Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2) Read online

  “It’s a good idea!” Master Yevo’s voice boomed out unexpectedly, startling both of the young princes. “A mock tournament would be a wonderful experience for the younger boys, and it would take some real dedication and practice to put it together. We can even have prizes for the champions like in real tournaments! A splendid idea!”

  “Really?” Rhoyan asked. “You really like it?”

  “Like it? I’m surprised I didn’t come up with it myself!” The arms master clapped his hands. “It will be held at the end of New-Term, in three months’ time.”

  “Thank you, thank you, Master Yevo!” Ky exclaimed.

  “No, thank you, my boy,” the seasoned warrior looked down at the young boys with affection. Then he looked serious again, “Now about that extra practice....”

  The two boys eagerly went to help each other into their practice armor. After retrieving their wooden swords, they returned to the practice arena where Master Yevo was waiting for them.

  “Practice makes perfect!” Master Yevo boomed happily.

  Master Yevo loved it when his students asked him for extra lessons and practice, and he especially enjoyed watching Ky and Rhoyan spar. These two were his favorite students, and not just because they were the sons of his king. Both boys had an abundance of natural talent in every area of their lessons, and both boys had a love for learning and a work ethic that made them a pleasure to teach. As they warmed up, Master Yevo watched them with an eye of appraisal, comparing their skills and noting the strengths and weaknesses of each. In this way, he would be able to tell them what they needed to work on.

  Ky was the older, and obviously the stronger of the two, but Rhoyan’s small stature made him quick and light on his feet and therefore difficult for his opponent to focus on. He darted about, never staying in one place long enough for Ky to take advantage of his greater strength. Ky often became frustrated when facing his brother; he was not used to the type of speed that his brother fought with, nor was he used to having to work for his victory. In addition to being quicker, Rhoyan was also the smarter swordsman of the two. His intelligence and speed saved him many a bruise on the practice field, but he lacked the aggression with which his older brother fought, preferring to simply defend. Yevo often found himself wishing that he could somehow meld the two boys into a single soldier. Together, the two boys were a matchless team, as the arms master had discovered the year before when he had pitted groups of ten or twelve of his students against the two princes. With Rhoyan’s battle sense and Ky’s aggression, passion, and strength, the other students had not had a chance.

  It would be interesting to watch them mature into warriors, Yevo thought. Ky’s ferocity with the sword could easily make him a very dangerous swordsman. Master Yevo hoped to teach the young prince to channel that ferocity and turn him into a deadly, but controlled, warrior. That spark of danger could not be found in Rhoyan, the younger boy was content to let his older brother be the leader, content to remain on the defensive, while Ky did all the attacking.

  The princes were good sparring partners, and they could learn a lot from each other. Master Yevo speculated to himself about which boy would be the greater swordsman. For now, Ky was the better of the two, but Rhoyan demonstrated undeveloped potential. Yevo shook his head, both were very young yet, and only time would tell how skilled each would become, that they would both far surpass his own prowess he never doubted.

  “Ky! Rhoyan! Are you finished warming up?”

  “Yes, Master Yevo,” the two boys chorused dutifully.

  “Good. Come here then.”

  The brothers walked over to where their teacher was and stood at attention. Yevo studied them with a critical eye. He immediately spotted the obvious problems, though there were no glaring flaws.

  “Stance!” he barked suddenly.

  Both boys instantly went into their starting stances. Rhoyan hunched over, his left arm bent behind his back and his sword arm outstretched, his eyes focused upwards. Ky bent his knees slightly, his left arm was stretched out behind his back and his sword arm was bent moderately at the elbow. Ky’s eyes were focused straight ahead of him.

  “Rhoyan!” the swords master shouted, causing the boy to jump slightly.

  “Yes, Master Yevo?”

  “You are hunched over as though you seek to run away and hide, and your eyes are fixed upon the sky.”

  “My opponents are all bigger than me, sir; I have to look up to see their faces. Besides, the smaller I am the harder they find me to hit.”

