Road of a Warrior

by R K Lander

  After Galdith came Idernon, Ramien, Carodel, and Lainon. Further back was Amareth, and his throat felt thick and heavy. Golloron and Erthoron followed, then his school masters, the bread maker, and his weapons tutor. Dalia stared back at him with naughty eyes, but even she could not bring a smile to his face or stop the swell of churning emotions. How many of them had lied to him? They were his family, and for one that had no mother or father, there was nothing more sacred.

  On the last page was the drawing of the young lord Fel’annár had seen the day he had become a novice: Handir, his half-brother. His eyes strayed to the glass of water at his side, and he reached for it just as Lainon turned. Expecting one of The Company or a healer, perhaps, he nearly spilled it when he realised it was a stranger who came to stand by him; a lord—an Alpine commander. From the corner of his eye he saw Lainon salute and then step outside the room, only to stand guard there, albeit with his back to Fel’annár.

  “My lord,” he called, making to put the glass back, but the commander’s outstretched palm stilled him immediately. Fel’annár’s eyes strayed to the emblem of a burning sword on the warrior’s breastplate—Gor’sadén’s emblem. He wanted to shrivel away, shrink so that he could scurry over the balcony, for he was meeting a legend—sprawled upon a bed in his pyjamas: this was not the way he had envisioned meeting Lord Gor’sadén, mighty commander, one of The Three, an elf he had revered his entire life.

  Gor’sadén smiled kindly. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to a nearby chair.

  “Of course, my lord, please,” said Fel’annár. Why he had come to visit, Fel’annár couldn’t say, but stare the lord did, until the steady blue gaze became uncomfortable.

  “Forgive my atrocious appearance, my lord,” said Fel’annár.

  The commander smirked and then crossed his legs, placing a book he had brought with him upon his knees. He looked down on the open journal before Fel’annár, bending forwards to get a better look at the simple portrait that stood there.

  “Ah, your brother,” he ventured, his eyes meeting those of Fel’annár challengingly, clearly aware of the risk he took by brooking this subject without the slightest preamble. Indeed, he had left Fel’annár speechless, and regret flashed in his eyes for a moment. “We are aware of the story, Fel’annár. It has come to our attention.”

  Fel’annár simply nodded and then looked away in distress.

  “Are you ashamed?” asked Gor’sadén softly. It was not an accusation.

  “Not of whom, no, but of how, perhaps. I am unaware of the full story, as you may know.”

  “Yes—I know, child. But let me tell you this,” he said, leaning forward until his face was but inches from Fel’annár. “I was a brother in all but blood to your grandfather, Or’Talán. He was the most extraordinary elf I have ever met. A brilliant mind and witty character; a fierce warrior with an unwavering sense of loyalty to his people. I admired him, Fel’annár, and I miss him, every day of this life.”

  Fel’annár listened avidly, vaguely wondering why he was trying to mask his curiosity. He was sure one as old and experienced as Gor’sadén would see through him, but if he did, the commander said nothing, casting his eyes back down to the journal. “You have some skill with charcoal. What else do you keep in that diary?”

  “This? It’s a journal of sorts, a multi-purpose thing. A diary, a note book, a to-do list, a wish list...” He trailed off.

  “And what sort of things do you take note of?”

  “Well, apart from these drawings, I write the things I would change...” He looked up at the great lord, daring him to laugh, but he didn’t. Instead, Gor’sadén simply smiled encouragingly.

  “The problems I encounter with equipment, uniforms, logistics. Impressions on orders given or how they are given, decisions on strategy that I do not understand and need to document, moves that others make that I wish to incorporate, or that I could improve.”

  Gor’sadén stared at the boy in growing fascination.

  “You think me mad,” said Fel’annár with an understanding nod. “You are not the first to think this strange.” He smiled.

  “Fel’annár, it is not that I think you mad. It is, however, strange to find a young, recently-promoted warrior thinking so far ahead. If one is looking for promotion, a diligent candidate would do such a thing, but you do not have to worry yourself over such things for now.”

