Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2)

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

Llewana shook her head wordlessly, feeling as though she had interrupted a long and involved conversation but had missed a key phrase that might have helped her decipher what she was hearing. “I don’t understand.”

  Seamas gave a short bark of laughter and the wildness in his eyes sent a shiver of terror through Llewana. “No, you would not.”

  “Seamas,” Llewana pleaded, “come home. Come back to me. I need you,” she fumbled for words, her green eyes filling with tears, she gestured helplessly at the tiny mound. “Seamas, she is beyond needing you. Cease this vigil; it can only cause more grief.”

  “I killed her,” Seamas’ voice was full of all the sorrow a human heart could hold.

  “No, no you did not!”

  “I killed them all,” Seamas continued. “Jhasen, Rhoyan, my father, Faeyna… all of them,” he broke off and gazed down at Llewana, there was no emotion in his dark eyes, he could have been staring straight through her for all that he seemed to see her. “You married a monster, Llewana,” he said, his voice flat and cold.

  The gaze and the words sent a chill through her and she knew he was slipping away, retreating deep within himself. She felt a surge of desperation and she clung to him to protect her, even though it was he that frightened her so. “I do not believe that! I will never believe that.”

  She stared up at him, her green eyes searching for a hint of recognition in his face. After a moment he seemed to see her, as if for the first time since she had arrived. Pain crossed his face and she could see him returning from wherever he had been. She was encouraged by his softening expression, but the fear in her heart lingered. She wondered if anything would ever truly be all right again.

  “I should have died, not her. She was innocent of my crimes,” Seamas seemed almost to be talking to himself or to someone who was not there and Llewana clutched his arm, staring up at him in a mixture of concern and fear.

  “Aptly named, Faeyna,” he continued. “Flitting through this world like a fairy on borrowed time. She was one who could not stay here long, too perfect for this world. My child, my child! Jhasen could have saved you, but Jhasen is dead, and it is upon my head that his death must fall,” he whispered, so quietly Llewana almost missed his words.

  Llewana’s breath caught as she finally understood. Seamas stared down at her dully, waiting for her reproachful look, but it did not come. Instead she embraced him tenderly, leading him away from the little gravesite and back to their home. He allowed himself to be led, healed in part by the purity of his wife’s love, and he visited his daughter’s grave no more.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  King Arnaud rode down to his men. He had striven long and hard to put into place the defenses he and Brant had discussed. The Toreth shone above him and every sense was on alert, for nighttime was when seheowks were the most dangerous. His eyes searched for moving bits of darkness, his ears strained to alert him to the slightest sound, and he rode warily but confidently.

  The knights saluted as he rode among them. He nodded to them, accepting their loyalty and respect with solemnity. In his first years as king he had won their open admiration for his determination in the training yard, and had maintained their devotion in more recent times with his skill, courage, and quick thinking under pressure. The seheowks were growing stronger, and the inevitable battle was looming closer. Arnaud had long known that this war against the creatures of shadow would come to this: a final struggle, a battle where the whole war would be decided, and the victors would claim Aom-igh as theirs. Knowing this, Arnaud had decided to join the fight along with his men. Some had tried to dissuade him from such a course, but Arnaud was firm in his decision.

  “I will not try to persuade you to stay safe in the palace, Milord,” Garen said as they rode out together, “but I would ask you to remember your duty to your people. If you are killed, there will be none to look after them, as you have no heir. Perhaps you are correct when you say we should not put your safety above the safety of the land, and perhaps you are also right in wanting to fight among your men, they need you to be visible, and they need to know that you have not abandoned them, but I also say that Aom-igh’s safety is bound up with yours. I respectfully ask you to remember that.”

  Arnaud bowed to this wisdom and allowed Garen to stay close at hand for his own protection. He restrained himself from riding at the front of every skirmish, allowing the knights to battle as they had been trained to do. He knew they could not fight freely if they were also worrying about protecting their king. For many of the smaller engagements, Arnaud directed from the back of the army. He planned out the battles, moved the men around, and tried to stay one step ahead of the enemy. He became the rudder that guided the huge ship, and he even found a measure of contentment, though he ached to be more involved in the fight.

  Arnaud expressed his frustration to Garen, “It is not a longing for death,” Arnaud explained, “but rather for action, I know how much I am doing back here, directing and leading, but I feel useless just the same.”

  “I know the feeling, Majesty,” Garen chuckled. “I can assure you it is normal, such is the longing of youth, and I have felt it myself. Do not worry; we will see enough action before this is all over.”

  “Just you keep me from doing anything foolish, and perhaps we will also live to see this war ended,” Arnaud joked.

  “We will, Your Majesty, I promised my wife that I would return to her.”

  “How is Shoshanna?”

  “I left her well, she is expecting our first child and has promised me that I will return to find a son.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, Sire. And what of your own plans to wed? Have you decided on when?”

  “We have delayed our plans a little. Our wedding will take place as soon as the borders are safe again.”

  “I hope…” but whatever Garen was going to say was lost, for a horn trumpeted, shattering the silence of the night.

  Arnaud drew his sword. “The enemy has broken through,” he said, reading the warning of the horn. “Come!”

