The Lord Son's Travels (3 page)

Chapter 3

It was a
week later from Adrien's meeting with his brother, and his hopes were being
crushed.
 
He had used a short duty
trip to the border of Allè-dôn to quietly question the news from abroad, and
found more stories to feed his growing concerns.
 
Travelers from the west reported incidences that taken alone
were unremarkable, but together formed some evidence of a sinister master
plan.
 
He had tried to plan a scout
such as he described to Adräe, but was deterred in every attempt.
 
He had directly asked his father for
permission to leave Allè-dôn.
 
This
was an unmitigated failure.
 
The
Lord King was incredulous at his interference, warning his son to stay out of
business belonging only to the King and Heir.
 
Then he ordered his son to remain within their borders and
away from the Council chambers or any political discussion.
 
Without the Lord King's permission, his
rank and position in royalty was effectively useless.
 
An official company was impossible.
 
Meanwhile, the winter was becoming
spring, and the news from Outland worsened.

After
duty he had decided to stop by his favorite pub for an ale.
 
The Wooden Shoe was one of the smaller,
seedier public houses near the Armory, avoided by the respectable majority of
the military officers.
 
Adrien
liked it because the barkeep Bendelbert had never acknowledged his unique
background, and treated him with the same general disrespect he treated all
visitors to his tavern.

Tonight
Adrien was hunched over in his usual seat in the darkest corner of the
room.
 
A few tradesmen gathered in
the far corner, gulping down ales and haphazardly attempting to pinch the bar
girl.
 
Rene, who had served enough
years to easily swing out of their reach, brought Adrien his usual drink, took
one look at his expression, and decided to forgo her usual attempt at small
talk.
 
The tradesmen glanced his
way once, but not recognizing the younger son of their Lord King, started on
some arguments of the new tax policy.
 
As usual, Adrien ignored the comments on his father's intelligence and
concentrated completely on his glass.
 

Just as
he downed his third drink and considered the wisdom of ordering another, a Bard
appeared in the center of the room.
 
After the first few notes of singing, Adrien glanced up in surprise he
did not recognize the voice.
 
He
didn't recognize the face either of the young man trying his best to sing over
the tradesmen's debates and the clatter of the kitchen.
 
This was surprising.
 
There were not that many Bards in the
city, and very few that were desperate enough to sing at this low level an establishment.
 
The people of the Eastlands, and
Allè-dôn in particular, took their entertainment very seriously.
 
Only graduates of a few Bard schools in
the Kingdom were allowed to practice their skills in public, whether singing or
story-telling.
 
Most of the Bards
of the Kingdom were familiar to Adrien.
 
When first released from school the graduates were invited to the
Capital to play for the royal family and make their careers from there.
 
Alma Lady Queen had discovered early
that a good Bard performance was the one infallible method to bring both sons
and husband home for the evening.
 
Adrien had always loved music.
 
It was a family secret that he possessed a rich and pleasant singing
voice, which he used on only rare occasions and only in private gatherings.

This Bard
was too young to be a graduate of any of the Schools.
 
Adrien waited for the boy to finish his songs and motioned
him over.
 
The boy shuffled slowly,
favoring his right leg heavily.
 
Shyly he stood before the man, head bowed, waiting for his superior to
speak.
 
He couldn't have had spent
more than ten summers in the world, and from the size of him, Adrien suspected
that those summers weren't spent in ease and plenty.

"Master
Bard," said Adrien in a deliberately gentle voice.
 
The young man picked up his chin just a
little at the honorific.
 
"Which school did you attend?"

"May
it please you sir," the boy replied softly, "I attended no school in
Allè-dôn.
 
I am an Outlander,
trying to help my family."
 
Adrien nodded thoughtfully.

"Barkeep!"
he barked suddenly over the boy’s head.
 
Bendelbert startled, nearly dropping the glass he was wiping.
 
When he realized who had called him, he
glared and tossed down the rag.

"I
don't see you sitting on the Lord King's throne!" he snarled as he strode
across the room.
 
The tradesmen
turned to the scene, interest trying and failing to remain on their inebriated
faces.
 
They returned to their
pitched argument.
 
The soberest
gazed at Adrien, trying to read his features in the weak lantern light, then
gave up and returned to his cup.

"What
do you want?" Bendelbert snapped, hands on waist.
 
"I'm a busy man, my Lord," he
bit out.

Adrien
motioned to the Bard.
 
"This
boy is not approved to sing, Barkeep.
 
Why do you break the King's law?"

"Because
it is a ill-born, half-witted law," the businessman snapped back.
 
"Like most of the rules engraved
in the King's Stone." Adrien, familiar with the barkeep's outbursts, only
raised an eyebrow.

"Look,"
Bendelbert continued, his voice a little lower and more companionable, "he's
new to Allè-dôn.
 
He has his family
with him, mother and sisters, and they don't have a thimbleful of gold between
them.
 
I'm letting him earn his
people bread and bed.
 
Want to put
me in the locks for that, good sir?"

Adrien
waved the barkeep away impatiently, and turned back to the scared young boy
still waiting by his side.
 
"Sit down, Bard," he said, motioning to the space on the bench
next to him.
 
The boy complied,
jumping up a little so he could reach the high wooden seat.
 
Adrien reached for the bread basket on
his table, ordered on his arrival and forgotten, and offered it to the
singer.
 
