Ravens, Owls and a nightingale

27. Yearning & Patience

Schean peeked into the day room, then sighed and pursed his lips in irritation. Again – he'd done it again: caught himself looking for Mioll, and not for the first time today! As if he hadn't he been there himself, nearly a week ago, to wave goodbye from the walltops until the large carriage and that blond head peering out of it had first shrunken into one blurred blotch in the distance and finally disappeared altogether.

He really should remember by now that Mioll was indeed gone, but the thing was that he missed Mioll so damn much. Schean couldn't quite comprehend why he hadn't realized in advance just how much of a void the older minstrel's departure would create. He missed Mioll's presence, his everlasting smile and smooth, teasing voice, his playing, and quite especially his company. But then, nowadays Deleon Castle was in so many ways different from what it had been only a few weeks earlier, and it was only now that Schean could fully appreciate the changes.

He had been brought here by Lady Berissa to keep company to the Ranea. That post had lasted well over two years and when the boy had begun to really get better, Schean had soon had the entire reunited family to entertain and then another patient to look after, with Mioll there all the while. Now Mioll was away, Bengor was eagerly doing all the things he'd been able to only dream about for so long, his sisters were following their soon-to-be stepmother around the castle like two busy bees, and Karos was up and about as well. And Lord Rhodan was there too, determined to spend every moment of the day with his family.

All this meant that while Schean's music and stories were very much in demand in the evenings, he mostly had the days for himself. That was a definite novelty and he was seriously at a loss trying to figure out what to do with all the time in his hands. Was he expected to make himself scarce and stay out of the way? Maybe so, and he did try too, but he wasn't at all used to being alone, nor did he much like it. It got tedious very quickly and playing by oneself wasn't fun either, if one got to do it day after day. Thus, when boredom got too much for Schean, he padded out in search of the gentlefolks, hoping that they wouldn't terribly mind if he trailed after them. That was his mission at the moment, too, but the place looked discouragingly desolate. Had they perhaps gone out riding on the windswept hills around the castle?

And to think that the "gentlefolks" also included Karos... Schean's lips pulled into a wistful smile as his thoughts strayed to his roommate, the gorgeous puzzle that Bengor still insisted on calling 'Noriet'. Oh, his crush on Karos hadn't diminished at all, but every now and then he could have howled loudly out of frustration – which, to be quite truthful, happened just about every evening. Around nightfall Schean would crawl next to that big, warm body and be gathered close and tight by muscular arms, feel Karos nuzzling his hair and kissing him, and he would take heart and let his fingers ghost along the plains and ridges of muscle. Only to have a large hand descend over his own and firmly pry it away as soon as it tried to sneak too close to any strategic spots...

Noises from the other end of the corridor startled Schean back to the moment. Two maids were hauling a load of freshly aired bedclothes up the stairs, their babbling and the clatter of feet on stone slabs echoed in the curving staircase, and the minstrel realized that he'd stopped in the middle of the passage to dream. Most probably smiling stupidly, too. Schean resolutely ignored the heat that had invaded his face, told his feet to resume walking, then sprinted to the stairs when an idea occurred to him.

The courtyard, of course! It was already a well-established fact that the courtyard was definitely the most likely place where any misplaced lordlings could be found these days, and he really should've come to think of it at once. Truly, he was far too used to spending his days closeted indoors! Of course he'd had perfectly good and legitimate excuses – for one thing it didn't do to leave alone a patient one was supposed to look after, and for another the courtyard had mostly been filled to overflowing with soldiers for such a long time... Okay, and just maybe he was a little too fond of the comfort and safety of the castle itself? Schean huffed when a little voice whispered that last question into his ear and pattered down the stairs on swift feet. He wasn't going to listen to such unfounded accusations, even if the voice whispering them sounded like a combination of his uncle and Mioll!