  “And what happens when you have a growth spurt? I know that this is most comfortable for you right now, but it will no longer work for you when you grow to your full height, which could be considerable if you take after your father. You must learn to find a comfortable stance that will allow you to face any opponent you meet and make it look as though you trusted your own skill. You are a prince, strive to look like one!”

  Rhoyan nodded. He did not take offense at the criticism. Both princes trusted Yevo’s instruction enough to know he would never belittle them or shame them, all of his criticism was merely aimed at helping them improve their skills.

  “Knees bent, that is good, but not so much,” Master Yevo nodded in approval as Rhoyan straightened his legs, “arm behind back, yes, but extend it a little more for balance, don’t tie it up, you want to be able to use it if you have to, ah yes, much better! You are over-committing to your opponent, you must find your center of balance, lean back slightly on your left leg, very good! Practice that stance every night before you go to bed, try to hold it longer each time and your muscles will learn the feel until you no longer need to think about it.”

  The master turned his attention now to Ky. “Your stance is nearly perfect.” The boy beamed under the praise, but Master Yevo was not finished, “But your attitude is too cocky. You are relaxed, good, but you are standing as though you have already won. You are overcommitted to your opponent, lean back a little more, better!”

  He made the two boys stand in their now improved beginning positions until he was sure that they had both learned the feel of it. “You may return to the center of the arena now. We will practice blocking and then spar for a while.”

  The two boys sighed in relief to be allowed to move, and they walked quickly to the center of the practice arena. Master Yevo stood to the side and called out moves to first one boy then the next, forcing the defender to practice blocking various attacks. Finally the arms master called a break.

  “Go get a drink of water, then I’ll let you spar freely for a little, but not too long,” he said quickly, “I am sure your parents would want me to give you time to clean up for dinner.”

  The boys raced to the water trough, jostling each other in their haste. They returned to the practice arena with both faces and shirts dripping from having been unable to resist the temptation to splash each other. Master Yevo sighed to himself; he could remember what it was like to be young.

  “All right boys, one match then. As always, I will be watching and keeping your rank in mind. This match will not affect that rank, of course, since it is only practice, but don’t let that affect your performance in any way.”

  “What are our ranks right now, Master?” Ky asked in curiosity.

  “You both rank the highest in your age groups,” Master Yevo said, smiling.

  Both boys exclaimed excitedly. Ky had just entered the Hawk group earlier in the year, which meant that he was among the youngest of his group and was fighting with boys up to ten years older than he. Rhoyan, five years younger than his brother, was still in the Gyrfalcon group and in the middle of his class age-wise. The two boys did not know it, but they had caused quite a stir among their tutors this year. The object of contention had been whether or not to let Rhoyan advance with his brother into the next age group.

  Master Yevo had argued the most forcefully against this route when it was suggested. At first, the other tutors had been confused as to his reasoning, but
the old arms master was greatly respected for his long years of service to the king and he had been listened to respectfully. When he had explained his reasons, the others had understood and presented his arguments to the king and queen, who had also bowed to Yevo’s wisdom.

  “First of all, no one has ever been allowed such a thing,” Yevo had argued firmly. “And secondly, if we allow the young Rhoyan to advance with his brother, what will happen at the rite of passage? Will you allow him to enter adulthood five years before his time? Will you have the two princes come of age at the same moment? Worse yet, will you put that burden on the young Ky? He, who will soon enough discover that his role is not to be king, that he has been passed over in favor of his younger brother? How can you ask him to bear that? How can you ask either one of them to understand something like the prophecy at these young ages? Let Ky enjoy his coming of age, give him that, at least.”

  The counsellors and the king had seen the wisdom of these arguments and there had been no further discussion about the possibility of advancing Rhoyan into the next age group before his time, even though he had surpassed everyone in his rank in both his intellectual and battle studies.

