| |
“You think you chose to be here, but you did not. You are here because hundreds of years ago a king decided you should be. You may think you are strong, that for you it will be easy, or you may think you have no chance and you are scared about what is to come. You may be angry that you have been forced here against your will, or you may be excited about being away from home. None of that matters. You are here to learn to fight and to kill. You will succeed or die in the attempt. Welcome second sons, welcome to the Guild of the Sword.”
––––––––
LUAN LIFTED HIS EYES from the figure on the low stage at the centre of the hall. Faded flags hung from the vast roof-beams high above him and ancient coats of arms hung on the walls flanked by windows etched with heraldic symbols from long gone noble families. Across the arch high above were carved the words: "Lest Ye Second Son Keep the Kingdom."
“How old is this place?” he thought. “How many have sat here listening to the speech of introduction?”
His gaze shifted down and he looked around the ranks of boys that surrounded him. There must have been about two hundred, although the room could have held many more. Each of them had made the journey, leaving home on the last day of the summer of their fourteenth year. Such was the lot of a second son. Born to serve the kingdom, born to be a warrior, born to be a Klaideem.
––––––––
HIS EARLIEST MEMORY was of his uncle, Marius, arriving one late summer evening. Luan must have been about five years old at the time but he would always recall the sound of horses’ hooves on the path. He had waited so long for this moment. His uncle, the warrior, the great Klaideem himself was coming to see them. Luan stared eagerly into the dusk, his eyes straining to catch a first glimpse of this mysterious figure.
He was not to be disappointed. As the last of the light faded into darkness, Luan saw the silhouette of the knight appear where the path crested the brow of the hill above his father’s hall. He heard the stamp of hoof and snort of breath as the horse made its careful way down towards them. Then at last he was there, a towering figure on horseback. Luan, suddenly shy, slipped behind his mother’s skirts for safety. His older brother, Ban, stood as tall as a nine-year-old could next to their father.
“Hail Klaideem!” Their father spoke the words formally.
“Hail Cunbran and well met!” replied Marius, his words holding genuine warmth as he dismounted.
“Well met indeed!” Luan’s father replied and a smile broke out on his face as he stepped forward and clasped his brother in a firm embrace. Marius laughed and threw his arms around his brother, and then looked past him to the two small boys.
“And who are these fine warriors?” he asked. “Your new bodyguard?”
“My sons of course: I present to you Ban and Luan.”
“Hail Ban,” Marius said, smiling at the boy. Then he paused and knelt down.
“Hail second son,” he said to the five-year-old Luan.
––––––––
THAT WAS THE DAY THAT Luan started to realise that his destiny was different from his older brother's. That in time Ban would be the Cunbran, the Clan-Chief, and that it was Luan, the second son, who might one day become one of the Klaideem, the sword warriors.
