by R K Lander
“It was a dream, brother, one my mixed race will not allow to become a reality. Even so, perhaps I can take the test for Blade Master while we’re here.”
“You never know, Fel. Pan’assár has changed since we’ve been here. I can tell you that much. He seems happier I think. Even Galadan agrees, and he knows our commander better than any of us.”
“I’d never use the word ‘happy’ to refer to our commander, Idernon. He’s worse than Galadan with his stony face, and he certainly doesn’t hide his disdain for the Silvan people. I can’t help but wonder why.”
“Why not? There’s nothing new in that, Fel’annár,” spluttered Ramien. “Why are you surprised, after all this time?”
“I’ve been here long enough to realise just how close our commander was to King Or’Talán, who, by all accounts, was revered by the Silvan people. Why would Pan’assár hate them?”
“Yes, you have a point.” Idernon scowled, mind racing as the silence dragged on.
Fel’annár broke it with a completely unrelated question. “Did either of you see that Silvan healer?”
There was no answer, and Fel’annár pressed on. “Sontúr said she travelled with a group of Pelagians.”
“Pelagians?” exclaimed Ramien.
“I haven’t seen any Silvans since we’ve been here. I suppose our folk reckon they won’t be made welcome. It’s a pity they think it’s like that here, too,” said Idernon. “They can’t be blamed, mind.”
Fel’annár listened to the words that Idernon continued to speak but their meaning did not register, because before his mind’s eye was a mischievous smile upon a glowing face surrounded by hair of deep brown silk and a liquid-honey gaze. She was a mystery Fel’annár found himself wanting to solve. Her simple presence was like a beacon that led to the Forest. She reminded him of his home, a home he had sometimes wondered he even wanted to return to—a place of discrimination and injustice, a mother who had lied to him his entire life, his own countrymen who had deceived him purposefully. Here, he was valued as a warrior, had made a tentative friend of the mighty Gor’sadén. He had a life here, if he should choose to stay. But all it had taken was the fleeting presence of a bright Silvan soul: that lilting accent, the richness of her dark hair, and the open simplicity in her eyes and on her tongue. She reminded him of why he loved the Forest so much, in spite of the suffering it had brought him.
Ramien’s elbow was digging into his ribs. Fel’annár wanted to punch him, but the warriors on the field had stopped their exercises and bowed. Prince Handir was approaching, and Fel’annár’s stomach fell into his boots.
Standing and straightening their uniforms, the three Silvans bowed.
Handir’s weighty gaze landed on Fel’annár, and for a moment he simply stood and watched, until Fel’annár shifted his weight to his other leg.
“Fel’annár, I must have a private word.” They were the words of a school master to his pupil, proper and formal, yet there was no compromise in his tone. His statement was an order.
“My prince,” nodded Fel’annár. His mind raced at what Handir would say, for it seemed to him there was a spark of pity in his eyes. That morning, Gor’sadén had asked him if he had spoken with the prince—whatever this was about, Gor’sadén knew, and if he knew, then so did Pan’assár, he wagered.
Handir gestured that he should accompany him, and so prince and warrior walked away under the curious gazes of the warriors while Idernon and Ramien followed at a respectful distance. One was a prince, a statesman clad in velvet and silk, and the other a Silvan warrior despite his outward appearance. Fel’annár was taller than his princely brother, broader across the shoulders, more powerfully built, whereas Handir was slim and pruned to a fault, decorated as was befitting an Alpine prince. And yet none who looked on could deny the kinship between them, even though one had warm blue eyes and the other, preternatural green eyes. Still, the silky silver locks of Handir contrasted with the wildness of Fel’annár’s indomitable mane of plaits and Ari twists. Culture and prejudice separated them as starkly as their features marked them as brothers.
There was silence for most of the time it took them to arrive at the prince’s private suite of rooms on the upper levels of the Royal Palace. Idernon and Ramien knew better than to follow Fel’annár inside the guarded doors, and soon enough, the two brothers were alone, wrapped in a shroud of awkward silence.