The minstrel reached the front door and squinted in the cold light of a bright autumn day. Not a sign of the Lord or his sons on the actual courtyard, which meant that he'd have to venture out to the bailey. The thought made him faintly nervous. Being so much smaller and slighter in build than the Revnashi, Schean didn't much enjoy throngs of people around, and even though Deleon for once wasn't preparing for an immediate war, that didn't mean the bailey would be in any way deserted. Far from it. Quite a few of Deleon's soldiers had returned to their homes and farms but the regular troops, including Count Daynar's men, were still there and were sure to stay out of doors on such a sunny day. They'd be gathered there in groups, bantering, oiling their weapons and armor, keeping an eye on servants who'd be grooming horses outside the stables lining the bailey walls...

Nor were the soldiers the only people making the bailey a busy place. Almost as soon as the war with Eregal had been properly over, the traders had first made their entrance. They came with laden carts or packhorses from all over the place, asked for shelter for themselves and their belongings within the castle walls, and were ready to spread their wares on display as soon as someone inquired what they were selling. When two traders happened in the same place at the same time, bartering and a busy exchange of experiences and anecdotes was in full swing within moments, and such discussion inevitably served to draw more people around. The soldiers weren't wholly immune to the traders' temptations, nor did the villagers stay away once they'd got wind of this, and thus there was one corner of the large bailey that most of the time resembled a busy marketplace. Schean had been to see it a few times, but mostly he found the loud crowds scary enough to shun away from them.

But it seemed that now he would have to venture out there. Schean squared his shoulders, took one look at the yard and deemed it definitely dry enough to be crossed in the light shoes he was wearing. Full of determination he descended the stairs and headed towards the gateway that connected the inner courtyard to the bailey, then nearly grinned to himself. The unmistakable, square figure of Lord Rhodan loomed right on the other side of the gateway and Schean was ready to bet that the man wasn't alone, for he seemed to be looking at something with rapt attention.

His eyebrows shot up when he got close enough to see past the broad man who was standing there, hands on hips. Some twenty steps away stood Bengor-Omeasch-nea in a wary but determined stance, holding in both hands a sizable sword that pointed steadily at Sorel's midsection. The boy's dark eyes were riveted on his much taller opponent and he didn't as much as glance at Schean who stopped for a blink to hesitate and then slunk hastily but quietly towards Karos, holding his breath in an effort to turn invisible.

Karos was half-sitting, half-leaning on the slightly broader layers of stone that formed the foundations of the wall behind his back. His arms were crossed on his chest and Schean couldn't decide whether he looked fascinated or disgruntled. Perhaps both in equal amounts, he decided and turned his eyes back towards the scene that Karos and the Lord were watching.

Both Bengor and the sleek Belter fighter were armed with swords and wore padded vests and arm protection made of tough leather. Even Schean could see soon enough that this was no actual combat practice, not by a long way, but it was equally plain that Bengor wasn't handling a sword for the first time in his short life. The boy had pulled his hair behind his ears to keep it out of the way, a bead of sweat dangled from the tip of his nose and his cheeks were flushed red with the crisp air and concentrated effort, but he was completely focused on Sorel who was slowly circling around him. Count Daynar was standing to one side, watching over the scene with narrowed eyes.

Schean's gaze was irresistibly drawn to Sorel's smooth, deliberate movements and a picture drifted from the haze of memory. Summer, sun shining over his home village far away on the south coast. Himself perched on one of those low stone walls that separated fields and pastures from each other. The frog, sitting and blinking in its nice, shady crevice between the stones. And that striped snake looking for a succulent steak. He'd watched, hardly remembering to breathe, as the snake had slithered closer and closer to its oblivious prey, eyes never turning from it, tongue flickering in the air... Sorel glanced quickly at his surroundings and Schean nearly shuddered. Sorel's prey was far from oblivious but he was obviously closing in for the kill.

All of a sudden the blond man was on the other side of the boy and the tip of his sword plunged dangerously close. Bengor reacted with admirable agility, whirled around, and the clang of steel rang in the air. He'd managed to parry the blow.

"Good!" Count Daynar said. "Very good, Ranea! Now it's time for a break."

"No," Bengor protested but Sorel took a step back and raised his sword in a greeting that the boy was forced to mirror.

"Yes, Ranea," the Count corrected. "It is time for a break now. You mustn't get too tired."

The boy pouted as he peeled off his gauntlets. "I think you're letting me go too easily, Sir Count!"

