Yevo grinned at the boys. Ky and Rhoyan had heard the chant, and by the looks on their faces it was obvious that the idea had captured each of their imaginations.
The brothers had not sparred in the past three months, ever since they had proposed the idea for the tournament. Each had been intent on honing his own skills and although they had both practiced hard, they had not had time to spar with each other.
Though this unexpected demand from the crowd worried him slightly, Yevo himself could not help feeling a little curious. He had been teaching both boys, but he was not sure which one of the two was now the better swordsman. Rhoyan had improved significantly in three months, while Ky had focused far more on his riding and jousting skills. After a few anxious moments, curiosity won out over prudence.
Ignoring the little voice in his head that was shouting, “Beware! Beware!” Yevo nodded to the crowd in agreement. Then he motioned Ky and Rhoyan back into the ring. They strode over to their instructor, barely containing their excitement.
Yevo raised a hand and a hush fell over the stadium, then he looked at the young princes. “If either of you are too tired from the day’s activities, you don’t have to do this,” he whispered, half-hoping that one of the boys would take this opportunity to back out. He knew it was a foolish wish and a feeble one, but it was the only way he could see to get out of this predicament now.
Of course, as Yevo had known deep down, neither boy accepted the offer. They both shook their heads vigorously and exclaimed that they were not in the least bit tired.
“The test of the sword then,” he announced to the crowd. “The sword is the weapon of kings, the weapon of warriors. It is the preferred weapon of the aethalons. Both of these boys are truly skilled in the use of this weapon, this art, as they have already proven before you today. And both of these boys will one day raise their swords to defend their country. Now we will test their skills to the utmost as these two champions face each other in friendly combat for the final prize of the day.”
Ky faced his little brother, his distress at losing the jousting match falling away from him as he let himself relax. The sword had always been Ky’s preferred weapon, and its familiarity helped him forget his previous failure. Both boys grinned at each other eagerly.
“This is to be a friendly match, boys,” Yevo said quietly. “You both know the rules: disarm your opponent or be in a position to deliver the death blow, and you win the match.”
The boys nodded, and then Rhoyan focused on the exercise, his excitement mounting. Ky raised his sword and Master Yevo returned to his spot outside of the arena. He nodded to the judges who signaled back that they were also ready. King Stiorne raised his wife’s handkerchief as he had done for all the other contests; he glanced at Yevo, worry and concern in his eyes. Yevo gazed back steadily. Stiorne shrugged as if to say, “I hope you know what you’re doing” and dropped the handkerchief.
As the handkerchief dropped, Rhoyan felt a surge of nervousness. What if he was the winner? He had never bested Ky with the sword before, but Ky had not been practicing as hard as Rhoyan had these past months. He had no desire to heap yet another defeat on his older brother’s shoulders. Then Ky attacked, and Rhoyan had no more time to worry.
The older prince gripped his sword with both hands and swung it in an arc over his right shoulder and then chopped down at Rhoyan’s left arm. The crowd gasped in appreciation of this aggressive first move, but Rhoyan had not sparred with Ky so many times and learned nothing. He knew Ky’s fighting style by heart and blocked this first blow easily.
Yevo settled in to watch the fight, and took advantage of this unexpected opportunity, using it to study the two boys once more. Pride welled up within him as he watched Rhoyan. The boy had grown in the past three months and was much stronger than he had been. There was something special about Rhoyan’s fighting style that the arms master had not noticed before. The young boy was suddenly proving himself to be very observant. Rhoyan studied his opponents, not consciously, but almost without thinking, and he seemed to have a knack for noticing every detail. Yevo had perceived this in Rhoyan’s matches against his own rank-mates, but now that he had the opportunity to focus his full attention on the boy he realized how well this ability served the young prince. Of anyone, Rhoyan knew Ky’s fighting style the best. He blocked most of Ky’s attacks almost lazily, knowing from Ky’s stance and eyes where each blow would fall almost before Ky had even followed through.