  “Perhaps not,” conceded Fel’annár. “But I enjoy it—the research I mean. I have read everything I could find on warfare and strategy—even your treatise, my lord,” he said, failing to control the insecurity in his voice.

  “Have you now?” asked Gor’sadén. It was a long, drawn-out account of the military strategy of wars in the First Era, not exactly typical reading material for one as young as Fel’annár. “You are brave indeed, then,” he chuckled, and Fel’annár smiled, losing some of the tension in his shoulders.

  “What is it you hope to achieve?”

  Fel’annár started at the question, but then his face hardened, resolve winning out over his insecurity. “I want to be a captain.”

  “Ah! Well, in this Alpine realm, only the best are chosen to lead, Fel’annár. You must have both innate qualities and skill—the question is—do you have these things?” he asked challengingly.

  Fel’annár held the lord's gaze, and Gor’sadén seemed to startle.

  “Yes,” he said evenly, before continuing, “but that is no guarantee. In Ea Uaré, it is the Alpines who boast the privilege of leadership. There are few Silvan captains in the Inner Circle, only six I believe.”

  Gor’sadén leaned forward, clearly fascinated. “You consider yourself Silvan, then?” he asked lightly. The syntax had been interrogative, but not so the tone.

  “Yes. It is where I was brought up, the people I call family, the culture that was bestowed upon me.”

  Gor’sadén nodded thoughtfully. “Fel’annár, Lieutenant Galadan has told me you are a Listener. Is this true?”

  Fel’annár was taken aback by the sudden mention of his gift, and he floundered for a moment. “I—assume—that that is what I am. I have no way of knowing for sure.”

  “You have not researched it?”

  “There has been no time,” answered Fel’annár curtly before realizing how rude he had sounded. “Forgive me.”

  “That was not a criticism, Fel’annár. Simple curiosity. This ability is mentioned in an official report, and as such, must not be taken at face value. Our king has taken a personal interest in the matter; he is learned in such things.” Gor’sadén did not miss the sour expression on the boy’s face. “Does it worry you?”

  It terrified him, but he was not going to tell the commander that. Instead he nodded thoughtfully. “It is a matter of some concern. I am not fully able to control it.”

  “You are under no obligation to speak of it, Fel’annár, but I advise you take advantage of our king’s wisdom. He may be able to help you—if you wanted, of course.”

  Fel’annár smiled sparingly and nodded, and Gor’sadén knew he was not convinced, that he would need to force the issue should the king wish to speak to him about it. He couldn’t help but wonder why the boy was reticent, though. “I have spoken to your commander, Pan’assár. You may have read of our exploits from years ago: me, him, and Or’Talán...”

  Fel’annár simply nodded that he had, indeed, read of The Three. He resisted the temptation to ask what they had talked about, primarily because he could well guess. The forest commander had a reputation for favouring the Alpine warriors and officers, and that Pan’assár was not here with Gor’sadén said much of the outcome of that talk.

  “Have you never seen Or’Talán in all those books you have read?”

  Fel’annár scowled before answering, “No—never. We have a limited library in my village, my lord.”

  Gor’sadén leant back, and in his eyes was what Fel’annár could only describe as satisfaction. Opening the book he had brought with him, the commander shuffled
through the pages and then, with a smile, placed it in Fel’annár’s lap. Then he sat back, blue eyes firmly anchored on Fel’annár.

  The transformation was immediate, for Fel’annár’s face became taut and his eyes wide, a slight hitch in his breath.

  “That is your grandfather, Fel’annár. My brother. Be proud—always be proud to share his blood,” he whispered as he watched.

  “How is it possible?” whispered Fel’annár. His shaking hand reached for the parchment, stopping just short of the portrait of his grandfather. All his doubts floated away, the endless questions of whether it was true. It was all gone, crushed brutally before the undeniable truth of his lineage as it stared back at him, immortalized in the form of Or’Talán.

  “His eyes are blue,” whispered Fel’annár.

  “Yes,” smiled Gor’sadén. “It is, perhaps, the only difference, is it not?” he asked invitingly.