  He ran from the tent and leaped onto his horse. A quick command caused the horse to wheel about and break into a canter, Arnaud hunched over his horse’s neck, riding in the direction of the horn that was still sounding its chilling warning. Garen followed close behind on his own horse, holding a lit torch in one hand and a sword in his other. His horse wore no bridle, for Garen had taught his mount to respond to his knees and his voice so he could keep both hands free in a fight.

  Together the two men flew to answer the call of the horn. The watch post was located on the far side of the great camp, several miles down the coast. When they arrived at the place where the horn had sounded they found that the signal had been a relay and that the real trouble was at the outpost down near the edge of the Harshlands. A messenger had arrived at the watch post bearing the news that they had come under heavy attack. “The enemy is swarming our camp by the hundreds, more numbers in one place than we’ve ever seen!” the messenger gasped. Arnaud and Garen shared a grim look.

  “Well then, we must make haste,” Arnaud said to the sentry. “Unless I miss my guess, tonight we shall fight the final battle of this war and decide the fate of our country.”

  The sentry nodded and then rode quickly away. Arnaud spotted a young squire and called him over. “You, Justan, I need you to carry a message. Find Brant, he should be leading a patrol near the palace. Follow the river until you find him and tell him we need help immediately at the Harshlands Outpost.”

  “Yes, Sire!” the boy raced off to find a horse.

  “Of course they would make their attack there, why did I not see it? That is our weakest point; I had not thought to put more men there because of the natural defenses of the Harshlands!” Arnaud ground his teeth in frustration. “I should not have relied so much on those natural defenses; the Harshlands are dangerous, but others have made it safely across them before.” He looked up and saw the look of warning on his
advisor’s face, and he knew that Garen had guessed at what he was going to do.

  “They cannot wait for reinforcements,” Arnaud said.

  “I know.”

  “The safety of the kingdom...”

  “Aye, this move of the enemy’s could endanger everything.”

  “We must fly.”

  Garen’s face was grim and looked eerie in the flickering torch light. “I follow you, Milord.”

  Arnaud grinned suddenly in the blackness of the night. He yelled a battle cry, kicking his horse into a run and racing into battle. Garen followed as well, and the two horses sped through the darkness of the night like winged beasts. Their hooves flashed in the dim light of the stars and Arnaud felt a thrill course through him.

  The outpost was only a few miles away, but it still seemed to take much too long to reach his men. They arrived to find a furious battle raging between the knights and the seheowks. Arnaud drew his horse to a halt and stared in horror, having never seen so many of the creatures in one place. The knights were battling bravely, but the seheowks had vast numbers and were slowly overwhelming the men. The knights were struggling, that was clear enough. Their strength had been sapped by their enemy’s numbers, and in a short time they had seen too many of their comrades fall. Their hearts had begun to despair and the sentry had even ceased to blow the horn that alerted the main camp of the attack. The knights were fighting valiantly, but they were weakened and exhausted and, most dangerous of all, they were disheartened. They had begun to accept the fact that they would die here and that no one would come to their aid.

  Arnaud took all of this in at a glance. He saw the waning strength of his men and the increasing number of seheowks that sprang up even as they were cut down. For his part, there was never any hesitation, never any question of what he would do. He had determined that he would fight for his country and die if need be, and that determination did not waver for an instant, even now as he saw clearly for the first time what he was up against.

  Arnaud lifted his sword defiantly and shouted out his battle cry. “For Aom-igh! For Aom-igh!”

  As his voice thundered across the battlefield the knights stared at him in disbelief. In their last moments of defeat even nature seemed to have turned against them for it had begun to rain; and now, here came a terrifying figure atop a dark, prancing horse, flying down into their midst. The rain sparkled about his drawn sword and as he shouted the familiar battle cry silver lights folded about him. The hearts of the knights lifted and they took up their arms, fighting back now with the strength they had thought spent.

  “The king!” one soldier shouted. “For the king!”

  “The king!” the rest took up the cry, and for the first time, the enemy seemed to shrink back in fear.

  Arnaud and Garen urged their horses into the fray, swinging their swords left and right, cutting the enemy down where they stood. The dark creatures reached for them hungrily, but Garen’s torch held them back. They shied away from the dreaded light in terror, but it only held them back for seconds. They leapt at the horses’ legs, keeping well away from the circle of light, their fangs glittering evilly in the darkness. Garen swung his horse about urging it to lash out at their enemies with its hooves. The horse, terrified by the creatures anyway, never hesitated. The four hooves became flashing instruments of death and the seheowks howled into the night.

  The soldiers shouted in triumph as they saw how Garen had dispatched his attackers, and the battle raged on furiously, the tide turning once more. The clash of weapons rang out into the night and the battle noise grew and spread as the seheowks found themselves pressed back against the ocean. Arnaud’s hand tightened grimly on the reins of his horse, this would not be the easy raid his enemy had expected.

