“How long have you known the king?” Imojean finally broke the silence.
“A long time. We practically grew up together as brothers,” he said, amending the truth only slightly.
“Ah. Is… is it true he had no knowledge of his heritage until King Jairem named him as heir to the throne?”
“True indeed,” Brant said, his eyes twinkling as he remembered that day which now seemed so long ago. “None was more surprised that day than Arnaud himself.”
The silence now broken, they walked along talking pleasantly. They shared their favorite songs and stories. Brant told her about the years he had spent with Arnaud and his family, and Imojean regaled him with stories from her childhood. Brant was amazed at the ease he suddenly felt with this young woman. It seemed to him he had known her all his life and he suddenly felt he could tell her anything. After a time they grew tired of walking, so they found a bench to sit on that was placed picturesquely near a fountain.
“It is strange,” she said softly gazing about the garden, “how comfortable I am talking to you, and yet, you are a stranger to me.”
“I am unfamiliar with Peak’s Shadow,” Brant said, trying to ignore her comment. “What is it like?”
Her eyes sparkled as she thought of her home. “It’s a quiet village that lies beneath the shadow of Mount Theran. It is the first village on the far side of the Mountains of Dusk. There is a series of tiny lakes running throughout the valley, connected by streams that water the crops and the livestock…” she paused, as though unsure of how to describe it. “Life there is slower, gentle and unhurried like the winding of the little creek that runs through our pasture. My father is the wealthiest rancher in Aom-igh, or at least that is what some claim, but we don’t live like it. Our house is no bigger than our neighbors’ houses. Our life is simple and quiet.”
“It sounds ideal.”
“I love it.”
“We should be getting back inside,” Brant said, “it has grown quite late.”
“Just a moment more,” Imojean said quietly, “the stars are so bright, and I… I enjoy sitting here with you.”
“Your father will be wondering what has become of us, and I would not like to cause him worry.”
She nodded reluctantly, and he helped her stand. Together they returned to the palace walking at a leisurely pace. Arnaud and Sir Nelstor were standing and talking in the dining room when Brant and Imojean came in.
“Ah, there you are,” Arnaud said. “I trust my lady found the gardens to her liking?”
“They are every bit as beautiful as I have heard,” Imojean said, and blushed a bit.
“I was just trying to convince your father to stay the night and take up the journey in the morning; the roads are treacherous in the dark,” Arnaud said.
Sir Nelstor shook his head. “I will take the armed escort that you offer,” he said, “but I need to get home and the journey is long.”
“Very well then, Sir Nelstor,” Arnaud said. “I bid you safe journey and great joy when you once more cross your own threshold.”
“I thank you, Majesty, your hospitality has been most kind and generous,” Sir Nelstor said, and then he turned and clasped Brant’s hand. “A true pleasure meeting you, young man,” he said warmly.
“And you,” Brant returned.
Imojean thanked Arnaud as well, commenting again on the beauty of his gardens, and then she turned to Brant. “I hope we will meet again soon,” she said softly.
“And I,” Brant returned. “Safe journey to you, Lady Imojean.”
“Farewell, Sir Brant.”
After Sir Nelstor and his daughter had left to collect their horses, Arnaud turned to Brant. The high regard his friend had shown for Sir Nelstor’s daughter had not gone unnoticed, but Arnaud felt it was something he could not tease about.
“I would like to speak with you about your idea.”
“Yes?”
Brant and Arnaud walked through the garden into the wee hours of the morning as they continued their dinner conversation.
“When Garen proposed this idea to me earlier today I had intended to send for you, but had no idea where to look. Your showing up at my door to present the same plan... the timing is uncanny. I am convinced that this concept of a King’s Warrior would be effective. As I mentioned earlier, Garen said this post was established prior to King Jairem. I would love to restore this symbol and entrust its grave responsibility to your care, if you are willing.”
“I hoped that would be the task you asked of me.”
“I have missed you, my friend. The burden of the king is great. I trust you like no other, and am glad that our countrymen will join me in that trust. They may not know my brother, Brant, but I think they are already devoted to their fabled Wanderer.”
“Your Majesty is discerning.”
“Don’t ‘Your Majesty’ me, Brant!” Arnaud exclaimed in mock horror, but he could not disguise his laughter. “You can’t know how much I hate it, and from you it sounds truly horrible. To you, I am simply Arnaud. Promise me.”
“It is good to know that some things never change.”
“What do you need from me, and when can you start?”
Brant hesitated an instant. “There is something I must attend to first. I need two weeks.”
Arnaud nodded. “That will be perfect. There is much we need to discuss, and documentation that I need to provide you with to ensure not only your effectiveness, but also your safety. There are others in authority who will need to know who you are and the responsibility you bear. Other than that, your identity will remain secret, though the fable will certainly continue to grow. Hurry back when your task is completed. Thank you, my friend, for returning in our time of need. By the way... where are you going?”
“There is no time. I must leave now. I promise I will be back in two weeks.”
Arnaud raised an eyebrow quizzically, but he asked no more questions. Brant did not answer what went unasked as he strode out to the stables where his horse was being kept.