"Too easily?" the Count's dark brows arched up. "I don't think so. This isn't the time to put your strength and endurance to a test yet, not while you're still only learning the basics. But just you wait until you're more into the routine – I can promise that you'll yet regret your eagerness!"

"I sure won't," Bengor grumbled.

"Take my word for it, Ranea," Sorel put in combing fingers through slightly matted curls. "My captain knows how to train people into handling weapons."

Bengor shot a quick glance at the Count, only then realizing that his words might've been taken as quite an affront, but the goateed man just smiled a little.

"I could –" Karos began but his father immediately shook his head with a determined grunt.

"No you could not! You mustn't pull that scar now. You'll have enough time to train for real once it's fully healed."

Karos pressed his lips into a thin line, clearly displeased with the answer, and his brother smirked at him.

"Isn't he irritating?" the boy said. "Treating us like little kids!"

The impertinent tone made Schean swallow but Lord Rhodan merely rolled his eyes. Count Daynar smacked his tongue in disapproval.

"You shouldn't take it that way, either of you," he said amicably. "You, Master Karos, give yourself time. I know from bitter experience how frustrating it can be to wait when you already feel all right after an injury and are sick and tired of being careful. But believe me, it's even more frustrating to be forced back to the sick bed once more just because you were a little bit too eager to prove that there's nothing wrong with you."

Sorel's eyebrow quirked and the man bowed his head, suddenly very absorbed in wiping off the barely visible dust on the blade of his sword and avoiding the Count's quick glance. Schean wondered what the story was that had them both suppressing what looked like a rueful smile; obviously the Count was indeed talking from experience.

"Yes, Master Karos," the Belter put in. "If you now manage to tear it again, there'll be hell to pay."

Karos merely sighed and slumped to lean his back against the wall.

"As for you, Ranea," the Count continued, "as I said, there's no sense in pushing you yet. One can never train the basics too much, and rushing now will only backfire later. When you don't need to think of the sword in your hand any more, when it becomes part of you, then it's time to start finding your limits and going beyond them. There is a reason why my soldiers do the drills regularly, several times a week. Their job is to fight and using their weapons must be as natural to them as breathing. When they don't need to waste energy on thinking about how to do it, only then they can concentrate on what I want them to do."

Lord Rhodan nodded emphatically but his son still wasn't convinced.

"But I'm learning too slowly!" he huffed. "I'm too small and too weak! I want to get strong quick, so that no one will be able to say that the next Lord of Deleon is a weakling."

"You are still young," Count Daynar pointed out. "And even I can say that you've grown visibly taller since I first saw you, even though I haven't been here for that long. When you grow quickly, there's no way your muscles can keep up. You just have to accept that."

"Besides, my son, wielding a sword well isn't the only skill that a lord of a big castle needs," Lord Rhodan added. Bengor leveled a suspicious look at him.

"What do you mean, father? Deleon is sure to need its armies many times in the future and I must be able to command them! How will an army obey a lord who doesn't know how to fight?"

"The only way to lead an army is not to ride ahead of the troops with a sword in hand," the Lord said. "My father brought me up as a warrior and that's how I've lived. Always in the front line. Not that it would've always been the most expedient choice, but that's what falls naturally to me. You have other things in you, Ranea my boy. You're clever and during your long illness you've had to learn to use your head. That's why you will be wiser than your father in looking after the benefit of Deleon, not always just brandishing a sword."

"You're being too harsh on yourself, my Lord," Count Daynar murmured. "And yet there's solid sense to what you're saying."

"You aren't stupid, father!" Bengor exclaimed. "Besides, what does it help how clever I am if someone attacks us? We must fight back then!"

"It helps a lot," Karos put in. "Eregal's army clearly outnumbered ours, but we had a really good strategy and outwitted them so that their superior numbers turned against them in the end."

"Precisely." Count Daynar nodded with emphasis. "And who knows – a lord with a powerful mind and a powerful army might get very far without actually ever using that army. Often the mere knowledge of its existence is enough to make others think twice and bend in good time, because they don't want to see first hand what their opponents are capable of."

