Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2)

by Jenelle Leanne Schmidt

  The storm woke Rhoyan. He sat up, completely disoriented. The waves were tossing his boat around like it was no more than a piece of driftwood. The pouring rain made it impossible to see much farther than a few feet. Rhoyan pulled down the little sail before it got shredded by the driving wind. Then he grabbed the tiller and tried desperately to make some sense of where he was. He could see nothing and he had to admit that he had allowed himself to be blown out to sea while he slept and now there was nothing to do but ride out the storm.

  As the storm and sea raged, Rhoyan worked feverishly to keep his craft head into the wind and afloat. He knew that if he lost the boat he would never make it to land again, so he fought for his life all through the long storm. At one point something hard smashed into the side of the boat and for one terrifying moment Rhoyan believed it had succeeded in putting a hole in his craft. A flash of lightning revealed that no damage had been done. Rhoyan breathed a shaky sigh of relief, but his battle with the sea was not finished, and he clung even more tightly to the tiller as he rode the huge, deadly waves all through the night.

  Finally, just as Rhoyan’s strength threatened to give out on him, pink streaks of daylight began to break through the cloud cover. Within moments the storm had subsided and dawn had broken. Rhoyan was amazed at how quickly the storm ended, it seemed as though it ought to have put up more of a fight. Slowly Rhoyan released his death-grip on the tiller as exhaustion and sorrow once more took over.

  When he awoke again the stars were just beginning to appear. Rhoyan sat up and stretched, yawning loudly. He fumbled around for a moment and then found his pack, which was amazingly still intact. He opened it and found that the food inside was still unspoiled. He attacked the food with a cry of delight; he had not eaten in two days. As he ate he remembered Sheyardin’s advice to use the stars to guide him home. He glanced up and saw that Yorien was just ahead of him in the sky.

  “All right then,” he said quietly, “I will trust to your greater experience, because I am lost. Will you guide me home?”

  Of course there was no response, and Rhoyan chuckled, it was the second time he had tried to hold a conversation with the stars. “Perhaps this is what it means to go insane,” he muttered as he set his course to follow the great Wanderer. He sailed through the night and when Yorien disappeared beneath the horizon Rhoyan directed himself according to the path of the Dragon’s Eye.

  Rhoyan soon discovered that traveling home would be much more difficult than the journey to the Nameless Isle had been. For one thing, he now suspected that Sheyardin had been at least partially responsible for the fair winds they had enjoyed throughout their adventure. He also assumed that the dragon had warded off the worst of the storms. Without his master the wind was unpredictable and erratic; and the stormy season had apparently begun. Gales nearly tore his boat to pieces, fierce winds threatened to smash him up against hazardous hidden rocks, and huge waves that could so easily overturn the little boat swept him along and terrified him. Many were the times that Rhoyan found himself thanking Captain Delmar. The old captain would have been amazed to learn how much Rhoyan decided he owed the master of the Silver Hydra. Rhoyan didn’t realize it at the time, but Delmar would have been equally amazed that any sailor had survived these seas, let alone his newest student.

  Rhoyan was at sea many long days before he sighted land. He had long since lost track of how many times he had witnessed the rising and setting of the Dragon’s Eye since departing the Nameless Isles, but he was certain he had been battling the sea for many weeks. Each day was a constant battle for survival, from collecting rain water for drink or fishing for food. He had fished often with Ky when they were growing up and he was suddenly grateful to his older brother for insisting that they play at being lost in the wilderness. Ky had always longed for an adventure such as this and he never tired of coming up with different ways to survive in various different situations. As such, Rhoyan applied his skill in archery and fastened strands of rope to an arrow and seldom missed his mark. Raw fish was not his favorite, but it sustained him and he knew his brother would be proud. For some reason, this was important, and also strengthened his resolve to survive.

  On the morning that he gained his first sight of land Rhoyan’s boat was attacked by a small but deadly hydra. He had just caught a glimpse of a green shoreline not too far ahead of him when his boat suddenly rocked violently. He stumbled forwards and was almost flung over the side of the boat; he clutched wildly at a rope and pulled himself upright. He had no time to wonder what was happening before the boat shuddered again, nearly pitching him from his feet. Rhoyan grabbed a hold of the mast and peered down into the water, trying to determine what was upsetting his boat. As he watched, he saw a great fin slide easily through the water and then a massive head at the end of a long neck reared up out of the water and eyed his boat hungrily.

  The monster’s head was nearly half the length of the small boat, and its great, gaping mouth was ringed about with jagged teeth. Rhoyan knew that if the hydra thought to upset the boat from below, it would be all over. He quickly tried to recall everything he knew of hydras. They were vicious, but not fearless. They preferred to take their prey unawares and tended to retreat if the battle became too fierce. This particular hydra had only one head, which indicated it was still young, and thus inexperienced. Banking on these few things that he had read and hoping they were true, Rhoyan took action. The great creature growled deep in its throat, and the sound that it made was a blood-chilling roar or scream, but Rhoyan was too tired to be afraid. In the next instant, pure survival instinct kicked in. All he knew was that he had fought too hard to stay alive for it to end now, especially with land in sight. Rhoyan’s one thought was that this creature would have to either leave or be destroyed, because he was not willing to give up now, not after everything he had been through.

