“I heard you say that you love me.”
“B-but, I am a wizardess, Arnaud!” Zara stammered. “Did you not hear that?”
“Yes, and you’re seventy-five, and you’ll probably outlive me by several hundred years, I did hear you, Zara. As wizards go, you’re the same age as I am relatively speaking, am I correct?”
“Ye-es.”
“And you did say that you love me?”
“Yes!”
Arnaud lowered his head and stared directly into her eyes, his brown eyes were so sincere and earnest that she found she could hardly meet his gaze. “Then nothing else matters to me, because I love you too,” he whispered. “So…will you marry me?”
Zara was completely speechless for a span of five or six heartbeats, and then her face shone to rival the light of the Dragon’s Eye. She threw her arms around his neck, laughing and crying all at the same time. He buried his face in her hair and hugged her tightly.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes,” she said smiling. “Yes, yes, yes!”
❖ ❖ ❖
Brant was amazed at how much had changed outside the Cove. Inside that magical barrier, it felt as if mere days had passed, but when he stepped through the barrier and left its protection, he realized how much time he had really lost. Much had changed, and little of the change was good. These were dark days, a passing traveler confided in him when he stopped for the night at an inn.
“The Wanderer, you know who I’m talking about, well, he hasn’t been seen anywhere for over a year,” the man whispered. “If you ask me, the roads aren’t as safe as they were when he was on patrol.”
“What do you suppose has happened to him?”
“Some say he’s dead, but then there’s others who believe he was the ghost of a past king... they say he’s grown tired and returned to wherever he came from. I think he’s waiting.”
“Waiting?”
“Aye, waiting till we really need him. Say… you sort of look like him.”
“Him?” Brant asked.
“The Wanderer, or the one they called the Wanderer anyway… you sort of resemble the way he’s described. You’re not, are you?”
“You, my friend, are drunk,” Brant replied cheerfully, “perhaps you ought to retire to bed.”
“Hm, perhaps… perhaps you are right. I seem to have forgotten… oh well, it doesn’t matter, I suppose… dark days, yes, dark.”
Brant watched as the man ambled up the stairs, still muttering to himself, and chuckled slightly when he swayed and narrowly missed running into the railing. Brant stayed seated at his table but waved the serving girl away when she came to refill his glass. He gazed at the floorboards, puzzling over the words of the traveler.
“Dark days,” he wished he knew more of what had been happening during his time in Pearl Cove. “I suppose I had better go to Arnaud, it sounds as though he might need me.”
Brant left some money on the table, collected his horse, and rode out into the darkness of the night. The stable hand tried to discourage him from leaving, warning him of marauders and thieves.
“I can take care of myself, lad, never fear.”
The boy stared up at Brant in something like awe. “Are you… are you the Wanderer?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, I just don’t think anyone else would have the nerve to ride out at night, especially a night like this,” the boy nodded out the door and Brant saw that it looked like a storm was on the way.
Brant held a finger to his lips. “We’ll just keep it our secret, eh?”
The boy’s eyes brightened and he ran to get Brant’s horse. Brant tossed the boy a coin for his trouble, the lad’s face lit up as he caught the money. “Thank you, sir!” he exclaimed.
Brant mounted his horse and rode out into the light rain. He traveled swiftly through the stormy darkness. He did not mind the rain, only the most determined rogues would venture out on such a night.
❖ ❖ ❖
Arnaud was troubled. He had been the king of Aom-igh for four years, and though he was amazed at how natural the role now felt to him, he was also weighed down by the old familiar self doubt. He had long since made his peace with the people who served him in the palace, finally coming to terms with their need for propriety and agenda. He had learned quite a bit over the past few years, and he had grown up considerably since he first arrived in Ayollan. Then, he had been but a child playing at being king, now he accepted the role and even took pleasure in using it to further benefit this country that he was coming to love in a much deeper way than he ever had before. However, now the old feeling of helplessness had returned and he struggled vainly against it. Much of this had to do with the fact that his kingdom was constantly under attack and he seemed to be powerless to prevent it.