Schean shuddered at the words and at Count Daynar's coolly twinkling eyes. Oh, the man knew what he was talking about! But he was even more profoundly chilled by the way Bengor looked at the dark mercenary and by the appreciative smile that hovered on the boy's lips. Where was the sweet, mild-mannered boy whom he had entertained, always wondering at his calm resignation? During those long months he could well have understood if Bengor had been difficult, petulant, moody, intolerable even, forced as he was to stay within the same room day after day. But no, he'd been such a patient child. So where had this imperious, impatient, demanding, sharp-tongued creature come from? Bengor was at last regaining his health and living like he should, so what reason did he have to behave like he did? Yet there he was, looking moody and ready to argue with his father and teachers! Schean couldn't understand it.

"You just listen to Daynar, son!" Lord Rhodan said, amused. "There's a man who has even learned to put his tongue to good use in the east! And he's so right, too. A strong army is like a famous sword – keep it visible and always in prime condition, and very few people will want to see what exactly you can do with it. It's enough that they know you have it and are able to use it."

"I still want everybody to know that I can use a sword too, not just an army," Bengor insisted, clearly fascinated by the pictured painted before his eyes but suddenly once more worried about his personal reputation. "I don't want people to say that I can only sit in my castle and plot and let others do all the work for me."

"Isn't that the sign of a great man?" Karos said. "That he doesn't need to soil his own hands?"

There was no mistaking the mixture of love and suspicion that flickered across the boy's face as he glanced at his elder brother, but before he could say anything Sorel spoke up.

"Ranea, you're right in thinking that us soldiers respect our leader more if we know he's a man with a strong arm and a sharp eye and not just someone who hides behind our backs," the Belter said. "But he doesn't have to be better than we are at everything. We will gladly follow a leader who knows each of our special skills and how to use them, who knows what we go through and does his best to look after us, and who's got enough brains not to make us bleed and die for nothing."

Bengor blinked and Lord Rhodan put an arm around his shoulders.

"We don't think you're weak, son," he said softly. "And besides, you have excellent teachers. Just be a little more patient."

"Patient!" the boy nearly cried out. "I've goddamn got enough of being patient! I'm not a patient any more!"

He squirmed free of his father's one-armed embrace and stomped angrily away, leaving behind several pairs of raised eyebrows.

"What has gone into that boy?" Lord Rhodan groaned aloud what Schean was thinking while he tried to gather his dropped jaw back from the ground. "All of a sudden it seems that I don't know him at all any more! One day he's sunshine itself, and on the next – "

"He's in such a hurry to catch up," Schean murmured, then looked up and flushed red as he realized that all four men were looking at him inquisitively.

"Sounds like you know what the matter is," Lord Rhodan said. "Speak, minstrel!"

Schean swallowed, embarrassed, but Karos nudged him encouragingly.

"Come on, what you were going to say?" he murmured, and Schean took heart. Besides, he did know. He did understand. After all, he could remember so many such moments from his own boyhood – how he'd done exactly as his teachers had told him and yet the instruments had refused to obey his clumsy young fingers, and how he'd more than once wanted to smash a lute to smithereens or snap a wooden flute in two. He knew what it felt like.

"My Lord, he's just in such a hurry to catch up," he stammered. "There are all these things he's been dreaming about, things he wants to learn, but – but he hasn't realized how much effort learning them really takes, and he gets frustrated and doubts himself. But if you just let him know that you believe in him, a-and tell him that he has got time, that he doesn't need to master all those things tomorrow."

Schean fell silent, awestruck by his own daring, and looked nervously at the men. Count Daynar nodded appreciatively.

"That makes a lot of sense to me, my Lord," he said. Lord Rhodan smiled.

"Indeed," he said. "Thank you, minstrel Schean. I think I'll try to bear that piece of advice in mind, especially as it comes from someone who probably knows my darling Bengor far better than I do."

The big man turned to go and Schean huddled deeper inside his jacket, hoping very much that Karos could hold him now. He realized only now that it was actually damn cold, but the warm glow of the Lord's words made the air feel a lot less biting.

A long arm snaked around his shoulders and squeezed briefly.

"Let's go inside," Karos grunted and made to follow his father. Schean blinked in surprise and hurried after him, grinning and for once ignoring the meaningful glances that he could practically feel on the back of his neck.