by R K Lander
“I am proud of you, Trainee Lieutenant Fel’annár. May you serve your king well.”
“May you serve Aria well,” added Hobin, and both commanders glanced sideways at him, wondering if he would elaborate. But he didn’t.
Fel’annár couldn’t speak, his throat too tight, and so he smiled, turning the silver insignia in his hand. It symbolised the earth. When he was no longer a trainee, it would be replaced in gold, but Fel’annár would not stop, not until he bore the golden sun of a captain. That dream had once been a distant fantasy, one he had come to doubt would ever come to pass. Now, though, that dream was a step closer, no longer wishful thinking but a reachable goal, for Pan’assár the legend was back and the Silvan fighters of Ea Uaré could, perhaps, serve with dignity once more.
Movement behind the commanders and Prince Handir came through the doors, closely followed by The Company. The prince nodded at the commanders and then placed clothing he had brought for Fel’annár at the foot of the bed, and upon his face was a knowing smile—but to what, Fel’annár could not say. The Company came to stand on the other side of the bed, and to Fel’annár’s dismay, they wore the same smile. Something was going on.
Before long, Fel’annár changed into the simple clothing and then turned to The Company. Opening his hand, he revealed the silver insignia of a trainee lieutenant, and the brothers fell together amongst cries of joy and celebration, but Galadan stepped up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Justice has been done at last. It is my very great honour to train you in the ways of a lieutenant, Warrior.”
“And I am so very grateful that you will be my guide,” he smiled and then hugged Galadan, for the first time since he had known him. And while Idernon’s eyes strayed to Pan’assár in utter surprise at what he had done, Handir and the commanders watched The Company with soft smiles. Handir too could not help but catch Pan’assár’s eyes and nod softly at him. He had missed something important, missed Pan’assár’s transformation, and he wondered. Blue eyes strayed to the purple sash and then to Gor’sadén, but he was watching Fel’annár and in his eyes was the unmistakable pride he had always missed in his own father’s eyes.
Pan’assár reached into his pocket once more, this time pulling out a golden clip he held out towards Gor’sadén. He took the delicate object from his brother’s hand, stared at it and then looked up at Pan’assár, gaze intense even though he smiled. Pan’assár’s unspoken question was answered with a tip of the commander’s head, and Pan’assár sat on the side of the now empty bed. Gor’sadén weaved the Heliaré back into Pan’assár’s hair for the first time since The Three had been sundered, and while the others looked on, Pan’assár’s gaze turned inwards and to the image of Or’Talán’s face, smiling back at him in joy and pride.
At last it was time to leave, and Fel’annár stood with The Company at his back, his crutch tucked under his arm. He gestured for the commanders to precede them, but Gor’sadén was shaking his head even as the commanders pulled themselves to their feet. Gor’sadén’s head gestured to the door. Neither he nor anyone else would step out before Fel’annár. It was his moment to shine.
Llyniel, too, took leave of Arané and Mestahé and stepped outside the infirmary, behind the commanders, a heavy book in her hands, and at her side was Handir.
Inside the public areas of the Healing Halls themselves, every bed had been vacated, every injured warrior standing, alone or with the help of loved ones or healers, and as Fel’annár and the others passed, they bowed low as they would to their king. Healers, too, stopped to pay deference to the warriors that had saved their city.
Fel’annár didn’t know where to look, wanted to acknowledge them all but that was not possible, and so he walked, slowly and with a heavy limp, head moving from one side to the other. His entire body ached from this simple act of walking, but still he smiled and nodded back at them, determined they would not see the effort it required of him.
But it was when they passed the doors from the Halls into the palace itself that Fel’annár and The Company stopped short.
The entire front entrance, the corridors, the staircases and landings were brimming with people, silently watching as The Company and the commanders slowly stepped into their midst.