Arnaud had built up the army since becoming king; just because they had enjoyed forty-five years of peace was no reason to let the knights fall into disarray, he had reasoned. In spite of this, however, the knights of the realm could not keep up with the number of raiders and marauders, and now there was a new threat spreading across the land. Sightings and strange reports of unearthly creatures had been received, detailing indiscriminate, savage attacks on travelers and villagers alike. A cloud of doubt and helplessness had descended upon Arnaud. There was a bright spot within that darkness, his fiancée, but Zara had gone to visit her sister Leila for a few weeks. Arnaud had wanted to go with her, but Zara argued that his kingdom needed him.
They need more than me, Arnaud thought miserably, that much is obvious.
“Garen,” he said quietly, “what can I do? The knights can deal with these creatures, but they can’t deal with the creatures and the highwaymen at the same time.”
“Begging your pardon, Majesty,” Garen said humbly, still not quite sure why the king turned to him so often for advice, “perhaps you need a symbol. Prior to Jairem’s reign it was not unheard of for the king to appoint an exceptional knight to the post of King’s Warrior. It might be time to reinstate that post.”
“I’ve heard that title before. I thought it was just a story for parents to tell their children so they wouldn’t be afraid of the dark.”
“No, the King’s Warrior is a real person... or rather, people. It’s a post that has been appointed many times.”
“How does it work?”
“The man given the position is the trusted servant of the king, beloved and revered by the people, and feared only by those who seek to inflict harm. He is not a law unto himself, but he is an immediate representative of the king’s protection and justice. He is accountable to you and serves at your discretion.
“Pick someone you can trust, someone you can allow to act apart from the rest of the knights. As an army, we simply can’t get places fast enough, and our enemies hear us coming. By the time we march in, it’s too late to do anything but help the people bury their dead and rebuild their homes. You need someone who can travel swiftly, someone who will carry not only your standard across the land, but his own as well.”
“What good can just one person do?”
“One person has often tipped the balance, historically speaking, Sire.”
“Yes, that just might work. If only…” he trailed off.
“Your Majesty?”
“I know who I would ask to undertake such a task, but I have no idea where he can be found.”
Just then a knock came at the door. “Enter,” Arnaud called.
One of the maids entered the room. “Sire, there is someone here to see you.”
“I’m not expecting anyone right now.”
“He said he was not expected, but he insisted that you would want to see him.”
“A king’s day is never done,” Arnaud said. “Very well, I will see him in a few minutes, let him know I am coming and offer him food and drink.”
Several moments later, Arnaud entered the Great Hall. The man who had been waiting for him stood as he
entered the room and Arnaud stared at him in disbelief. A grin broke across his face as he strode to greet his friend.
“Brant! Why didn’t you tell the servants who you were? I was worried you were more bad news!”
Brant laughed as they walked together down the long hallway. “I like making you worry,” he said cheerfully. “How goes the ruling of your kingdom?”
Arnaud sobered. “To tell the truth, not well. I am holding on here by very weak threads, Brant. Attacks come from all sides. Some are routine while others... well, others are more disturbing. To some degree, I am at a loss for how to effectively combat and eliminate these dangers to our people. But enough about business for the moment, how are you? You haven’t changed a bit!”
“I have been traveling and learning.”
“Tell me everything. I want to hear about your adventures. I haven’t heard a scrap of news from you in three years. I haven’t known how to contact you. I feared the worst, and now here you stand before me, my friend, safe and well. I cannot be more pleased to see you. Where have you been? What have you been doing?” Arnaud’s words tumbled from his mouth in his unbridled delight at seeing his friend.
“I’ve learned that good-byes are inevitable, and that although many roads may lead to the same place, there is usually only one path that is the correct one.”
“You speak like a sage. So tell me, what has led you here now?”