“You are not on duty, Fel’annár. For what I have to say you are free to talk with me as you see fit.” Handir’s voice was low and studiously devoid of emotion.
He fleetingly admired the boy’s ability to command himself. At fifty-two, such an inexperienced elf should be somewhat overwhelmed by his current circumstances . . . apprehensive, at least. But the boy simply stood with his hands behind his back and stared at him expectantly.
What was going on in his mind, wondered Handir. Was he really as calm as he looked? Or was he simply good at hiding his emotions, as Handir himself was?
He wanted to know, needed to know what Lainon had seen in this boy, why he had even suggested that Fel’annár could help them in their plans for the restoration of the Forest. Handir did understand from a practical viewpoint, because Fel’annár was who he was. He represented the Silvan people in that they believed Lássira should have been queen and not his own mother. Perhaps it was that simple, he mused—but the thought was fleeting, because Lainon would not have based all their efforts on a symbol, not when a symbol could very well turn against them. Lainon had seen something in Fel’annár himself, and Handir needed to know what it was.
He poured wine for them both and then turned to the Silvan, holding one goblet out to him, gaze firmly anchored on his brother’s strange eyes: the same legendary green eyes they said The Silvan’s mother once bore. Fel’annár looked at the glass and then at Handir, who gestured with his hand that he should take it. Fel’annár nodded his thanks, and Handir, for the first time, saw emotion: surprise.
“On your arrival from your previous foray, when you told me of . . . of Lainon’s departure, Lainon’s final words, the words you did not understand and . . .”
Fel’annár’s hand froze, goblet half-way to his mouth. “You know of what he spoke?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, yes I know. And it is time that you, too, knew.”
Fel’annár took a step forward. “Tell me, Prince. Those were Lainon’s final words; you should not have kept their meaning from me.”
Handir watched The Silvan closely, just as Aradan had taught him to do. There was an intensity about him, a need to know, and a spark of anger Handir wondered if the boy would let loose. He was bold for suggesting his prince had erred.
“You may feel . . . overwhelmed by what I will tell you now.”
“I have been overwhelmed since Lainon told me who my father was not four months past. How much more you can shock me, Prince, is questionable.”
Handir nodded, and for a moment, he was sure that his own surprise had been visible. The boy was forthright and just a little sarcastic. He drank slowly from his goblet while Fel’annár stood rigid and expectant.
“After your arrival at the city barracks for recruit training, Lainon came to me and delivered news that shocked me. I had a brother, a Silvan brother, he said, born of the woman who had been my father’s lover.” From the corner of his eye he could see the boy listening intently, and he turned to the fire, increasing the distance between them.
“I hated my father, questioned my mother’s decision to leave, despised you,” said Handir with an arch of his brow. “Everything I had thought had happened between my father, Lássira, and my own mother was called into question, for you see, my father has spent the last few decades inside a shell, distancing himself from his surroundings. We thought it due to the departure of our mother and the ensuing scandal of his infidelity with your mother. We thought it was for shame, for had he not precipitated the queen’s departure with his faithlessness? It was surely for this reason that the queen had abando
ned her adolescent children; there was no other reason that could merit such a thing,” he said, eyes now riveted on Fel'annár, watching his reactions. But The Silvan simply stared coolly back at him.
“After the shocking revelation of your existence, I came to understand that the king’s grief was due to something else. It was not the absence of the queen, my mother; it was the loss of his soulmate—your mother,” he said quietly.
Fel’annár’s cold gaze widened, ice melting instantaneously, his shield of protection suddenly gone, and in its place was raw surprise, and to Handir’s utter shock, the onset of quiet empathy.
“And yet it was not my father’s infidelity that sent my mother away,” he said softly. “It was not even Lássira; it was you. It was because Thargodén had created a child.”
Handir had expected fiery defence and anger, but all he saw was sadness. Fel’annár’s eyes filled with unshed tears, and he abruptly turned to the door.