One, lone elf began to clap, hard and furious. He was soon followed by another, and then another, until the entire hall erupted. The clapping then was joined by shouts of glory and praise, and the warriors looked about themselves, at the shining faces that thanked them, the citizens of Tar’eastór that had so desperately wanted to thank them. Tears welled in their eyes and shy smiles blossomed on the lips of The Company, even as their hands discreetly held on to Fel’annár’s belt. They climbed stairs and navigated corridors and still, they were followed by claps and shouts of thanks. The commanders and Handir had then left for their own quarters, and by the time The Company had made it to Fel’annár’s corridor, their hold on the back of his belt was stronger.
The people stopped at a respectable distance from Fel’annár’s guarded rooms, but they could still see the door, still see what lay around it and all along the other side of the corridor. They stood silent and expectant as Fel’annár cast his eyes over it all and the true impact of what they had done finally hit him.
The place was littered with plants and packages, bottles and boxes, wrappings of all shapes and sizes, reels of luscious material, scrolls . . . and for a moment all he could do was stand and stare at the gifts that had been carefully laid there. The Company had already known, though, had seen it all when they had come to bathe and change. The people of Tar’eastór wanted to show them, show Fel’annár how grateful they were for the sacrifice The Company had been willing to make.
Sontúr stepped forward and opened the doors, but before they passed through, Fel’annár turned back to the now silent people of Tar’eastór. Tears had welled in his eyes and he smiled softly back at them. With a slow nod, he turned back and disappeared from their sight.
Inside, the room was not cold and unused but warm and inviting, candles flickering in the sconces and upon the tables. They had been expected, and had Fel’annár ventured into the bathing area, he would have seen the hot water that lay steaming in the tub, would have smelled the flowers and herbs that suffused the air.
It was Llyniel and Sontúr who led an already exhausted Fel’annár into the bed chamber and settled him, watching as he lay back, eyes half-closed.
“Rest,” said Sontúr as he turned and pulled his friend’s boots off and covered him with the bedspread. He turned to Llyniel, a silent question in his eyes, one she understood perfectly. Nodding, she sat by the bed and gestured that he should go and join The Company—and Sontúr thought he would have chosen no other for his friend to love.
Sontúr sat—and then heaved a mighty breath of relief and fatigue, eyes turning to the mountain of offerings that had been brought inside, piled up on one side of the room. Normally, Galdith and Carodel would be poking through it all and Ramien would be admiring the silky cloth. Galadan would be watching as Idernon read through the scrolls and Sontúr himself would be opening the wine. But the battle and its aftermath, and then the events that had taken place at the Sentinel, had affected them all deeply, so much that they had not yet spoken of it. But now that they knew Fel’annár would recover, that they were alone, clean and comfortable and with fine wine in their hands, they could no longer remain silent.
“I am centuries old, have seen my share of rarities. But I will never be able to express what I saw at the Sentinel that dawn when Fel’annár returned,” said Galdith, eyes fixed on the flickering flames. “I need to know . . . if you saw what I did; I need to know if you saw the figure . . .”
They remained silent, didn’t even move until Ramien sat forward in his chair, forearms resting on his thighs.
“I saw her.”
“And I,” said Carodel. “I saw the space before Fel’annár shift, as if something floated in my own eye, distorted my v
ision, and for one moment, as the sun rose, I thought I saw . . . I thought perhaps it was a lady.”
Again they were silent, but Galdith was smiling and a tear rolled from his eye. He swiped a hand across his face and sniffled.
“I saw what Carodel did,” began Sontúr. “But I cannot be sure what it was,” he said, shaking his head. “Perhaps some phenomenon—the warmth from the sun and the dew upon the ground . . .” Idernon nodded slowly as he contemplated Sontúr’s suggestion.
“I suppose we each of us saw what we believe we did. But one thing you can’t deny, Brothers. We all felt something beautiful brush our souls. Strange that simple energy can achieve such a wonderful thing,” said Carodel.
They sat in silence once more, thoughts of existence and beliefs, of faith and reason swirling in their minds, but it was not an uncomfortable silence, not now that they had spoken of it.