“I’ll be back in time, I promise!” he called over his shoulder.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
“… to uphold the crown, to protect the people, and to raise my sword only in defense of those who cannot defend themselves,” Brant concluded, as he knelt in the rain.
Out loud, he was repeating the words of the oath Arnaud had come up with for him. In his mind, however, he was simply repeating the words of another Oath, one that was wound so deeply into the fabric of his being that he could sooner chop off his own sword arm than break it: courage, purity, truth, and honor: these things will I walk with and give my life to uphold, I swear this by my blood and by my sword. Rain dripped down his face and ran into his eyes. It was cold, but Brant ignored it.
Much to Arnaud’s dismay the morning had dawned dismally. The sky was overcast and rain drizzled down as though the clouds were wet rags being wrung out by giant hands. Brant was surprised to see the fellow warriors who had gathered to witness this peculiar ‘knighting’ ceremony. It had been so long since the position of King’s Warrior had been filled. Nobody alive had ever seen this ceremony before, and witnessing it would be a rare honor.
As Brant finished repeating the oath, he offered Arnaud his sword. The weapon lacked ornamentation. Arnaud had tried to persuade him to use another one for the ceremony, but Brant had refused, claiming that his was the sword of a warrior and servant to his king and country. Arnaud took the offered weapon and swept it up and then down on either of Brant’s shoulders with a flourish.
“The highest rank I can grant I do bestow upon thee: that title of King’s Warrior. Such shalt thou be known by,” Arnaud said grandly. “Rise, Sir Brant, I bid thee.”
Brant stood and the sky let loose. The downpour that had been threatening all morning suddenly fell in torrents, drenching everyone in the courtyard. The warriors remained at attention, enduring the onslaught, awaiting their command.
Brant and Arnaud shook hands, staring at each other with smirks of exasperation, then turned and released the knights to seek shelter and warmth at the reception intended for them.
Brant made his way through the warriors and accepted their congratulations, but did not stay to speak with anyone. He had a job to do, and he wanted to begin that work directly. He met Arnaud in the chamber where the king conducted all his matters of business and they stood together before a great map while outside the storm raged furiously beating against the window as if angered at the audacity of anyone daring to sit inside where it was warm, dry, and safe while it was whirling across the land. Arnaud leaned forward and watched as Brant began to point out where the seheowks were most likely to attack, and which spots would benefit most from the presence of the warriors. After offering several recommendations, Brant stopped.
“Perhaps I should explain seheowks to you first, you cannot fight an enemy you know nothing about,” he said. “Seheowks are creatures of darkness; they were created before the reign of the first High King during the Mystic Wars.”
Arnaud shook his head in confusion. “High Kings? Mystic Wars?”
Brant sighed. “Forgive me; I will start at the beginning. The High Kings, as far as I can figure out, were appointed by prophecy or great deeds that held no equal. They were like the kings we see today, with one exception, they answered to all the lands and had no ruling power. Their palace was on Emnolae...”
“Emnolae?” Arnaud interrupted again.
Brant paused, frustrated yet again with the lack of knowledge those in Aom-igh had about anything outside their own borders. “Emnolae is a country like Aom-igh or Roalthae or Iolanver, but it lies far towards the east, it is… how should I describe it? It is in the center. Think of all the land and sea that you know and assume it is on the edge of a great circle and if you were to travel to the center of that circle you would find the land called Emnolae. Anyway, whenever there is an enemy that threatens every land equally, a High King seems to rise up. ‘King,’ from what I’ve studied, seems to be a bit of a misnomer, as they don’t actually rule anything, ‘Protector’ would be more apt. The position only lasts as long as the current titleholder lives, dying with him. I think the word ‘King’ was a sign of respect, and sometimes other kings would take difficult decisions to a High King and ask his advice... I don’t understand it all myself.”
Arnaud’s eyes were clouded and puzzled. “It is much to grasp in a moment, forgive me for being slow but all of this is foreign to me.”
Brant exhaled loudly, frustrated by his lack of ability to explain these things to his friend. “Surely you know the legends of King Artair?”
“Yes, everyone knows that. He was the king of Aom-igh before Llian. The first foreign king Aom-igh ever had. The stories don’t tell where he came from, but when he arrived he pulled a magical sword from the top of Fortress Hill, reigned for four years, then sailed away from our shores in the year six thousand seven hundred eighty-eight, and was never heard of again.”
“Never heard of again in Aom-igh,” Brant corrected. “But in six thousand seven hundred eighty-nine, Artair defeated Maelogan, a creature of vast power who threatened every land, including Aom-igh. After that battle, Artair was named High King and settled in the palace of Emnolae, which is why he never returned to Aom-igh. He was the last of the High Kings. Some say the High Kings are gone forever, some believe they will return - neither argument matters at the moment, though.”
“I always wondered if there was more to the legend of Artair.”