  Fel’annár turned his head back to Gor’sadén then, the expression on his face turning from utter shock to nascent understanding. “It is strange, is it not?” he asked softly, “that I had never seen him before,” he finished, his eyes almost begging the ancient warrior to gainsay him, but Gor’sadén did no such thing.

  “Yes—it is strange,” he answered, his eyes fixed meaningfully on Fel’annár. “I will leave you with your thoughts, warrior,” he said. With a kind hand upon Fel’annár’s forearm, Gor’sadén stood, and with one last, lingering stare, he left.

  As the ancient warrior made his way back to his own rooms, he allowed his mask to fall and his face to show his true emotions, those that had threatened to break his control. The boy was simply beautiful—there was no other way to describe him—and although he had been lying in bed, he wagered he would be tall and somewhat imposing. He seemed like a good lad: respectful, diligent in his studies, sensitive yet with an underlying strength, a boldness one would not expect from such a young warrior.

  He felt deep puzzlement for the questions still to be answered, and yet there was another emotion, too, one that overrode all the others. His spark was back: something beyond duty and honour was seeping back into his life. It was an emotion he had not felt for centuries, not since Or’Talán and Pan’assár had ridden away to Ea Uaré.

  It was pure, unadulterated excitement.

  Once back in his rooms, Gor’sadén poured a glass of wine and walked to the window. The sky was darkening. It would soon be time for the evening meal in the Grand Hall. Gossip would be rife, the news of Fel’annár’s identity the subject at almost every noble table. Gor’sadén’s curiosity was irreversibly piqued. He wanted to know what kind of warrior Fel’annár was, how his mind worked, whether he was anything like his grandfather on the inside.

  He turned to the open window, eyes latching onto an unassuming bird that soared high upon the mountain currents, bound westwards and to the Great Forest Belt. It squawked, the sound echoing around the gorge, and the commander wondered what message lay hidden in its talons, for there were no official dispatches bound for Ea Uaré, and only the lords could afford such a luxury as carrier birds. Even then it was not common. He would ask the king later, when they were alone, and Gor’sadén, in turn, would tell him of his meeting with the Listener.

  Fel’annár woke to the familiar sight of Lainon’s back at the foot of his bed. Sitting up, he raked a hand over his face and then straightened his hair as best he could. He felt better, and he wondered if he would be allowed out of his bed. The very thought brought a hopeful spark to his eye.

  “Morning, brother.”

  “Fel’annár,” answered Lainon, turning and picking up a pile of clothes. “Prince Sontúr left these for you. Says you are free to roam the gardens for a few hours—nothing more,” he warned with a flash of blue eyes.

  Fel’annár’s smile widened, and Lainon turned away, not fast enough for Fel’annár to miss the indulgent smile. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed carefully, he pulled on the soft brown leggings and then pulled the long white shirt over his head, careful not to disturb the skilful bandaging around his chest. The brown boots were soft and warm, just the right size. Standing, he tested his still swollen ankle and then swivelled his shoulder.

  “We have company,” said Lainon as he turned and then saluted.

  “Good morning, Fel’annár, Lainon,” said Gor’sadén. “Lainon, I would take Fel’annár down to the gardens. Take some rest.”

  Lainon turned to Fel’annár, raising an eyebrow at the hopeful stare he found on his face. He had seen the commander take his turn to care for Fel’annár, bidding the exhausted Company to take their rest. He had been even more surprised when Pan’assár had appeared, albeit fleetingly. Yet to relinquish his duty entirely, even though it was Gor’sadén, did not sit quite right with him.

  “Lieutenant, you have my word. I will deliver him to you safe and sound.”

  There was no deceit in Gor’sadén’s eyes, and there was indeed something he wanted to do, people he needed to see: Handir, for example, and of course Tensári.

  He turned to his charge. “You are sure, Fel’annár?”

  “Of course, Lainon. I know I can trust Commander Gor’sadén; they say it is so. Will you tell The Company not to follow?”

