by R K Lander
“I wonder that he has not yet been told of his resemblance to Or’Talán—his grandfather,” said Lainon, as if he still could not believe it. “Fifty-one years is a long time to not see a book, meet an elder elf, a veteran warrior.”
“Agreed,” said Turion, sipping on his wine, blue eyes staring into flickering orange flames.
“We need an accomplice, Turion,” began Lainon, leaning forwards in his chair. “This is too big for the two of us; we are warriors, not politicians or advisors. In our haste to do what we perceive as right we may well be sticking our booted feet thigh deep into a pool of quicksand. We need help,” concluded Lainon, a hand resting on his chin.
“Who?”
“Handir,” said Lainon.
“Prince Handir?” asked Turion, quite unnecessarily.
“He is wise for his years, of even temper and good judgement. It is a risk but ignoring this, Turion, would be a mistake, the consequences of which may prove disastrous for Ea Uaré, and for Fel’annár.”
“If Thargodén ever found out you had shared this knowledge with Handir, without his consent, he would banish you,” said Turion meaningfully.
“Perhaps, but what is the alternative my friend? That we ignore this thing and let it all spiral out of control until someone tells the king there is some Silvan warrior out there with the face of Or’Talán, his own father? Or worse still Band’orán finds out first and uses it against our king? Had the boy decided to become a forester, none of this would be of any import, but the child wants to be a warrior—a captain no less,” said Lainon with a fond smile, “he is too good to pass by inadvertently, Turion. The king will find out, be it from us, or from those that appreciate Thargodén less.”
Silence prevailed for a while as they sat together, each contemplating their options and the strange, volatile situation they now found themselves involuntarily enmeshed in.
“Perhaps,” began Turion, “perhaps you are right. Handir can procure us with the information we need to make the best choice. Speak to him, wrench from him an honour-bound oath not to speak of this. We will be patrolling for the next year; far away enough to keep him out of trouble should the worse happen. That should be time enough to better judge our options, with Handir as our source of information and chose the best time to tell them both.
“And what of the boy?” asked Lainon. “What of the comments he is sure to hear?”
“Then we tell him, although admittedly it will unbalance him. He thinks his father dead or banished,” said Turion, remembering that first talk he had had with Fel’annár at the village barracks. “Not telling him and leaving him with his questions—I wager that is the short of his entire life thus far—are we to prolong that suffering?” asked Turion. “Until we can guess at the king’s reaction I would not tell him, but I will not hold off if logic dictates he should know.
Lainon knew his friend was right. In matters such as these he was always right. The fact remained that now, Lainon needed to find a way to tell Handir he had a brother, not pure Alpine like himself but half Silvan, a child that had not been born to the Queen.
Chapter Six
Brothers
“Thargodén, Alpine King of Ea Uaré continued to exist as what Councillor Aradan once described as ‘a shadow of his former splendour’. His sons, Crown Prince Rinon and Councillor Handir did not speak of their mother, of her departure to Valley or of the sordid rumours that had abounded - they had never been addressed and so they had festered, turning the sons against their kingly father.”
The Silvan Chronicles, book III. Marhené
***
The day dawned painfully slowly, or at least it seemed that way to one who had not slept at all. The party had been long and Fel’annár had revelled well into the night, but his joy had turned to quiet respect when a group of warriors had galloped into the courtyard with three wounded elves. They had overheard hushed conversation about Deviants attacking the village of Sen’tarhán, not a week’s ride from Lan Taria, killing most of its civilians, including the babes. There had been blood too, smeared down the sides of their heaving, sweaty mounts.
Fel’annár’s skin had turned to ice. He had always thought Lan Taria safe and yet he had been wrong. His stomach lurched and a sense of urgency instilled itself in his chest.
Fel’annár had asked why the wounded had not been tended to in the forest, to which an Alpine healer had answered him with both humour and pity, “they need master healers, child.” Fel’annár had simply nodded and then walked away, feeling stupid.
But it was not only the night’s tidings that had kept him awake but what the day would bring with it—Fel’annár would take his biggest step so far upon the road he had chosen for himself as a child, the path he had prepared for so diligently. He had mercilessly trained his body until it was as strong as it could be. He had read all Lan Taria had to offer on tactics, battles, techniques and armament, on command and protocol—and not once had he resented his obsession. He had simply understood it as an inherent part of himself. It had never been a choice yet even so, it had not been easy.
Turning over and facing his little window, he brushed a finger over the furry leaves of a fern that had grown tall and strong and he was suffused with a sense of calm. He thought of Amareth then.
His message would not have reached her in time, even though he had written no sooner he had been told of his promotion to novice warrior; she would not be there to watch him take his vow—no one would. He breathed deeply; now was not the time for self-pity but pride. Today he would become a novice warrior, a servant of the king. That was his aim, to serve some purpose—to mean something—to someone. A frown flickered over his features for he had never thought of it that way before, that his obsession with being a warrior had something to do with feeling worthy. Yet Amareth had loved him as a mother, and he counted many friends in Lan Taria. Nay, it was not for lack of love and it was not for shame for having no father. There was something else, something he had never understood, as if a part of himself were missing, a fleeting thought that escaped him—like river rain through open fingers.