Handir suddenly felt ashamed, and when next he spoke, it was kind, but his words were not the ones he had meant to use at all.
“Fel’annár, it is what you represent that hurts, not you.”
Fel’annár visibly started, but he did not speak as he turned to face him once more.
“I’m sorry,” whispered Fel’annár at last. “I’m sorry, I—I never had a mother to lose but you . . .”
Handir stepped back, as if he had been slapped. He had never considered the situation from that perspective. He, at least, had had a mother to remember fondly, in spite of the ensuing anger at her departure. But Fel’annár was bereft of that bond, had no memory at all of the woman who had given him life.
“I don’t know what happened, Handir, am woefully ignorant of the nature of my mother’s relationship with . . . with the king. I know only what Lainon has told me. He said they met long before the king took a queen and his children were born, that they shared deep love and that King Or’Talán forbade it.”
“Yes,” said Handir, nodding and then turning back to the window, taking a sip of his wine. He needed to distance himself from those eyes, from the grief he had briefly captured: they were the eyes of an orphan.
“I never had a mother to lose . . .”
“That is the short of it, as much as I myself know,” continued Handir as he shifted and forced himself to return from where he had all but fled. “I discussed the issue with Lord Aradan, chief councillor to my father. He suggested that the prohibition was political, that the circumstances at the time must have merited such a drastic decision, one that heralded a political union between Thargodén and an Alpine lady of high standing, my mother.”
“It seems harsh, but then,” said Fel’annár, turning to Handir with a humourless chuckle, “she was nothing but a Silvan commoner, unfit as a bride to a future Alpine king.”
Handir turned to face him. “This is a complex matter, Fel’annár. You should keep your mind open, not condemn King Or’Talán on the basis of such rudimentary knowledge.”
“You think I am wrong?” said Fel’annár, voice stronger. “You think race and standing had nothing to do with my mother’s disgrace? Because of it, my own early childhood was marked by unanswered questions and ruthless mockery, for look at me, Prince. An Alpine face on a child raised as a Silvan from the Deep Forest. All the people I ever loved were in silent collusion to keep the truth from me. Even our village library was emptied of any book that contained the face of Or’Talán. I have been misled all my life, judged from the moment I had knowledge of myself.”
“Do not use your anger against me, Fel’annár. I do not doubt it had much to do with all that. You apologised because your mother was the reason my mother left, and I would return that gesture by asking you to forgive my grandfather for doing what he felt was right. He was not one of those elves, Fel’annár, he did not discriminate against the Silvan people, did not see them as inferior in any way despite the obvious differences between us—and neither do I, neither does Aradan, and neither did Lainon.” He had come to stand before Fel’annár, aware that he had allowed his emotions to show, and for one moment he did not care at all. He watched as Fel’annár’s anger washed away and the battle to contain his emotions began once more. At last Handir had seen it, seen the Silvan’s weakness.
Family was Fel’annár’s weakness.
“Even if you leave me out of this puzzle, Handir. What of love? My mother and the king were one. That bond cannot be undone in spite of one elf’s will, in spite of the absence of a marriage. King Or’Talán condemned my mother to eternal grief, and he did so consciously.”
“And my father still pays the consequences, Fel’annár. I ask only that you keep your mind open, that you remember the lack of knowledge that we have as to my grandfather’s motivations.”
Fel’annár was silent, and Handir knew the boy was listening to him. It was time to press on to why he had brought Fel’annár here in the first place.
“So you see, Aradan, Turion, Lainon and I devised a plan, Fel’annár. We knew the knowledge of your existence would not remain a secret for long; your face gave you away to Lainon and would have done to my father’s entire court had you not left the barracks. This was the first part of our plan, to get you away with Lainon and Turion to protect you while Aradan and I paved the way. You know of racism in our lands, but perhaps you are unaware that it was Lord Band’orán, our great uncle, who first instigated it. Our lands were not like this under Or’Talán’s rule. This downward spiral into injustice is but one generation long. It is Band’orán and his manipulation of our institutions, of the Inner Circle, his slow but relentless poisoning, his talk of inferiority and hatred that have led us to this point, and I would be one of those to stop him. His treachery runs deeper than even those closest to the king imagine.”