  Master Yevo thought about these things as the two boys practiced. A loud noise drew the swords master sharply out of his thoughts and he looked up to see Ky helping his younger brother stand up. The sparring had ended, with Ky once again as the victor.

  “Good match, little brother,” Ky said, retrieving Rhoyan’s sword for him, “better luck next time, eh?”

  Rhoyan brushed the dust off his pants, his childish face lighting up at his big brother’s praise. “Someday I’ll be as good as you Ky!” he exclaimed. “And then we’ll stand at the front of the aethalons and all our enemies will drop their swords and run just at the sight of us!”

  Ky laughed. “Maybe so, maybe so. Thank you, Master Yevo.”

  “Anytime, young princeling, anytime. You two are a pleasure to teach, and you both have enough skill to go along with your enthusiasm to make teaching you worth my while. Now get along home, your parents will never forgive me if you sit down to dinner covered with grime as you are.”

  The two boys quickly put their gear in its proper place. “Race you!” Rhoyan yelled as he began running across the yard.

  “Cheater!” Ky called as he started after Rhoyan laughing, his long strides allowing him to catch up quickly.

  Just before he overtook his younger brother, though, Ky slowed down. He panted hard, pretending to be running as hard as he could but letting Rhoyan stay just a stride ahead. They crashed into the door, Rhoyan reaching it first by an inch.

  “Beat you!” Rhoyan exulted.

  “You’re just getting too fast little brother.”

  “Young masters,” the door opened suddenly and the head attendant glowered down at them, “I’ve told you before not to come running through this door; if you must race, race to a tree or a wall where you can’t do any damage.” She did a double take and covered her mouth with a lace handkerchief. “Gracious me! You two are filthy. You must go and get cleaned up at once!”

  “Why?” Ky asked.

  “Because there is company for dinner. How did you miss hearing about it? Oh, never mind, just go wash and dress for dinner before their Majesties see you and I get into trouble for it.”

  “Yes’m,” the two boys said, looking properly contrite.

  The head attendant glowered suspiciously after them as they walked sedately away from her. “I daresay you were out playing in those caves again,” she called out, “I do hope that you realize how dangerous they can be, it is easy to lose your sense of direction when you’re underground, it would be a pity if you got lost down there.”

  “Let’s hang a bucket of water above her door tonight,” Rhoyan whispered to Ky once they were sure they were out of earshot.

  Ky giggled, and then sobered. “No, she’d know it was us.”

  “She deserves it though. Besides, no one knows those caves better’n us, right Ky? Lost, huh!”

  “Eh, she just needs someone to boss around… would be funny to see her get all wet… we probably shouldn’t though,” Ky said.

  Rhoyan grinned mischievously, and then turned serious himself. “Wonder who’s coming for dinner?”

  “Me too, and how come we didn’t know about it?”

  “We’ll have to tell Papa about the tournament,” Rhoyan said, changing the subject abruptly again.

  “Yeah!”

  The two boys cleaned up, dressed for dinner, and then they headed down to the large dining room. They only ate there when guests were present; there was a far less grand family dining room where meals were usually held. The king and queen preferred private meals whenever possible, safeguarding the precious, little family time allotted to them.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  When the two boys reached the dining room, they both immediately recognized their guest.

  “Uncle Ramius!” Rhoyan shouted at the sight of the sea captain, running and jumping into his uncle’s arms and giving him an excited hug.

  “Rhoyan, my boy!” Ramius boomed. “You’ve grown at least three inches since I saw you last! And Ky! Why you’re almost a young man! Stiorne, what have you been feeding these two?”

  The king beamed with pride. “Only the best, Ramius, only the best.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of expecting any less for the heirs to the throne,” Ramius said.

  “Did you bring us anything, Uncle Ramius?” Rhoyan asked, excitement making him forget his manners.

  “Rhoyan!” Queen Fiora reprimanded her son. Rhoyan flushed with embarrassment at the rebuke.

