“She deserves more than that,” he murmured happily to himself as he scratched out the plans for his house on the ground.
Brant had been true to his word to prove he was willing to work hard, not only for Sir Nelstor, but for anyone else in the town of Peak’s Shadow who needed a hand and was willing to pay for a few hours of work. He even worked for no pay at times, because he had been taught long ago never to ignore a call for help. He fixed porches for widows and mended a leaky roof for a couple that was too poor to even buy the supplies they needed. He was always the first man there when someone needed a helping hand. As a result, Brant found himself held in high regard throughout this village he would soon call home. He had never felt so content in all his life. He believed he truly could find peace at last, as long as Imojean was there beside him. He looked forward each day to spending the evening with her and her father. Each evening he dined with them, and then rode back into town. Brant was staying at an inn and paying for his room and board by doing whatever chores the innkeeper needed to have done.
Word of Brant and Imojean’s engagement had spread rapidly, and most of the inhabitants of Peak’s Shadow were eager to meet the man who had finally won the heart of Sir Nelstor’s daughter. The people of Peak’s Shadow were perhaps a trifle suspicious, but they took an instant liking to this quiet man who worked so hard and so well at everything he did. Without quite knowing how it happened, Brant soon found himself surrounded by friends.
“Finally starting your house?” Jens Jonston asked, coming up next to Brant and smiling down at his soon-to-be neighbor’s drawing.
Brant nodded.
“I’m sure you’re growing impatient,” Jens replied. “I remember what it was like when my wife and I were getting married.”
“Well, I begin building today.”
Jens clapped him on the back. “Need an extra pair of hands? Mine are willing.”
“I won’t turn down any help that’s offered,” Brant said.
Brant borrowed a cart from Sir Nelstor and went into town to get the supplies that he had been slowly accumulating to build his home. Everyone he met offered to help, and by the time the Dragon’s Eye had reached the zenith, half the town was working on Brant’s house. Brant gazed about in wonder, trying to figure out why all these people were helping him. He recognized every face, the town of Peak’s Shadow was not large, and he had worked for just about everyone who lived there. Slowly Brant realized that he had become one of them. He was no longer just a guest or a visitor, but a part of the community. He had been accepted and drawn in. Smiling, Brant stood next to one of his neighbors and helped to raise one of the sturdy logs that would soon be a part of the doorframe. His muscles strained and the heat of the Dragon’s Eye beat down on his back and it felt good.
❖ ❖ ❖
Jemson had seen ten seasons come full cycle when his father decided it was time for the boy to learn more about the country he would one day rule. One morning at breakfast, Seamas announced that he was going to take the boy riding to the borders to speak with the aethalons. Llewana was not particularly pleased with this idea, thinking it too dangerous, but she was thrilled to see Seamas looking more like his old self than he had in months, or rather, years.
“We’ll go check in with Tobias,” Seamas said cheerfully. “He’s been at the forest outpost for a few weeks, overseeing their new commander.”
“May I ride with you?” Llewana asked.
The seheowks would never be entirely defeated, but in the more recent years they had been held back with a certain amount of success. None of the Border Patrols had been attacked in weeks, and it seemed as though the tides of war had turned in their favor. For the first time in years, a great burden seemed to have lifted from the king’s shoulders. He had eaten breakfast with his family that morning, and he even greeted Llewana with a kiss, which was more affection than he had shown in many long months. She had blushed prettily and gazed at him in wonder, her green eyes shining with a love that had never diminished.
“Yes, can Mother come?” Jemson asked enthusiastically. “Papa, she’s been teaching me to use a bow and arrow, I think she’s even better than my teachers!”
Seamas tousled the boy’s hair. “There’s no one better with a bow than your mama, son. Her archery skills are the reason we met.”
Llewana felt her heart grow warm as she watched her husband and son sitting at the breakfast table. Jemson’s enthusiasm bubbled over as he told his father about his latest studies. She felt as though suddenly they were the family she had yearned for them to be for so long. The darkness had lifted from Seamas’ brow. Shadows still lingered in his eyes, but for the present they seemed to have been dispersed. Llewana savored the moment, holding it close to herself, knowing that the memory of it would always comfort her, even if Seamas sank again into the cave of darkness in which he had been dwelling these past years.
Together, the three of them left the palace and rode out into the great forest heading in the direction of the first patrol outpost. Their guard rode with them, as always. Seamas and Llewana talked easily and Jemson rode about in front of them on his pony, investigating everything and anything that could catch a young boy’s attention. Llewana relaxed, enjoying the ride, happy simply to be with the two people she loved most in the world. The forest had always been a comforting place for Llewana, but she felt that it had never before been so beautiful to her. The leaf-covered branches sparkled in the light of the blazing Dragon’s Eye. The sky above them was bright blue and cloudless. The air itself almost seemed to have a golden glow about it as they rode along. Llewana felt as though nothing could be better than this moment in time. She breathed deeply, perfectly happy for the first time in longer than she could remember.