“One of my many roads,” Brant said cryptically, but he winked as he said it to let Arnaud know he was teasing. “Truthfully? I heard some dark tidings and I came to see which of the stories are true.”
“Where have you been, hiding in a cave?” Arnaud stared at him. “These troubles have been rising up for two years. Surely you can’t mean that you only just recently became aware of what’s going on.”
“I have been in Pearl Cove for the past two years, learning from the sorceress who lives there.”
Arnaud’s eyes widened. “Pearl Cove! I have heard many strange tales about that place…”
“Most of them untrue, I am sure.”
“Well, to answer your question: it is true that the roads are no longer as safe as they once were. It is true that villages have been attacked and burned to the ground. It is true that strange creatures have entered Aom-igh and they roam about killing and plundering and spreading fear.”
“The strange creatures called seheowks,” Brant said. “I have fought them before. I did not believe they would have come so far west...” he broke off at Arnaud’s puzzled expression. Brant frowned as he realized what he had just said. He met his friend’s eyes and sighed. “There is much about my past that I do not have time to explain now,” he said.
Arnaud did not press the matter, he never did, instead he changed the subject. "How long are you staying?”
“Only until you tell me what you would like me to do to help. I do not believe you will give me a task that will confine me here.”
“Garen was just recommending a plan that brought you to mind not ten minutes ago. I would love to ask your opinion and see if it might be something you would consider. Let’s discuss it over dinner.”
“How is Garen?” Brant asked, as they walked into the dining room.
“He is well, though being kept busy while I...” Arnaud paused. “In my excitement at seeing you I almost forgot you don’t know. I am betrothed.”
With beaming face, Brant clasped his friend’s hand. “Congratulations!”
“I wish you could meet her, but she is visiting her sister in the Harshlands now. When she returns, we will be wed.”
“Her sister lives in the Harshlands?” Brant asked, a little stunned, not sure why anyone would ever choose to live in such an inhospitable place. Brant had not forgotten that the desert had tried to kill him, and while Calyssia had taught him a new appreciation for its magical properties, it was not a place he would ever choose to visit.
Arnaud nodded, and then he hesitated. “Oh, I forgot. We will have to talk about Garen’s idea after dinner.”
“Why is that?”
“Because Sir Nelstor and his daughter will be joining us for dinner. He is perhaps the wealthiest rancher to the west of the Farrendell River.”
Brant laughed as he understood the joke. “There are neither farms nor ranches to the east of the Farrendell River, my friend.”
Arnaud laughed as well. “I know. As you can guess, he is not a man to offend. Still, you must join us. I covet your opinion on some of the matters we will be discussing.”
“Very well.”
“Good, I must attend to some things before my advisors throw a royal fit. Do you still know your way around? The room you stayed in before should still be the way you left it. You can rest there. I believe even your wardrobe is still intact. If it’s not, just call for Tucker and he will find you something appropriate to wear.”
“I would not want to bother him…” Brant began but Arnaud cut him off.
“He would not be bothered at all, I promise you.”
Brant retired to his old room. It was, as Arnaud had said, almost exactly as he had left it. Brant opened the wardrobe and found that it indeed still contained several of the outfits the tailor had made for him.
“I should have known,” Brant muttered, shaking his head. “I haven’t set foot in this castle in three years, but the palace staff kept my room up on the chance that I might return. That’s royalty for you, Brant. That’s what you left.”
Exhausted from his long ride through the night, Brant lay down on the bed and slept deeply. A few hours later, a servant knocked on the door to tell Brant that dinner was to be served shortly. Brant thanked the man and dressed in one of the splendid outfits from the wardrobe. He wondered at the ease with which he was able to feel comfortable in such attire, even though it had been years since he had worn anything so resplendent. He looked briefly into the large mirror, and then he made his way to the large dining room where Arnaud and his guests were waiting.
“Sir Nelstor, might I introduce an old friend? This is Brant,” Arnaud said as Brant entered the room. “Brant, this is Lord Nelstor of Peak’s Shadow, and this is his lovely daughter, Imojean.”