The fight continued on, speed and ferocity growing in each of the boys. The feeling of anticipation and thrill was growing in the crowd, but the younger prince had still not moved into an attack position. He seemed content to stay on the defensive and allow his opponent to make all the mistakes. Or perhaps he is afraid of beating Ky, Yevo thought to himself. As soon as the thought occurred to him, he realized it was correct. Rhoyan was working very hard at not winning this match. Ky was the young boy’s hero, and added on top of that, Rhoyan had never once truly beaten Ky in anything other than his indoor studies, but Ky never seemed to mind that.
The drama in the middle of the arena was intensifying, forcing Yevo out of his musings. The two boys whirled and slashed and blocked and sliced at a blinding pace. Or rather, Ky whirled and slashed and chopped, while Rhoyan blocked.
The whole crowd was mesmerized by the skill being displayed before them. It was obvious to all that both boys were in their element. Bets were being taken as to which prince would falter first, though it seemed as if both could go on indefinitely.
Nobody except Yevo seemed to notice that Rhoyan had not yet made a single attack maneuver. Then, in a blur of activity, it happened, the thing that had been almost inevitable from the beginning of the contest: Ky made an error in judgment. It was a small mistake, a lesser swordsman would never have even noticed, but Rhoyan had been unconsciously waiting for it.
Ky, frustrated by the fact that his opponent would neither attack nor give ground, tried a move that left his sword arm unprotected for a mere fraction of a second. It was barely even a mistake, just a daring move. But Rhoyan instinctively leaped on the opportunity, going on offense for the first time. He chopped down at Ky’s sword arm with both a speed and a precision that made Yevo think of a carefully trained warhorse that lashes out at his master’s enemies and rarely ever misses his mark. The blow cracked down on Ky’s wrist, causing his whole arm to go numb. Rhoyan’s next blow knocked the sword out of Ky’s senseless hand. Then Rhoyan’s practice sword flashed again and came to a halt, its tip resting just below Ky’s chin. Rhoyan’s eyes widened and he stared at Ky in disbelief.
A great hush fell over the ring as it had just before the match began, and the two brothers stood still, breathing hard from the exertion of the fight. Then the stands seemed to erupt as everyone jumped to their feet in applause and cheers. Rhoyan stiffened, and backed away slowly, shaking his head in confusion. The people in the stands stopped cheering, perplexed by the scene that was unfolding before them. Yevo understood and began to enter the ring, but he was not quick enough. Rhoyan dropped his sword, heedless of the people around him or the other students who were racing out into the arena to congratulate him. He continued to stare at Ky in shock, and then he turned and fled, fighting his way through the people who were swarming the arena. The other boys made as if to stop him, but one look at the anguish on Rhoyan’s face halted their efforts as efficiently as if he had a sword and was cutting his way through the crowd.
Rhoyan did not know where he was going; just that he had to get away from the people. “Move!” He shouted at some of the younger boys who tried to congratulate him. Wordlessly they slipped out of his path, their eyes wide with confusion. Rhoyan suddenly found himself in his room, though he had no real notion of how he had gotten there. He vaguely remembered running, fleeing from something he could not name, then the memory of the fight flooded back to him and he flung himself onto his bed and sobbed.
❖ ❖ ❖
Fiora found her son in his r
oom. She entered with a light knock and Rhoyan looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. With a soft rustle of satin, she settled herself on the edge of his bed and laid her hand gently on his head. She did not speak or ask questions. Rhoyan shifted so that he could sit wrapped in his mother’s arms.
“I wasn’t supposed to win,” Rhoyan mumbled after a long silence.
“It was just a game,” Fiora said gently. “Ky isn’t upset with you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“He’s not?”
“No, sweetheart. Won’t you come down to the feast? Everyone wants to congratulate you.”
Rhoyan sniffled a bit. “I... I just don’t want... I...” he paused, getting his thoughts in order. “Ky’s my best friend.”
“I know he is, darling.”
“I don’t want him to stop being my friend,” Rhoyan craned his neck to look pleadingly into his mother’s eyes.