Idernon turned back to the fire. “For now, we concentrate on getting Fel’annár back to his usual self—and we guard him. We cannot forget the danger that still stalks him. He still needs to speak to his brother about his acceptance to join this plan he speaks of. After that, I don’t think it will be long until we return to the Forest.”
“I wonder what we will find,” mused Galdith. “Fel’annár says Handir has painted a dire picture, speaks of some Summit the king has held, and I can’t help wondering what his enemies will say on his return—what they will do, even.”
“The king will hold our land together, Galdith,” assured Ramien.
“The king has been absent for many years, Brother,” said Galadan. “But whatever the state of the Forest we return to, we must be vigilant. We must trust no one, not even our own people, not until we understand what is happening.”
“I agree,” said Idernon. “You know, when our people see Fel’annár now, when they come to realise what it is he can do . . . I cannot rightly say how they will react.”
The others looked at Idernon’s profile as he stared into the flames. They knew he was right, and yet, all they had were suppositions, suspicions about how their land would welcome them—or not. They had no way of knowing the depth of Band’orán’s treachery, of his desire to subjugate the Silvan people.
Not until they returned would they come to understand what they were walking into.
Eighteen
Night of a Thousand Drums
“Hope drives ambition, fuels passion, brings optimism, leads to great deeds should the stakes be high. In Ea Uaré, they were, but it was hope that we did not have, and for all that Lord Erthoron tried, he failed to unite his people, failed to garner their patience to wait for the vote to be taken once more. We had waited for too long, had been driven too hard, and the tether had broken. The hope the Silvans had nurtured from birth was absent and silent, but still these forests were ours, forests that were slipping from our grasping fingers and into the ample pockets of the greedy.
We would not tolerate it. Not anymore.”
The Silvan Chronicles, book IV. Marhené.
Three days later, Fel’annár’s incessant fidgeting was unbearable. He walked with difficulty, grimaced often, was quick to tire and hesitant to eat. Still, he wanted to visit the gardens, and after what had happened at the Sentinel, they would not keep him from it—indeed, it would surely accelerate his recuperation, they said.
However, his wish had been granted under strict orders from both Llyniel and Sontúr. He was to use his crutch, he was to sit, and he was to eat when ordered to. He had agreed to it all, and then Llyniel had asked The Company to grant Fel’annár a modicum of privacy. There were things she needed to say, questions she needed to ask. Idernon had nodded in silent understanding and then had spoken to the others. Funny, she mused, because she had never thought to find a friend in the Wise Warrior. Yet now, of all its members save for Sontúr, it was him she felt closest to.
And so, they had taken Fel’annár to the gardens and had sat him in his favourite spot beneath the Sentinel. His pale and strained features eased slowly as his muscles relaxed, and Llyniel covered his legs with a blanket. With a grateful nod at Idernon, The Company fell back, out of sight but within walking distance should any danger approach.
They were alone at last—save that Handir stood watching them from afar, and Llyniel closed her eyes in frustration. She had not had one single, waking moment alone with Fel’annár since he had been cognizant enough to maintain a conversation. Yet to look at Handir now, she could not send him away. She gestured to the prince with her head and he walked to them, taking a moment to observe his brother as he stood over him.
“May I?” he asked, and Fel’annár looked up at him, nodding. Handir sat, stretching one leg out before him while the other was bent at the knee, one arm resting on it. It was a distinctly Alpine posture to adopt, thought Fel’annár. He had seen it in books, great lords sitting on plush cushions around low tables, picking at food and drinking wine. He smirked at his fanciful thoughts, but it soon faded, because Handir did not speak—instead he seemed to be warring with his words. Fel’annár wondered if he knew what his brother was thinking, and he spoke first.
“Before the battle, I had resolved to speak with you, but then I met Llyniel in a tree and then . . .”
“Yes, yes. Spare me the details, Fel’annár,” smiled Handir.
