a kind of wondering tone, “…and you remember, also. You remember, so you hear our thoughts. We can see that you have been instructed in the old ways. You know the languages of many. You remember your own name as so many have forgotten. Names have become unimportant things here, they are worn casually now, but you are different, we can tell. You were not born of this land, you come from a place that remembers how important a name is, but … yes… they have forgotten other things.”