  He grabbed his bow as years of training and instinct took over. His first arrow caught inside the creature’s mouth between rows of gleaming, deadly teeth. The hydra shook his head angrily, trying to dislodge the barb. Rhoyan shot again and this time he hit the monster squarely in the neck, just below the great double-hinged jaw. The hydra reared its head back in pain and glowered down at the little craft that was giving it so much trouble. Rhoyan shot again. His aim continued to serve him well and the arrow embedded itself deep in the creature’s neck once more.

  That was more than enough for the hydra. It had expected an easy meal, but this tiny creature seemed intent on fighting back. The hydra slipped under the water and swam off in search of less challenging prey. Rhoyan slumped against the mast. As he rested, he remembered hearing his Uncle Ramius talking about the sea hydras he had fought on his many adventures. The man had never had a very high regard for the beasts, and had spoken of them as though they were no great threat. Rhoyan remembered one such conversation with his uncle.

  “Great cowards, hydras are, and lazy to boot. Prove to be difficult enough and they’ll leave you alone right quick. They are indeed fearsome to behold, and ravenous, but they prefer a meal that takes no effort to catch.”

  Rhoyan was glad to find that this off-hand comment about hydras seemed to be true. Although he was surprised at the ease with which the hydra had given up, he was not inclined to complain about it. It would not do to test the luck he had been granted by such an act of ungratefulness. He allowed himself a small smile of triumph as he sat against the mast, now he could match stories with even his Uncle Ramius.

  Oh, how I wish that Ky were here, Rhoyan thought wistfully his thoughts turning from his uncle to his brother, he would so love this adventure. It is the kind of thing we always dreamed of doing together, sailing the great seas and challenging the great and terrible hydra. Though I suppose Ky would have been bitterly disappointed at how easy it was to defeat the famed “Terror of the Seas.” Rhoyan chuckled ruefully.

  Remaining vigilant and reminding himself of the near disaster he had just avoided, Rhoyan recalled the land he had sighted just b
efore the hydra’s attack. He got up and scanned the horizon, hoping it had not been a trick of the light. Then he saw it, just off his starboard bow, much closer now and definitely a large land mass. Rhoyan felt like cheering, even though he had no idea what land it was. He only hoped that he could find and charter a boat that would take him home as quickly as possible.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  How to prepare for what was to come? Ky stood at the entrance to what was perhaps the last bit of real magic left in the land of Llycaelon. There were two parts to this test and neither of them would be easy.

  First, he had to pass through the Corridor. What happened within the Corridor varied with each person who entered it. The only thing that seemed certain was that the Corridor was a test of how well each entrant knew himself, and how well he could face himself. Those who failed this test either never came out at the other end, or they came out with their minds scrambled, unable to put together a single coherent sentence. Those who made it through the Corridor seldom spoke of their encounters; although there was no rule binding them to silence. The most Ky could glean was that it was an experience he would never wish to repeat. Ky secretly believed the stories about the Corridor had been exaggerated.

  The second part of the test was equally difficult, but far easier to prepare for. He would be brought before the greatest scholars and councilors of the kingdom and they would set before him three questions. He had no idea what those questions might be, that part of the test was a secret. Part of his rank would be determined by how well he answered.

  After the second part of the test he would stand among his family and teachers for the final ceremony where he would be granted his rank and allowed to choose his adult name; provided he survived the first two tests, of course.

  “The Corridor can show you what is hidden in the deepest part of yourself,” Master Hobard was saying, “the Corridor may show you many things. Understand that these things are but the shadows of yourself; they are neither present, past, nor future. The Corridor is not restrained by such laws as truth. If you let it, this test can be a great asset. Do you understand?”

  Ky nodded. He was ready. He had trained for this for years. He breathed deeply. The knowledge that some had never made it through the dangers of the Corridor made him wary, but he was confident that his training and skills would serve him well throughout the trial.

  “Are you ready?”

  Ky nodded again. The old teacher was confident Ky would not be one of the few who failed this test, but he knew he was not allowed to reassure the young prince of this; if Ky was to take courage into the Corridor with him it had to be his own, not someone else’s.

  Hobard uttered the time-honored salute of the aethalons, “Courage and purity go with you, my son. Truth and honor sustain you, and may you come safely to the end of this trial.” Then he stood aside and Ky was faced with the vastness of the cavern before him, the entrance to the Corridor.

  “Thank you,” Ky whispered. Then he stepped forward.