Fel’annár stood wide-eyed, and Handir could not blame him. Handir was telling him a tale of treason, disclosing information that was sensitive, dangerous and restricted. He could only hope this was not wrong; he could only trust that Lainon had been right about Fel’annár.
“You think they will turn against our king? You think I can do something to stop that? This is nonsense. I was not raised a prince. I have no knowledge of politics or scheming.”
“Our king has proclaimed you a lord, a Silvan lord. The Silvans that were denied a queen will want the prince that could not be. Silvan son of an Alpine king . . .” said Handir forcefully, coming to stand as close as he could to a disbelieving Fel’annár, eyes sharp.
“A lord? Why? What for? Just so that you can use me?”
“As for my father, I cannot say, although I suspect he does this to protect you, to give you grounds to fight against the rivalry you will undoubtedly come up against in the Forest. But as for me, yes, I would use you, just as would your own people, Fel’annár. Why do you think they deceived you? Why do you think they shielded you? Emptied their libraries?”
“I am a warrior . . .”
“You are the son of a king! Yes, you are a warrior and I would not see that change—Gor’sadén is adamant you should be allowed to train in the Kal’hamén’Ar, and I do not seek to wilfully stunt your dreams, none of us do. We still have time here, time to learn and for you to train. Think about it, Fel’annár. Think of the possibilities: to help us and set your people free once more, not from their ruling king who loves them well but from the dictatorship of the powerful who would take the throne for themselves and subjugate your people for eternity. We mean to give the Silvans back their sense of pride and purpose. We mean to return to them their identity, Fel’annár, and then there will be peace once more under the grace of our father’s rule. You can help us do that.”
After long moments of silence, Handir understood that Fel’annár would say no more, so he turned to the missives that sat upon the low table before them.
“Here, this is from Captain Turion, and this . . . is from your father. Read them, later, when you are alone and your mind is free to wander.”
Fel’annár locked gaz
es with Handir, hand slowly taking the two scrolls from the prince. “This must not have been easy. Thank you—for telling me.”
Handir once more hid his surprise. “Go, Fel’annár, go and think, with an open mind and the good of our people in your heart. When you are ready, if you ever are, come back to me. Perhaps then we can carry out what Lainon bid us do together. He believed in this plan and, Aria as my witness, so do I.”
“It was this then? Lainon spoke of this plan? To stop this racial madness? To reunite the cultures of Ea Uaré as they say it once was?”
Handir smiled softly and nodded. “Lainon was a king’s man, Fel’annár, loyal to Thargodén like few others. He knew what it would mean for Band’orán to take the throne, the ruin it would bring to the Forest and its people, and so do I. It cannot be allowed to happen. We both can avoid it, with Aradan and Turion’s help. If you wish to think we would use you, then you are right, but using you does not mean we wish you harm. A king uses his warriors, Fel’annár, and still he loves them. Captain Turion would never have accepted his part in this if it would bring harm to you, and I do not need to tell you of Lainon’s thoughts.”
Fel’annár breathed deeply and looked to the floor, his extraordinary eyes drifting over the exquisite rug under his feet. The Silvan was once more in control of his emotions. He was a tough lad, thought Handir, like Rinon in a more humble way—in a Silvan way.
Handir startled when the door clicked and a figure drifted into the room only to stop mid-stride. He saw Llyniel’s embarrassment at having interrupted, but it promptly turned to curiosity and then suspicion. He had told her there was something he needed to do before he would speak to her, and the light of understanding flared in her eyes. She smiled, and Handir mirrored it while Fel’annár watched them both.
There was a spark of complicity between them, and something else that could not be denied.