  Arnaud swung his horse around and pulled a lit cresset from the ground. Then he charged into the enemy again, swinging the metal container like a mace, bringing it down into the dark, twisted faces of the attacking creatures. The exhausted knights rallied to their king and let out a tremendous shout of triumph as they redoubled their efforts, their spirits renewed. It was in that hour that Arnaud became their true king. The moment he flew into battle to help his men, the instant they recognized him and rallied around him; picking up the weapons that had grown so heavy and lifting their hearts that had almost despaired, in that moment, all doubts cleared and Arnaud gained a kingdom.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Brant paused at a stream to take a drink of water. He had spent much of the past few months traveling through towns and cities, hunting down the dangerous leaders of the crime guilds and putting a stop to their trade. He had also hunted down and rid the land of several small groups of seheowks that had crept inside the outer borders of Aom-igh. But his solitary adventures had been halted recently when Arnaud sent out word that he needed Brant to return to the palace and take up leadership in his army until the greater threat of the seheowk invasion had been dealt with.

  Brant and a group of two hundred mounted knights were patrolling the eastern border of Aom-igh. They had encountered no enemies in weeks, but a strange sense of foreboding was growing in Brant’s thoughts. It was too still, too calm, and their enemies were too quiet; it could not mean anything good. He had been leading his men further south each day, grudgingly following an instinct that was pulling him south to the Harshlands.

  A great splashing sound to his right ignited Brant into action. He drew a dagger and leapt after the sound, grabbing the creator of the noise and holding his dagger to the figure’s throat.

  “Who are you and what are you doing so close to our camp?” Brant demanded.

  “Please... sir... I... I... I... King Arnaud sent me!”

  Brant released the man quickly and sheathed his dagger. A glance showed him that it was just a boy, about ten or eleven years old.

  “What do you mean charging into a camp of knights without warning?” Brant asked, helping the lad out of the stream. “Don’t you know how dangerous that could be?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What is your name, lad?”

  “Justan, sir.”

  “Well, Justan. What is your errand?”

  “I was looking for you, Sir Brant. King Arnaud sent me. There is a battle at the Harshlands Outpost – seheowks and everything and they need help. ‘Find Brant’ he said, that’s what King Arnaud said to me, ‘find Brant.’ So here I am! You must come, Sir, you must bring your men to help! The other troops are too far away, patrolling other weak spots around the borders, or all the way back at the palace.” The boy gasped out his words without stopping for breath. “That’s why I was running so fast, Sir! I couldn’t stop to give warning.”

  Brant took all of this in as the youth spoke. When the boy had finished speaking Brant put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done well.” He ordered food and drink for the fearless young lad. “Eat up and rest while you can,” he said. “Get ready for a hard ride, your mission is not yet complete. We ride to join the king within the hour, and you must carry the word to the troops at the palace.”

  Justan nodded and attacked the food and water. Brant strode to his tent and retrieved a horn. He blew three short, sharp blasts, and the camp became a flurry of activity. The knights knew what his signal meant: it was time to gear up for battle. Armor clinked and horses were made ready. They were to carry only food, torches, flint and steel, and their weapons. Everything else was to be left behind.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  “Sire, we cannot hold,” Garen’s breath was coming in gasps as he and the king fell back behind the safety of the archers for a brief respite. They had constructed a barricade, of sorts during the battle, fortifying it against the enemy army and using it as a kind of shelter. Twilight was ending, night was coming again, and with the darkness they knew the strength of their enemy would be renewed.

  “We must,” Arnaud said quietly, and his voice was grim. “We must hold until help comes, if we fall back now we are lost
.”

  “We must face the fact that help is not coming,” Garen said sadly. “If others were coming they would be here by now.”

  “Brant will come,” Arnaud said stubbornly, “and he will bring his men with him. Justan’s a smart lad, he’ll have found Brant’s camp by now.”

  “I know, My Liege,” Garen’s voice was tired, “but he might have traveled north, back towards the palace, and Justan may not be able to reach him in time. We must face the facts: help may not be as close as you want it to be.”

  “I have to believe that he’s coming,” Arnaud spoke in that tone of dogged stubbornness he had become known for, “I have to. And you must believe it too, if we lose hope, we are defeated. Brant…”

  “Your Majesty called?” the deep voice cut off Arnaud’s weary sentence.

  “Brant!” Garen breathed the name as if he was not sure even now that the apparition was real.

  Arnaud’s relief was evident. “Justan found you then?”

  Brant nodded. “I sent him back to the palace to bring reinforcements. They can be here in a day or two. I brought my company. How bad is it?”

  “We have lost many, too many. I fear that even you and your men are too late. These creatures…” Arnaud trailed off for a moment. “They are not easily killed. I fear we cannot win this fight. The men are tired and there are so many dead. If we lose here, we lose everything.”

  “So, it is to be one last stand. There can be no retreat, is that what you are saying?”

  Arnaud did not have to answer, the look on his face confirmed Brant’s fears. He stared off into the darkness. The ground was already scorched by multiple fires that had been lit to keep the seheowks back. Bodies littered the ground. The men who remained held their weapons loosely, too tired to care if they stood or fell.

  “The time for strategy is past, and the time for brute force has arrived. We have brought torches, tell every man to carry one into a final thrust at the enemy,” Brant’s voice was confident and strong, and there was no hint of fear. “Do you have the strength?”