***
Lainon straightened his tunic and breathed deeply. The Ari’atór was nervous and that was not like him at all. Not even during those endless seconds before a battle had he felt this nervous.
It was a testimony to the risk they were taking by speaking with Handir on the matter of the Silvan. Should the prince not like what Lainon had to tell him, he could well run to his father and reveal all. Both he and Turion would surely be punished and banished.
The fact was they had no choice in the matter at all. Logic and sound reasoning had brought Lainon to this very moment, at the doors of Prince Handir’s personal office.
Straightening his tunic once more, Lainon knocked upon the hard wood. This was it. There was no turning back now.
“Lainon! So good to see you, brother. You have been busy with the new recruits I hear?” asked Handir, his face alight with genuine surprise, and Lainon’s heart sank to his boots.
“Aye, the barracks have been eventful of late, I cannot deny that,” he said, allowing a tight smile to ease the stiffness of his features.
“Well, what brings you here? Is there some business to discuss, or are we free to wander outside?” asked Handir with a smile.
Lainon realised just how much his former charge had changed, matured so quickly into what seemed now to be an experienced man of state. It had been ten years since he had no longer been needed as a personal guard and General Huren had reassigned him to his current post. The boy had grown, his mind sharpened, no longer subjugated to the will of his fiery brother or his cold, blank father.
“Both, truth be told, but there is nothing to stop us from speaking outside, indeed I would prefer it,” said Lainon. It made sense of course, for what he had to say could not be overheard by anyone, and Turion would make sure they were not spied upon
in the woods.
“Then come, we walk and we talk” said Handir. “It has been so long since I enjoyed such a simple moment of brotherly chit-chat.”
Lainon was loathe to spoil Handir’s joy, for it seemed to the Ari that the boy did not often have such moments. He felt mean and wretched but his hands were tied and the business that had brought him here was too significant, too potentially dangerous to put off—Handir’s feelings were secondary, however much it hurt Lainon to admit.
“I hear you passed the grade for councillor—well done,” smiled Lainon, watching as the boy’s face lit up with pride at his words and his own guilt swelled painfully in his heart. The boy had changed, but he was still young, still needy of approval and encouragement, those things his father had become incapable of providing him with.
“I did!” grinned the youngest prince. “I am now, officially, Lord Aradan’s apprentice!” he said theatrically, making Lainon smile.
“You deserve it, Handir. You have worked hard, I am proud,” he trailed off, his eyes shining. “But come, into the woods with your brother, Councillor, for we have much to discuss!”
And so, with a smile, one rueful and the other a little strained, they both left the fortress, chatting about what they had both missed in their lives. Indeed, an hour had passed and now, they sat quietly upon the banks of a slow stream amidst a shady glade. It was time, thought Lainon to himself, it was time to change the boy’s life forever, and however much he tried, he failed to slow his rebellious, thumping heart.
“What is it, Lainon? I can tell there is something you have left unsaid.
I know you are busy with preparations and I do not think you came here just to catch up with me. Are you leaving? Is that what you have come to tell me?” asked the prince quietly. “Are you finally joining your brethren in Valley?”
“No, no, it is not that, Handir, but you are right, there is something of great import I must speak with you about.”
“What could you possibly tell me that would matter more to me than that?”
Lainon smiled sadly. This was proving much more difficult than he had imagined.
“Before I tell you, I must place a condition on this conversation, Handir. I need you to make an honour-bound oath to not disclose what I am about to tell you to anyone, not even your king.”
Handir frowned deeply and then looked to the ground, his young but avid mind clearly weighing the pros and cons of such an act, for an honour-bound oath was no simple promise. It was something he would die for, before he could disclose the contents. Handir would not accept lightly and Lainon was glad of it.
“I will not betray my king, Lainon, this you know.”
“I do know, but consider this. The information must be kept from him for the moment only, until the time is right, and the reasons are purely for his own protection. Does that make sense to you?” asked Lainon.
“Yes,” he answered carefully. “But the nature of the information you give me—I may see danger in not telling the king—if that is the case . . .”
“No, no. It is not a matter related to defence, or the enemy. It is not about internal intrigues or anything I believe to be detrimental to the realm, Handir, I would not ask that of you.”
“Alright,” he said slowly.
“Handir, trust me. I take full responsibility for my actions. I ask only that you help me, help us. I have the king’s best interests at heart, I swear.”
“I know you are a Kingsman, Lainon. My father holds you in high esteem. I do trust you. You have my honour-bound oath to not speak of what you are about to disclose to any other than to you.”
Lainon bowed his head in respect for the trust the young prince placed in him, and he had meant what he said. The responsibility would be his alone to bear.
“Handir, you have a brother.”
The prince laughed. “Do I? He’s more of a frozen stalagmite if you . . .”