Fiora kissed Rhoyan’s head. “Your brother loves you, Rhoyan. I’m sure that will never change. I have to go see to our guests, now. Please consider coming downstairs.”
“Okay.”
Fiora hugged him tightly and left the room. Halfway down the stairs she paused, her eyes dark with unshed tears. Were they doing the right thing? Just because something was right for her country and people, did that make it right for her sons? She put a hand to her forehead, she’d been getting headaches more frequently lately, she would have to speak to Jhasen about that. She breathed deeply. For now, she had a feast to preside over, and winners to congratulate. Fiora returned to the courtyard where everyone was gathering for food.
❖ ❖ ❖
“Rhoyan?” Ky’s voice was concerned as he poked his head around the door to his younger brother’s room.
When no answer came, Ky entered the room cautiously. There was a lump of blankets on the bed and Ky walked over to the pile and looked at it quizzically. A long, shaky sigh emanated from the heap of bedding.
“Rhoyan?”
The pile of blankets shifted a little, and Rhoyan peeked out from underneath a sheet. Ky bit back the urge to laugh, and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I brought you a plate of food, it’s really good. The feast is just getting started and it looks like it’s going to be a lot of fun,” Ky said in a matter of fact tone, “sure would be a shame if you missed it.”
Rhoyan sat up a bit, causing a few of the blankets to slip off his head, revealing his face. He stared solemnly at his older brother; his dark eyes red-rimmed and sorrowful. Ky found it hard to meet his younger brother’s gaze; there was wisdom and compassion in the look and Ky found it difficult to bear either.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You ran from the arena as if all your worst nightmares were chasing you.”
“Maybe they were.”
Ky looked at Rhoyan in confusion. “Everyone wanted to congratulate you, and Master Yevo was going to give you the final award of the day. He’s at a loss as to what he should tell people, you left us all in a bit of a mess. Why’d you run off? And why are you hiding up here? They really don’t want to start the feast without you. Anyone would think you’d rather have lost the contest.”
“I wish I had,” Rhoyan sounded miserable.
“Why?” Ky asked in disbelief. “It was a great tribute to your skill, Master Yevo told me how much you’ve been practicing.”
“But I beat you,” Rhoyan’s voice trembled. “I’m not supposed to beat you.”
Ky opened and closed his mouth silently, understanding slowly coming to him. He sighed and laid a hand on Rhoyan’s shoulder. “I’m not mad,” he said quietly.
“No?”
“No, I mean... well... at first I sorta was. I hate losing, you know that. I’ve never lost to anyone before today. But then Master Yevo told me how hard you’ve been working and I wasn’t mad anymore.”
“Why not?” Rhoyan almost whispered.
“Because I hadn’t been practicing much, the sword’s always been easy for me, so I focused a lot more on my jousting. There’s no way you could’ve beat me if I was in top form,” Ky boasted, playfully punching at Rhoyan’s jaw.
Rhoyan involuntarily flinched away from the light blow and then he managed a weak laugh and nodded once.
“Anyone would think you were afraid of me,” Ky said with an oddly forced laugh, “come on down to the feast, it’s practically in your honor anyway.”
“I’ll be down,” Rhoyan promised, “just give me a minute.”
“All right, but don’t be too long or you’ll miss everything,” Ky said. “And next week, we can have a rematch when I’m not so tired.” He winked and tousled Rhoyan’s hair.
Rhoyan managed to nod with a tiny amount of enthusiasm, but as soon as Ky closed the door he felt tears pricking behind his eyes. The rematch would never take place, not if he could help it. Ky bragged that he had lost because he was tired and out of practice, but Rhoyan knew better. He knew that Ky had been practicing almost as hard as he had, and he knew that losing to his younger brother bothered Ky more than he would ever admit.
CHAPTER
FOUR
“Rhoyan!” Ky came dashing into the room. “Guess what?”