The boy hesitated for a
second then dove in, eagerly stuffing his face with a huge chunk of rye bread.

"Where
are you from, child?" Adrien demanded.
 
The boy paused in his chewing, then replied though a thick
mouthful, "Leixan, good sir, if it please you."
 
He nibbled again on his bread,
anxiously watching his benefactor.

"Why
have you come to Allè-dôn?"

The boy
considered this.
 
"My father
was a great warrior in the Royal Army, sir.
 
When he was killed, my mother said that our land was no
longer safe.
 
She brought us to the
great Kingdom of Allè-dôn so we might be safe and free."

Adrien
frowned at the mention of fighting.
 
"Who did your father battle so valiantly?"

The boy
shrank down, his meal temporarily forgotten.
 
He turned to Adrien with eyes wide with fright.

"Good
sir," he whispered.
 
"They were strange men.
 
I never saw weapons like they carried, with metal that burned fire and
other strange things I don’t know words.
 
Mother says they will overrun Leixan like dogs in a rabbit warren.
 
No one will be safe..."

"‘Tis
fine, child," Adrien interrupted brusquely.
  
"You'll be safe here with your family."
 
He motioned again for Bendelbert, who
slowly ambled over to demand his reason.

"Feed
this child and his family," Adrien ordered.
 
He flashed a look at the barkeep that kept his mouth firmly
closed. "When they have had their fill, send them to my mother with this
note."
 
He pulled a piece of
parchment from his bag and an ink stick.
 
Quickly he jotted a message and handed it to the child.
  
The boy glanced down at the note
and then to the barkeep, who turned to the royal with an expression that almost
resembled respect.

"Bard,"
Adrien told the child, "You have done your family honor and it will be
rewarded.
 
The Lady to which I send
you will protect you and yours, if you obey her."
 
The boy nodded gratefully.
 
Unsure of the protocol, he stuck out
his hand for Adrien to shake.
 
He
clutched it firmly and smiled weakly, then bade the boy to run to the
kitchen.
 
Bendelbert opened his
mouth to speak, paused, then clamped his mouth tight, shook his head and
followed the young Bard to the kitchen.
 
Adrien was left alone again to ponder the information he had just
received.
 

The night
was growing late, and Adrien was about to leave for the evening to return to
his cot in the Old Fortress.
 
The
tradesmen were long gone to their rented beds upstairs, and the tavern was
empty except for Adrien, Bendelbert and Rene.
 
As Adrien drained the last sip of his final drink, the front
door flew open, and a laughing voice called out, "Adrien!
 
Did you forget where you live?"

Adrien
looked up and half-smiled, waving for his friend Brendan to join him.
 
"What brings you out?" he
asked.

"You!"
the nobleman replied, smiling.
 
"I thought the west wind took you.
  
What have you been doing?"

Adrien
sighed, examining the bottom of his empty glass.
 
"Wandering my thoughts, my friend."

"That's
a strange place,” Brendan agreed, taking a seat next to Adrien.
 
"Is it a woman breaking your
heart?"

Adrien
didn't reply, but peered deeper into his glass.
 
He and the fair-haired noble next to him had been best
friends since childhood.
 
They had
entered military service together, served on many scouts side by side, and now
shared quarters in the officer's building in the Old Fortress.
 
He had thought to keep these issues to
himself, but the plan that had been coalescing deep in his brain might require
assistance.

"Walk
with me back to the Fort," he asked.
 
Brendan agreed readily.
 
He
had been secretly worried about his friend for weeks.
 
Adrien had been even more abrupt and distant than normal,
fulfilling his duties with the barest amount of his attention necessary.
 
Adrien waved distractedly to the
barmaid and her employer, as Brendan made their good-byes and apologies for the
late night.
 
Soon they were walking
through the deserted streets of the city.
 
There were no lights at this late hour to guide them, but the way home
was familiar enough for them to do blindly with little thought.
 
This section of the city had a small
collection of a rougher element, enough of a threat that Brendan kept his hand
close enough to his sword hilt as he kept to
Adrien’s
side.
 
He thought nothing of
weapons as they walked, only his still-murky plans.

"So
what roads have your thoughts taken?" Brendan asked.
 
Adrien frowned, collecting his ideas,
then decided to continue.

"I
learned something a fortnight ago," he started, and educated Brendan on
the events of the last several weeks through the night's conversation with the
young Bard.
 
Brendan listened
intently.
 
They spoke in low
whispers in concern for what parts of their speeches the light wind could carry
away.
 
By the time Adrien had
finished they were nearly at the Old Fortress.
 
Past its worn façade he could see looming over everything
the Capital, his family home, as the moonlight reflected off its pale colored
stone walls and towers to make an eerie glow.
 
It stood on the tallest summit in the hilly city, surrounded
by a deep moat and open fields.
 
Only one road led to the entrance gate, guarded constantly by a changing
set of soldiers.
 
Even Adrien had
had his turn at guard duty when he had long ago started his military
service.
 
He remembered well the
forlorn, frigid night he had spent at the gate gazing up at the home of his
childhood.
 
His partner in duty
that night had been an even fresher recruit, alternately awed and frightened by
his companion.
 
Adrien had sworn to
complete the same duties as any other man entering the service, no special
treatment, and to this day had accepted no difference.