“Handir,” interrupted Lainon, before pausing, making sure the prince was listening before he spoke once more. “Handir, you have a Silvan brother—one you have never met.”
Lainon’s explanation was met with blank silence, but there was nothing more he could say to make the prince understand. Indeed, he had understood, only the information had been so utterly shocking to him he had yet to react.
“Handir.”
“What do you mean I have a Silvan brother? that is not . . .”
“You share the same father,” said Lainon, willing the boy to understand.
The prince was silent for a moment and when he did speak, it was to ask a question Lainon had not expected. “Does he know? Does my father know?”
Lainon closed his eyes for a moment, for what to say? It was complicated and it had never been his intention to create an even greater rift between Thargodén and his children.
“He knew only of his conception.”
“He knew,” repeated Handir flatly and Lainon could read the growing coldness in his young charge’s eyes.
“I doubt he knew of the child’s fate, Handir. It is a complex story, one you should hear from your father.”
“He will tell me,” continued Handir, his voice still, unnervingly monotonous. “He will tell me or he will lose me.”
“Handir,” said Lainon, touching the boy’s forearm to anchor him, to draw his attention back to wherever it had strayed. “Listen carefully, my friend, for what I have to tell you is of the utmost importance,” he began, watching Handir’s face carefully for signs that he was listening and understanding.
“Handir.”
“Yes.”
“Your brother—your brother is young, a fledgling warrior—the best I have ever seen. I tell you this because I do not want him to suffer the consequences of this information falling into the wrong hands, or falling into the right ones at the wrong time. He does not deserve to see his dreams dashed—he is at no fault.”
Handir’s head whipped to Lainon and the Ari’atór resisted the urge to step backwards, for in the prince’s sky blue eyes there was a fire that burned so brightly it reminded him—of Fel’annár.
“And you tell me this—now—because?”
“Because until one month ago, he lived in his village, in the Deep Forest with all that remains of his family. Now, as he becomes a novice warrior he has—drawn attention to himself. I know it is a simple matter of time before your father and your siblings hear of him, and when you see him, there will be no doubts in your minds. I seek only to protect the king, protect you, Handir, for well you know there are those in Ea Uaré that would use these circumstances to their own ends, their own greed for power.”
Lainon’s slanted eyes continued to study Handir’s face. The fire had abated somewhat, and his stare had turned to the side, a sure sign that he was, finally, reasoning out the barrage of information Lainon had hit him with.
“What do you suggest we do, Lainon,” said the prince, a hint of sadness now tingeing his words.
“I need you, Handir, to keep me informed of any references, of the slightest hint, joke, comment or otherwise, regarding the one they call The Silvan. We must correctly judge the time to tell the king of what we have found in the forest. He cannot be left to find out for himself and yet we cannot risk an adverse reaction, for the boy’s sake.”
Handir looked at Lainon once more and the fire was back. “I have no care for my father’s feelings, Lainon, he leaves me—indifferent,” he stressed, before turning his back on his former guard.
“I do not believe you mean that, Handir.”
The prince spun on his heel, so suddenly Lainon stepped backwards as the fine cloth of the boy’s robes fanned around him, his dark blond hair falling back into place moments later but his face, his handsome, serene face was now twisted into a snarl Lainon had never seen him wear.
“Oh, but I do, Lieutenant Lainon. I do mean what I say. He is r
esponsible for the departure of my mother! He pierced her soul, ripped it apart so badly she abandoned her children. He forsook her and his own legitimate children for the sake of some Silvan slut, with whom he dared conceive a child,” roared the red-faced prince.
“Handir,” called Lainon, holding up a hand to stop the tirade that now flew furiously from the prince’s mouth.
“That is why he never explained anything to us, for shame,” he spat, “for shame and cowardice for he would surely know we could never condone such an act—he gave her a child!”
Lainon wisely waited for the storm to blow over before attempting to speak once more and when he did, it was calm and slow.
“Handir, I ask only that you consider this. We do not know the circumstances, we cannot know until the king decides to speak of it and well I know he never has. I have known your father since before he was king, still a crown prince, your own age. Do not judge him rashly, Handir. You are the wisest of your siblings, the most capable of rational thought—do not let your heart run away with your mind.”
Handir turned slowly so that his back was to Lainon once more.
“The heart always wins over short distances, Lainon. It will not let the mind curb its passion.”
He needed time, that was what Handir was telling him and yet they did not have it.
“Leave me, Lainon.”
“Handir, you cannot . . .”
“You have wrenched from me an honour-bound oath. I will say nothing for the moment,” said the prince tiredly.
“Will you . . .”
“Yes—I will inform you should I hear anything that may alert my fa…, my king or Rinon.”
Lainon bowed to Handir’s back, his heart heavy now with the onus he placed on the prince’s young shoulders. He wanted to console him, but Handir’s emotions were a broiling, whirling cauldron of hate, incomprehension, confusion and hurt and Lainon would do well to leave him be now, to find his equilibrium, if indeed that were at all possible.