“I wanted to speak with you about Lainon’s plan.” He felt Llyniel stiffen beside him, for the right reasons he hoped. “I and The Company want to be a part of it. We would help you in this endeavour to keep King Thargodén on the throne, to pull our people together.”
Handir’s intensely bright eyes gave him away, despite his cool features and the unmoving posture.
“What changed?” he asked, shrewd eyes boring into his brother’s strangely confident gaze.
“During my time in Tar’eastór, I have come to love this place, love the Alpine side of myself. Racial discrimination does not exist here—I have received nothing but friendship and good will from these people. I even wondered once if I could stay here, not have to go back and face it all. But then a part of me needs to hope that our own lands can be just like this. Diverse, just, proud.
“And then Lainon’s last wishes were always in my mind. He wanted us to do this together, and I would honour that, but my heart . . .” He faltered for a moment, grappled with his words. “I needed to understand, Handir, understand that I would not be used because of what I seem to represent to some. I needed to know that I would serve some purpose beyond the symbolic, that I could make a difference in some way that was justified, do something that others could not.” He stopped, had said enough, and so he turned his eyes back to Handir, who was staring back at him as if he should continue. The prince leaned back, and Fel’annár had the distinct feeling that he knew he was holding back, that there was, indeed, something else that had tipped the balance.
Aria had charged him with uniting the Forest—as her Ber’anor, because he himself was Ari’atór. But he couldn’t tell Handir that, not yet. Not even Llyniel knew about that.
“Perhaps this gift of mine will help us in some way,” he continued. “Not to turn the Forest against anyone, but perhaps through the mind of the trees, things I can perceive, warnings I can heed . . . these things will be helpful to us.”
Handir nodded. Fel’annár had tried to dissipate his suspicions and had failed, but still the prince did not press for now.
“I am glad, Fel’annár, glad that we can finally honour Lainon’s wishes. He was a brother to us both, one who strangely has stepped into the space between us, brought us a little closer together.”
Unfamiliar feelings came over Fel’annár. He didn’t know if it was his weakened state or perhaps some effects from the herbs he was forced to take. Whatever the reasons, he felt light, strangely unburdened. He felt safe, like a child home from a storm. It was a strange thought. Handir snapped him out of it.
“I am considering speaking with Pan’assár of this plan, Fel’annár. His time in Tar’eastór has temper
ed his dislike of the Silvans, and although I cannot see him ever completely warming to them, he is loyal to the king. We would gain a formidable ally.”
“Let me do it,” began Fel’annár. “I have come to . . . understand . . . our commander. He does not hate the Silvans, Handir.”
Handir’s eyes turned to Llyniel, who had remained silent throughout their talk. If anyone would protest the inclusion of Pan’assár in their plan, it would be her, yet she said nothing at all, and Handir turned back to Fel’annár. “Then things have, indeed, changed, it would seem. Perhaps it is your initiation in the Kal’hamén’Ar . . .”
“Perhaps,” said Fel’annár, once more leaving Handir with the uncomfortable impression that his younger brother knew much more than he let on. “It is Gor’sadén who has brought our commander back, Handir; he, too, is coming with us to Ea Uaré.”
Handir’s brows rose high on his forehead. “Is he now . . . that would certainly help us to get Pan’assár on our side. You are close to Gor’sadén and . . . ”
Fel’annár chuckled. “Always scheming, Handir. But yes, I am close to him, and yet I will not use him to garner Pan’assár’s support. I will have it . . . or I will not.”
“Spoken like a true warrior,” nodded Handir with a stifled smile, “Or should I say lieutenant?” He smiled and then breathed deeply, and for a moment, Fel’annár saw him as just another elf, no longer standing to ceremony, no longer scheming and second-guessing, no longer reading between lines and manipulating. Handir his brother suddenly sat before him, and of a sudden Fel’annár understood what those strange feelings were.
It was a sense of belonging. It was a sense of family.
He leaned back against the tree behind him and then closed his eyes, thankful for the first time that he was still injured and that his emotions would be interpreted as tiredness. It worked.