  For an instant Ky stood in an enormous cave, slightly disoriented by what he saw. Outside, it was mid-day, but inside the Corridor it was deepest night. All around him was the night sky, or perhaps just a very realistic painting of it. He was surrounded by the darkness of space and it seemed to him that he stood in the very heart of the void. Tiny stars glowed on every side, the only light in the whole cavern. He had the distinct, and very disturbing, impression that he was standing atop nothing at all. He stared down at the end of the hall and saw the light that marked the other end of the cave; it was surrounded by the night sky, floating in the darkness, grounded in nothing. He saw at once that he would have to cross the void of space in order to get to his final destination. Though the rational part of Ky knew he was still inside a cave, he felt displaced; he could not bring himself to truly believe he was not walking among the constellations. He only had an instant to ponder all this, however, for suddenly the scene changed and he was someone else entirely.

  He was standing on a great, grassy hill. It was night. He was wearing armor and he had a pin on his shoulder that depicted him as an Aetoli. He could remember the day it was awarded to him and he still felt pride as he looked at it now, it had been six years ago, at his rite of passage. He had aged beyond his years since then and he bore many scars from past battles. He commanded the army. His men saluted him smartly as he passed. Ky swelled with pride as he recognized their faces and remembered the courageous deeds each of them had performed.

  A strange sensation that this was wrong, somehow, that none of this was real crept over him, but he shrugged it off, knowing this was all he had ever wanted. He turned his attention to the business at hand. The city had been attacked and was now being besieged; it was his job to take this group of men into the enemy’s camp and strike. It was to be a quick counterattack and the king was depending on this effort to break the siege and turn the tide of the battle.

  “Gavin!” Rhoyan came running up and Ky started back.

  ‘Gavin?’ he wondered. ‘Is that my name?’ He shook his head at his own foolishness, ‘Well of course it is my name, I remember now. I chose it at my ranking ceremony after I came out of the Corridor.’

  Something about the thought of the Corridor bothered him, but he had no time to worry about it, for Rhoyan was talking to him excitedly.

  “The enemy is camped down there,” he pointed back the way that he had come, “The whole place is quiet, and I think they are sleeping, we can attack now.”

  “Thank you Rhoyan,” Ky said.

  Rhoyan glared. “Why do you insist on calling me that? I had my rite of passage a whole cycle ago, you know.”

  “Right, sorry,” Ky said, but try as he might, he could not remember his little brother’s new name.

  Ky led his men in an attack on the camp, they swarmed down on the enemy with a shout of triumph, but their victory was cut short. The silent tents proved to be empty and Ky suddenly knew that something was very wrong. He stared around in confusion, barely able to come to terms with the fact that the camp was empty when the attack came. In a flash, twenty men surrounded him, all with gleaming swords and triumphant sneers. Ky whirled and slashed and took down eight of them, but in the end he could not win against such great numbers. He was overwhelmed and bound, though he fought like a madman, like a thunderbolt. He felt himself being dragged away but he was almost unaware of his captors. His whole vision was filled with the horror of the scene before him. His men were falling everywhere he looked, they were fighting for their lives, but the sheer number of their enemies was too great for them to overcome.

  “No!” Ky screamed, struggling against his bonds. He writhed and turned to see that the man who was holding him was his younger brother. Ky went numb with shock at the sudden realization that he had been betrayed by his own blood as Rhoyan laughed.

  Ky shook his head, as though rejecting such an idea. “No!” he screamed again, “This isn’t real, it’s not possible!”

  Suddenly he found himself on his hands and knees in the Corridor. The silence of the void calmed him slightly as he got his bearings. He had come perhaps a third of the way and he could see that the other end of the cavern was nearer than it had been. He pushed himself to his feet and began sprinting as though his life depended on it. Before he could take two steps, though, the Corridor had him again.

  The king was dying, and he still had not named his heir. Ky had returned from his war campaign to be with his father. He came home to find that Rhoyan had gotten there first.

  “He has been asking for you, Nealon,” Rhoyan said wearily, “I am glad you came back.”

  Nealon? Oh yes, Ky remembered now, he had chosen that name at his rite of passage. Strange that it had slipped his memory.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t come?” Ky asked defensively.

  “I only feared you would not be in time, I knew you would return.”

  Ky entered his father’s chamber, his heart laden with
sorrow, and yet there was a growing excitement within him that he tried without success to suppress: the king was finally going to name his heir. Ky walked confidently into the sick room and knelt beside the bed.

  “I am here, Father,” he said quietly.

  “Ah, Nealon,” the King said with an effort, “I have been waiting for you. Son, I am going to name my heir tomorrow, and then I shall die. But I wanted to speak with you first. I am going to give the crown to your brother, if the prophecy is right, then it is my duty to put him in a position of authority so that he might better protect Llycaelon. I am sorry, you were my firstborn, and you would have made a great king.”

  Ky did not think as he plunged his sword into the king’s heart, he merely reacted in blind rage. He was a warrior ... a survivor and those instincts were the ones that took over now. A moment later his vision cleared, he was standing and staring at what he had done. Ky backed away slowly, shaking his head in disbelief.