The seasons had come full cycle five times since the tournament, and Rhoyan had recently been raised into the Hawk ranking. He looked up in mild surprise at Ky’s entrance; the older boy hardly ever came in to Rhoyan’s room anymore. But he was more surprised at Ky’s obvious excitement; his older brother did not usually show so much emotion. Now Ky’s face was flushed and his eyes were sparkling.
“What is it?” Rhoyan asked.
“I’ve been raised to Kestrel!” Ky nearly shouted, almost bursting as he told his good news.
Rhoyan raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise. “Kestrel? But you’ve got five years left in Hawk.”
“I know! But Master Yevo and Uncle Ramius say that they’ve taught me everything they know. They can’t teach me any more. They both agree that I need a new teacher, and the only way I’ll get that is to graduate to Kestrel. That way someone can choose me as his apprentice.”
“Congratulations!” Rhoyan forced a grin and clasped his brother’s hand tightly.
He was truly happy for his brother, it was a great honor to be allowed to skip five whole years, but he wished that Ky would not sound so cheerful about leaving. Ever since the tournament five years ago, the two boys had gradually grown further and further apart. They rarely took off for a day in the caves or cliff jumping anymore; but worse, they hardly even talked. Rhoyan acknowledged that perhaps they were too old to play the games they had played as children, but he missed the days of skipping class and sneaking off to go swimming. Rhoyan knew that Ky was busy, he himself had been busy too, but he knew that was not why he and Ky had drifted so far apart. It had not been noticeable at first, this drift, but Rhoyan knew it had begun the moment he had disarmed Ky in front of everyone. There was no hostility between them, just no real friendship anymore either. Rhoyan acknowledged his own part in it, he was guilty of treading cautiously around his brother since that day in the arena. He knew his caution had helped place the bricks in the wall between them.
Rhoyan wished there was something he could do about it; Ky had always been his hero. Rhoyan missed his brother. Though Ky had not traveled across any miles, there was a distance between them and Rhoyan could not bridge the gap. Now that he was a Kestrel, Ky really would be gone. He might not be far away, but he would be living in his aethalon-master’s house and learning what it truly meant to be a warrior of Llycaelon. Then, when his new teacher deemed him ready, he would return to face his rite of passage. Rhoyan hated the thought of that day, that day would take his brother away from him completely. No full-fledged aethalon would want to crawl through muddy tunnels or go swimming in the ocean with his little brother.
They had never had the proposed rematch. Rhoyan had always come up with some excuse or changed the subject. Ky seemed to accept this, and he often joked that Rhoy
an did not want to face him when he was at his best. Rhoyan usually managed to laugh at the joke, or nod in agreement and Ky would let the matter slide, but he never forgot. The two never sparred again.
Rhoyan never told anyone why he would not face Ky again; he did not even trust himself with that secret. But deep down, Rhoyan knew that he refused the rematch because he could not bear to win again. In fair combat, Ky could not beat him, he was sure of that. Instinct and training would take over, as they had before, and he would be unable to lose, no matter how hard he might try. Even Master Yevo could no longer defeat Rhoyan when they sparred together. Ky did not know that Rhoyan’s training was quite different from his own, and Rhoyan never told his older brother how hard he was working at his lessons.
Rhoyan himself was not sure why his lessons were so hard. His teachers seemed to be testing him, as though they were trying to see if he was worthy. Worthy for what, Rhoyan did not know, though he never asked. Several times Master Yevo had brought in former students or full-fledged aethalons to spar with Rhoyan or to give him more pointers on his archery or hand-to-hand combat. Rhoyan could now hold his own against these opponents, and he never lost any of his matches with the sword.
Now that Rhoyan was a Hawk, a new subject was being thrown into the mix. He was going to meet a new teacher in several days. The subject was called Mythology, and Rhoyan had never heard of it before. All Master Hobard would let on was that he was not to be frightened of his new teacher, which was far from helpful.
Right now, they were between terms, on a week-long break from classes. Rhoyan welcomed the rest, but he was nervous about starting his training as a Hawk, since the last few years of Gyrfalcon had been so hard.
Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2) Page 5