It happened so quickly there was barely any chance to react. Blinding pain made Llewana double over in agony. Her horse reared and she slid from its back in a state of shock. She heard Seamas’ voice raised in a shout. His voice was frantic. She wanted to lift her head to see what was happening, but a red haze swam before her eyes. Blackness threatened to overwhelm her, but she pushed it away clumsily. She needed to make sure her son was unharmed. There was confusion and loud noises all around her. She heard the clash of steel and growls or shouts. Then there was silence. The darkness threatened once more and Llewana was more frightened than she had ever been. Pain made her thoughts spin. She choked on a scream and began to sob. Hot, silent tears rolled down her face. Suddenly, out of the darkness, Seamas was there kneeling next to her and cradling her head. He was speaking but she could not make out the words. Her eyes found her son’s face, he was standing a few steps away, his eyes wide with fear.
“What, happened?” Llewana asked, her voice barely a whisper. Her head hurt and the world spun.
“Highwaymen,” Seamas answered quietly, “they attacked us. I dealt with them, do not worry. You’ve been hit, but the aethalons are camped just a few miles ahead. The guard has ridden to retrieve someone who can help. You’ll be fine. I promise you’ll be just fine.” He brushed her hair back from her face and she saw him clearly.
The dizzying impact of his words struck her like a blow and in that instant she knew how badly she had been hurt. “No,” Llewana tried to shake her head, but found that it was too painful. “No, Seamas, I won’t make it.”
His strong arms clutched her closer and she winced, feeling his pain as well as her own. He bent his head down over hers and she saw the look of anguished helplessness in his dark eyes. But there was another emotion in his eyes, and it was one that comforted her and wrapped around the pain, dulling its edge. In her husband’s eyes she saw his deep love for her, it was shining there, shimmering in his unshed tears. Despite the pain, she felt a strange joy at the knowledge that he still loved her. With one arm she reached up and brushed her hand against his face.
“I love you, Seamas,” she whispered. “I am… sorry…”
“No, there’s nothing to be sorry for, Dearest,” he said. “I
t is I who have been…”
She could feel herself slipping and she touched his lips, cutting him off. “Must tell you… secret… kept from you… forgive me,” her words came in starts as she struggled to speak between painful breaths.
“You shouldn’t try to talk, you need to save your strength,” Seamas whispered.
“It’s… too late for me,” Llewana gasped out. “I can tell... the arrows… were poisoned…” even as she spoke she could feel the burning of the poison as it was spreading through her body, paralyzing her and bringing the blackness back to her eyes. “Seamas…”
“Llewana,” Seamas murmured brokenly, “I…”
“No… your brother…Rhoyan…” she struggled wildly to finally tell him the secret that she had kept silent for so many years.
Seamas stared at her in confusion. “What about Rhoyan?”
“He… he’s not dead… I warned… him. He… sailed west… escaped. Do not… blame yourself… for his death… any longer. Forgive…” the blackness could no longer be held at bay and Llewana clutched Seamas’ hand wildly, struggling to stay long enough to say everything she needed to say. “Forgive…” her final word was lost as the darkness enveloped her and bore her away from her pain.
“Llewana!” Seamas cried out. “Llewana,” he whispered her name quietly, holding her head to his chest and rocking back and forth. The arrow that had taken her life seemed to have pierced Seamas’ heart as well.
“Father!” Jemson cried out, his voice filled with hope. “Tobias is here.”
Seamas looked up dully as his old friend approached. “She’s gone,” he said vacantly. At his father’s words, tears filled Jemson’s eyes and he crumpled to the ground in sorrow.
Tobias fell to his knees next to his king, anguish written across his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my friend.”
“Sorry,” Seamas whispered the word, shaking his head, as if he no longer understood what it meant.
They took Llewana’s body back to the castle to be buried next to her daughter. Seamas remained silent throughout the ceremony, bearing his grief alone, shutting himself away from those around him who also mourned the death of their queen. Jemson found himself being comforted by those who had once been a part of the famed King’s Helm. They had loved Llewana, for she had been their friend and comrade. Jemson was glad of their attempts to help, but it was his father from whom he most wanted comfort. He wanted his father to wrap him up in his arms and tell him everything would be just fine, that this was merely a terrible nightmare. His eyes traveled pleadingly to his father over and over again as several of the Aetoli lowered the body of the queen into the deep grave that had been dug, but there was no comfort to be found there. Seamas had walled himself in, pulling away from everyone, even his son.
Night fell, and Seamas suddenly came to himself as the chill wind touched his skin, making him shiver violently. He glanced around, realizing he was alone. The other mourners had silently crept away, leaving the king wrapped in his grief. Seamas felt an icy hand clutch his heart and he suddenly turned and ran inside, wanting only to find comfort in his own mother’s arms.
Queen Fiora was standing at the window of her room when Seamas entered her chamber. She did not turn to face him and he hesitated, belatedly remembering her madness. Her wild hair danced gently in the breeze that swept in through the open window, and her still-regal face was deeply lined with grief.
“Gone, all gone,” she said quietly, her melodic voice echoing about the room eerily. Then she did turn to face him, her eyes wide and staring, as though seeing something more than Seamas could see.
“Mother?” Seamas cried haltingly.
“My son?” Fiora’s eyes seemed to focus on Seamas’ face. “My boy?”