  “I can tell them,” said Lainon, knowing that by ‘they,’ Fel’annár was referring to the trees. Gor’sadén, however, was at a loss while Fel’annár smirked, watching as Lainon left on swift legs. He turned back to Gor’sadén, wondering what the commander wanted with him, not that he minded spending time with him. The commander was a legendary warrior, everything that Fel’annár aspired to being, yet it was more than simple respect. He felt comfortable in Gor’sadén’s presence, and then there were a thousand questions he would ask him.

  “Come then.” He gestured with his hand, and Fel’annár followed slowly as he adjusted to the stiffness in his foot, limping slightly to avoid bending it too far.

  Gor’sadén couldn’t help observing the boy, for it was the first time he had seen him move and in outdoor clothes. He was as tall as himself and unusually strong, something he had already noticed, but now, as he walked, he could see the defined muscles in his arms and thighs. A disciplined warrior then, he deduced. He also noticed that his hair was much longer than any other male Gor’sadén knew, longer even than some of the ladies. It was a glorious mane, clean and only partially braided as he wore it now. He wondered then at the thick twists that he wore high on his crown, Ari twists, he knew.

  Fel’annár’s eyes swivelled to the commander beside him, aware of his overt scrutiny. “I am not what you were expecting, then,” said Fel’annár, and the commander was once again struck by how forward the boy could be. In spite of his youth and inexperience, he was not afraid to speak his mind.

  “There are things about you that surprise me, yes.”

  Fel’annár simply nodded, but he did not ask, he surely didn’t need to. Gor’sadén was sure he was accustomed to prolonged observations, indeed, although they had already left the main building, the lingering stares continued. Fel’annár did not seem concerned at all.

  Walking around the main building, they past high, ornate gates that gave way to the most splendidly-kept gardens Fel’annár had seen.

  “This is the king’s park,” explained Gor’sadén. “Only he, his family, and honoured guests are allowed here.”

  Fel’annár scowled. “And me? I am a warrior.”

  “You are my guest,” he said simply as he steered them towards a beautifully landscaped area. The trees were bare, and there were few blooms to be seen, but the plants and bushes were verdant, with just a dusting of light snow. Fel’annár was hit with a sudden urge to reach out and touch them. He hesitated, though, unsure of what might happen. Gor’sadén had enquired of his abilities as a Listener, but there was a big difference between understanding the trees and one’s eyes lighting up.

  Gor’sadén gestured to a stone bench between two trees, and Fel’annár sat, stifling a groan as his side protested the s
tretch of skin and muscle.

  “You are tired,” said Gor’sadén.

  “Yes. I admit that much.” He grinned. “But I must get back to work soon. I cannot afford to sit idly for long.”

  “Ah, yes. You want to be a captain.” Gor’sadén smiled with a hint of mischief in the set of his lips, and Fel’annár smiled back at him, his eyes lingering for a moment on the ancient warrior, ancient at least to him.

  “Tell me, Fel’annár. What is this Company I heard mention of?”

  “The Company, in my youth at least, was me, Idernon, and Ramien in Lan Taria. It was our first patrol, in a sense, one that was different from what we reckoned the real patrols were like because we were as brothers. Fighting together was not the only tie we would share, for we decided that to be a warrior was not about fighting alone. It was about love, and as such, warriorhood is not one facet of an elf, but his entire being. It defines who he is, how he lives.” Fel’annár’s eyes were unfocussed, obviously lost to his memories. “I still hold to that even now that we are no longer three but six, and yet destiny will surely pull us apart eventually.”

  There was a battle in Gor’sadén’s mind, for the boy reminded him acutely of Or’Talán in that moment. The Company; The Three—it was as if he were seeing the rebirth of his dear friend, the renewal of that spirit which had marked days of such glory Gor’sadén would never forget.

  “Lord Gor’sadén—I hope you don’t mind, but there is a question I would ask you.”

  “Go on, I am listening, and just Gor’sadén will do fine,” he said, watching as the boy organized his thoughts.

  “You knew King Or’Talán well. Did you know him when—when he forbid my—the king—to marry my mother?”

  “I have known him since he was a child, Fel’annár. But in those days of which you speak, we rarely saw each other. We did keep in regular contact, though, but bear in mind that such things would not have been discussed in any length for fear of our messengers being intercepted. I do remember the incident, however.”