  “Quite all right, my dear little sister,” Ramius reassured her. He leaned down and whispered loudly, “As a matter of fact I did bring you something, young princeling. Though I must say you’ll need to grow into it a bit.” Ramius grinned at the boy’s obvious delight at his news.

  “Dinner first,” Queen Fiora said firmly.

  “Awww,” Ky and Rhoyan groaned.

  “Your mother is right boys, food first, and then presents,” Ramius winked. “But we’ll eat fast, won’t we?”

  The boys shared a conspiratory glance with their uncle and Fiora rolled her eyes as if to ask why she even bothered. Dinner was delicious, but Ky and Rhoyan barely tasted it in their excitement at the prospect of gifts. Uncle Ramius never disappointed them when it came to presents. He always brought something interesting.

  Ramius was a sea captain. Their mother’s older brother by a span of twenty years, the gruff, white-bearded captain had traveled to the end of the world and back, or so he claimed, and had more grand tales than he had hairs on his head. Queen Fiora called them “tall tales” but Rhoyan and Ky had never been able to figure out what she meant by that.

  Ramius often told them of how he had been caught up in battles between other countries, how he had fought sea monsters, and had single-handedly slain a dragon, back in the days when dragons had still existed. His greatest pride had been when his sister married Stiorne, then the prince of the realm, and he treated his nephews as if they were his own. Never having married, Ramius had always wanted a son, and he did his best to spoil his nephews. Fiora was therefore secretly glad that Ramius traveled so often and returned to port infrequently, though she loved her sea-faring brother dearly. She worried sometimes, though, that Ramius so obviously favored Ky over Rhoyan. What if Rhoyan was the fulfillment of the prophecy? The Minstrel had cautioned them against jumping to conclusions, but Fiora often felt that everyone already had. This train of thought always made her think of what she had lost, and she quickly turned her attention back to the conversation before the pain in her heart became actual tears.

  When they finished dinner, the boys waited impatiently as their parents talked to Ramius. King Stiorne wanted to know about the condition of his ships and what the weather was like this time of year in the harbors at the far East end of Llycaelon. He then asked about their trad
e routes with Kallayohm. Fiora had many questions about their hometown, who was overseeing the community now that the old overseer had died and which of her old friends were still living there.

  Ky and Rhoyan soon grew bored of this talk and they began to fidget in their chairs. Finally, Ramius noticed their antics.

  “How about those presents?”

  His question was met with a cheer from the boys as they jumped out of their chairs and stood, waiting expectantly. Stiorne and Fiora shared an amused glance, for they were almost as curious as their sons.

  “First you, young Rhoyan,” he said, pulling a long object out of his sack. “I’m sure it is much too heavy for you now, but if you use it in practice it will strengthen your muscles, and you’ll soon grow big enough to use it for real.”

  Rhoyan unwrapped the object and shouted in joy as he pulled out a beautifully crafted sword encased in an intricately designed scabbard. The sword itself was simple, with no decoration ornamenting its hilt, but Rhoyan loved the weapon at first sight. It was full-sized, and far too heavy for Rhoyan to wield, but Ramius doubted the boy even noticed its weight.

  “Now, Ky,” Ramius turned to the elder prince, “something that no warrior should ever be lacking. But you’ll have to come outside for your gift.”

  They all traipsed out to the stables, following Ramius. A young servant-boy came out, leading a prancing, spirited, golden horse. The great beast was spectacular, his proudly arching neck and flaring nostrils were an impressive sight that both excited and awed the young prince.

  “For me?” Ky asked breathlessly.

  Ramius nodded. “For you my boy. The eldest prince ought to have a horse all his own. A good horse. A horse he can ride into battle on. I know you can have your pick of horses from your father’s stables to ride, but I thought you might like one of your very own.”

  Ky looked down at the ground and kicked at a rock with his foot. “Thank you, Uncle Ramius,” he mumbled.

  “What’s the matter boy?” Ramius asked curiously. “Don’t you like him?”