“Much more, and the story is more than legend as well, it is history, but that can keep for the moment. Now, before there were kings and High Kings, it was wizards who were the ruling force in the world. If you go back far enough, you find that the first rulers of the lands were the dragons. There was a great battle for power among the myth-folk and eventually the dragons were dethroned because even they could not fight the combined powers of the rest of the myth-folk and the humans,” Brant was silently and suddenly thankful that although Aom-igh retained barely any knowledge of the outside world, it did remember the myth-folk and the magic that had turned into legend and superstition in Llycaelon.
Arnaud gazed piercingly at his friend. “How do you know all this?”
“Much of this I learned during my time in Pearl Cove. The wizardess who guards that realm filled in many gaps in my knowledge.”
Arnaud still looked troubled, but all he said was, “Continue.” Brant knew his friend still had many questions, but Arnaud did not ask the questions and Brant let them go unanswered.
“When the dragons fell from power the wizards took over the rule of the lands. These wizards were wise and very powerful, much more powerful than even Scelwhyn, who by comparison only retained perhaps a fragment of the knowledge and power that the wizards of old once held.
“Most wizards tried to rule fairly and they used their power to further the good of everyone. However, there was a faction of wizards who wanted only what was in their own best interests. Their only aspiration was to expand their own power. Such is the lure of magic, and those with great power are sorely tempted to use it to further their own ends. Eventually there was a war: a long, horrific battle in which all the peoples of all the nations came together and fought the dark wizards. Mind, the dark wizards had their allies as well, but mostly they ended up creating their own armies from shadows and bits of unwanted darkness. This is how the seheowks, and other monsters, were born. Dread creatures, who slip among the shadows in utter silence, unseen unless it serves their purpose to be spotted, they are barely alive, fashioned as they are by magic and shadow.
“Unfortunately, at the end of the war there were hardly any wizards left, the dark wizards had been defeated and utterly destroyed, but only at a terrible price. The good wizards had lost a horrifying number as well, and they went into hiding for their own protection. With no one left to command the seheowks and their kind, or to send them back to the darkness they had sprung from, they scattered, hiding from their enemies and biding their time until the moment arrives when they might rise up again.”
“So how do we fight them?” Arnaud asked, breathlessly caught up in the story.
“With fire and light. They can be killed with normal weapons, but it is light they fear above all else. They shy away from it with mortal fear.”
“I will spread the word immediately,” Arnaud promised, he looked as though he wanted to say more, but he stayed silent. He nodded at the maps again. “I understand my enemy a little better, so where should I be focusing my troops and my strength?”
Brant pointed to critical locations on the map, teaching Arnaud varying tactics he could use. Arnaud proved to be a quick learner with a natural gift for strategy. He questioned and made adjustments to Brant’s ideas, sometimes improving them, sometimes just testing them to see if he might figure out how to counter such a strategy were it to be used against him. They worked late into the afternoon on the kingdom’s defenses, not even pausing for lunch.
Brant glanced up at the darkening window of the room and stretched. “I must be going shortly,” he said with a yawn. “I have shown you what I know of defending the borders, and you have command of strategy superior to my own. I cannot linger any longer.”
Arnaud looked weary. “Eat something before you leave,” he urged. He wrinkled his brow for a moment and looked as though he was about to ask another question, but then he seemed to think better of it and remained silent.
Brant appreciated Arnaud’s silence, wondering at the restraint his friend had showed all afternoon and even now by not speaking. He knew Arnaud was full of questions about how he knew so much, it was obvious that he did not believe Brant had learned all of this from Calyssia, but Brant was not ready to answer those questions. He had trusted only one with his story, and even now he wondered if such a decision had been a wise one. He had worked so hard to hide his past, to disappear from the world he had once known and make a new
life for himself here in Aom-igh. Brant halted his train of thought, there was no use second-guessing himself, the Keeper of the Cove knew his story and there was no changing that now.
“I cannot stay longer. I must be far away by morning.”
Arnaud clasped Brant’s hand. “Safe journeys to you then, I wish I were sending you out on a happier mission, but that cannot be.”
Brant picked up a sack of food from the kitchens and then headed out to the stables where his horse was waiting. He mounted swiftly and rode off into the rain, face set, expression grim. There was a new threat on the roads, one that he determined to make known soon.
❖ ❖ ❖
“It was not your fault,” Llewana spoke softly, coming up behind her husband and putting her arms around him.
Seamas was standing at the gravesite, where Llewana had known he would be. He came here every day since their daughter’s burial, and Llewana was growing worried about him. She watched him sink into the past more each day and she was powerless to stop it. She believed it was more than Faeyna’s death for which Seamas irrationally blamed himself. There was something else, something deeper, that he seemed to be brooding about, and he came to the tiny grave every day and stayed longer each time, wrapped in a dark cloud of sorrow, anger, and pain that was so thick it was almost visible. He flinched at her light touch and turned to face her, his dark eyes filled with an anguish that cut her to the heart.
“Jhasen could have saved her,” he whispered in a tone filled with agony that she did not understand. “Gavin told me that Jhasen could have saved her. How then is this not my fault?”
Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2) Page 41