Brant bowed in greeting to Lord Nelstor and he took Imojean’s offered hand and kissed it gently. He began to straighten but his eyes met Imojean’s and he froze. Time seemed to have spun into a whirlpool and he felt as though he had stepped out of it for a moment and could now see it, swirling around him, but unable to touch him. The moment seemed to last for hours, though it was in truth only a few seconds, and it left him feeling dizzy and somewhat disoriented.
“…we sit down?” Arnaud’s voice broke into Brant’s world and he released the lady’s hand and pulled a chair out for her.
They sat, and Brant found himself seated across from Sir Nelstor’s daughter. He tried to avoid her gaze, but found it impossible. Her startled blue eyes kept glancing at him surreptitiously. Arnaud and Sir Nelstor were conversing about trade and profits and the best way to go about growing wheat, and what the market for wool would be in the coming year. Brant mostly listened, weighing in whenever it seemed appropriate, and trying in vain to ignore the bolts of lightning that struck him every time Imojean glanced his way.
The food arrived and Brant busied himself with eating, studying his meal with uncommon interest. The conversation turned from the troubles of the kingdom to the slightly lighter topic of the rumors that had been spreading about Pearl Cove and the Wanderer.
“What do you make of this Wanderer, Sir Nelstor?” Arnaud asked, leaning back in his chair.
“I think that when the people grow weary of their hardships they turn to myths for comfort,” Sir Nelstor said casually. “I have even heard tales that the Wanderer is the ghost of King Llian returned!”
“I’ve heard that tale as well,” Brant said, his lips curving slightly. “Perhaps these rumors are not something that should be quenched, but rather encouraged. If the people believe the new kin
g has the support of his predecessors, then perhaps they will find it enough reason to put their faith in him as well.”
“What are you suggesting?” Arnaud asked, now curious.
“Perhaps the Wanderer need not be a myth,” Brant continued earnestly. “Perhaps he should be turned into reality, at least, for the people. If you were to name a champion, he could carry the royal standard through the land. He could uphold the law and deal out justice to those who transgress against it. This champion could be a true protector of the people, under the authority of the king, a symbol to the people that their king desires their safety and esteems their well-being as something worth fighting for. It may not hurt for the people to steep such a figure in myth and legend, so that when he appears, it is you, Sire, whom they applaud.”
Sir Nelstor looked properly impressed. “Now that is an idea, Your Majesty, though I am thinking this champion ought to be constrained under some kind of oath of loyalty, his sole aim to be that of protection of the common people, so that he does not become a tyrant himself.”
Arnaud nodded slowly. “Brant, this is indeed the very plan Garen presented to me this afternoon. Sir Nelstor, I had intended to discuss this with Brant alone, but I would love to gain your feedback as well, if you are willing.”
“Who would you choose for such a task?” Sir Nelstor asked, indicating his eager willingness to discuss the topic. “It would have to be someone worthy of your trust.”
Arnaud looked at Brant, a light in his eyes. “I know just the man.”
The servants arrived to clear away the meal and Arnaud looked at Brant. “Sir Nelstor and I must discuss matters of business now, and I am sure that the Lady Imojean would be quite bored with our talk, perhaps you could escort her out into the gardens?”
Brant nodded. He understood instantly that while Arnaud trusted him to listen to the conversation, Lord Nelstor might not. He was not really all that interested in Nelstor’s business plans, and he did not want to seem rude by refusing to escort a lady at the king’s request. “It would be my pleasure.”
He stood and offered his arm to Imojean and she took it, keeping her eyes cast down shyly. Arnaud and Nelstor retired to Arnaud’s study, not seeming to notice the awkwardness of either Brant or Imojean. Brant led the way to the garden, which was indeed a treasure of Aom-igh. He felt as though he ought to say something, but he did not know what, so he kept silent. They walked along the pathway, silently admiring the beauty of the well-kept maze of flowers and trees.
Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2) Page 40