“Mother!” Seamas said, feeling for an instant that something was right in the world again; he flung himself into her arms.
Fiora sank down to the cold stone floor with Seamas in her arms and she patted his head absently. “Ah, no. Whose child are you, then? My baby, my boy is dead. Hush now, child. Where is your mother?”
Seamas pulled away, staring into his mother’s white face. “You are my mother!” he exclaimed, searching for a glimpse of what he thought he had seen, a hint that some memory remained in her. But whatever he had seen was gone, fled back into the dark corners of her crazed mind. Seamas bowed his head, his heart heavy.
“Send my boy home?” Fiora said quietly. “Find my Rhoyan? Please.”
Angrily Seamas stood, staring down at the woman who had once been his mother, she remained sitting on the floor, gazing about herself quietly. “That’s it, isn’t it?” Seamas spat the words out with all the bitterness he had ever felt at the cruel joke that had been played on him at his birth. “I was never good enough, never good, never enough! It was Rhoyan who was to become king, not I. It was Rhoyan who would save our kingdom; well, you and Father were wrong! I saved our kingdom, I saved us, but I couldn’t save anything else… I couldn’t save myself or anyone I loved...” he trailed off, anger and sorrow struggling for superiority, battling each other to see which could choke him first. “And Rhoyan, what did he do? He left! He could have faced me, but he was too afraid! He’s not dead, like we’ve thought all these years. He ran away! Your great hero ran from the kingdom, abandoned his responsibility, and abandoned his family! And yet you blame me! Well, I’ll find him, I’ll rub his face in the grief he caused, I’ll make him stare into the faces of all those whose lives he ruined and then I’ll kill him, I’ll kill him!”
Seamas clenched his hands into fists and stood there for a moment, breathing hard. Then he turned and stalked out of the room. His words echoed around the empty chamber, but Fiora did not hear them. She sat quietly, unaware of anything transpiring in the real world. When the door slammed behind Seamas, she did not even hear it.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
The child did not cry. He stared around the room with wide and wondering eyes, as though taking in everything he saw and storing it away for future contemplation. Brant stared down at the child and he felt a great joy welling up in his heart. Imojean gazed lovingly up at him, her face weary but bright with gladness. Brant’s heart felt as though it might burst as he held his son close in his arms. He looked into the tiny face and envisioned the man this child would someday grow into. The baby’s eyes were dark, like Brant’s, and there was a spark in them that Brant recognized.
“Here is a bundle of mischief just waiting to break loose,” he said. “We should call him Schea.”
“What does the name mean?” Imojean asked, she had discovered how much the meanings of names meant to her husband, and while she did not fully comprehend why, she was constantly attempting to understand.
“It means ‘mischievous youth,’” Brant replied, “a fitting name for any young boy, I think.”
“Schea,” Imojean said. “My son, Schea. It is a good name.”
Brant handed the baby to his wife. She looked at him questioningly, but he kissed her forehead gently. “Just something I have to do, I will be back in a few minutes.”
Going to a small door and opening it, Brant pulled a large wooden box out from one of the dark corners of the closet. He stared at it for a moment, then swept it up and took it outside. Picking up a shovel that was leaning against the garden gate, Brant strode away from the house. When he had gone about fifty paces, he stopped and put the box down. Putting the shovel to use, Brant began to dig a hole. When he had dug several feet down, he stopped. He was breathing hard, but it was not because of the work.
Kneeling, he opened the box one last time. Inside laid his sword and dagger, as well as his shield. On top of that was his shirt of chain mail and a leather vest with his own personal crest etched upon it. Over the years he had changed weapons and discarded mail and armor that was too rusted to salvage. Now, the sword and leather vest were all he retained of his former life in Llycaelon. He brushed the leather gently, it had not aged at all si
nce the day he had sewn the feather of the gryphon into it and he marveled at how precious a gift that had been. He touched each of the items gently.
“With these weapons I bury my past,” Brant said quietly, “I bury the King’s Warrior with these weapons, for he is no longer needed. I bury the last remnants of Rhoyan here as well. No longer am I Brant the warrior, the firebrand, the Wanderer. Now I am simply Brant: the man, the husband… the father.” He thought of his son and felt his heart was close to bursting with love he had never experienced before. “Now I have died twice,” he whispered, “but I have died this time that I may truly live and discover what life may be.”
With a new and unfamiliar lightness in his heart, he closed the box and set it carefully into the hole and covered it quickly. When he was finished, all that remained was a slight mound of dirt. Turning, Brant left the mound and the memories behind him. The Dragon’s Eye was setting behind the mountains and the warm house awaited him. Imojean was holding Schea and singing a quiet song as she rocked him back and forth in her arms. She looked up and gazed warmly at her husband as he entered the house. He clasped her hand in his own. He had finally come home.
EPILOGUE
Gazing up at the stars, the minstrel’s blue eyes twinkled. “And so the Dragon’s Eye rises and sets and another story ends.” He spoke softly to an invisible audience, or perhaps he merely mused to himself, but the look in his eyes was not mad. Instead, the gaze of the fool was uncommonly sharp and discerning.
Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2) Page 45
