by R K Lander
And she did, until the sun broke over the horizon and burst into a thousand colours, painting the mountain red.
Chapter Thirteen
INTO THE MOUNTAIN
“Some say the Mountain Deviants of Tar’eastór are the most fearsome of all enemies, for they are gruesome to look upon, possessing a supernatural strength that can challenge even the best of Elven warriors. Yet these rotting, immortal humans were once Incipients —newly created Deviants not yet turned to crazed violence. They stand confused and lost in the growing shadows, unable to comprehend the horror of what they will become. The warriors of Tar’eastór know that this is the true enemy, the one that preys on the mind: that kindles pity, that can make a veteran warrior weep in sorrow.”
On Elven Nature. Calro
Breakfast in the mess hall was a noisy affair that morning, and Galadan was forced to raise his voice so that the rest of The Company could hear him. “So that you know, Lainon has delegated in us to bring our Silvan here safely to the training fields this morning,” said Galadan in a tone that was worthy of Prince Sontúr himself, for there was an irony to his words that was not mirrored on Galadan’s face—nothing hardly ever was.
Ramien snorted, but Galdith smiled wide and toothy while Idernon’s eyes were away to the side, in his own world of thought and reason. It was Carodel who gave voice to what they all suspected, and his fingers itched to strum his broken lyre. “It is love, brothers, love between two Ari—there is no higher thing,” he exclaimed, hands reaching to the heavens. “Two souls, one mind; two hearts, one beat, two...”
“Carodel, for the love of Aria I will bring up my breakfast!!” snapped Ramien, “and I’ll be sure to do it over your fancy new boots!”
Galdith laughed outrageously while Fel’annár smirked at his breakfast, yet still, Idernon was away, lost in thought, and green eyes locked momentarily with his, wondering if his thoughts roamed the same paths as his own did.
“Idernon, is it true, what they say about the Ari’atór?” asked Fel’annár lightly. The banter waned as the rest listened to what the Wise Warrior would say.
“It is, brother,” he said, eyes focussing once more. “It is in their nature to recognise their Connate. Calro has an excellent treatise on the matter: he describes love between two Ari’atór as instant recognition of unison, an innate understanding of he or she who counterbalances their own spirit.”
Their silly words and soft smiles had gone, and in place of the good-natured mockery came nascent understanding, and with it a growing sadness none put words to, none except Galdith. “We will lose him, then? He will stay here, with Tensári?”
“No,” came the instant answer.
The Company turned to Fel’annár, but he did not return their stares. They flinched when the bastion horns blasted around and above them, and the breakfast room fell silent. It was the alert of an incoming patrol with urgent news. Some warriors stopped eating while others stuffed their food into their mouths as quickly as they could. It might be their last hot meal for a while, after all. Of a sudden, Tensári was at their table, Lainon beside her, still buckling his harnesses across his chest.
“We ride in thirty minutes. Full gear in thirty minutes at the stables,” she ordered, and then she was gone in a swirl of black cloth, leaving Lainon alone before them.
The moment they had waited for, had trained for, had finally come, and with one jerk of Lainon’s head they were jogging away towards the barracks. Galadan was the last of The Company, and as he passed, Lainon clapped his shoulder.
“Thank you for this one moment of rest.”
Galadan turned to the Ari as they strode towards the barracks, affording him a nod. “She rides as lieutenant?” asked the Alpine.
“Yes,” came the flat answer.
Galadan held Lainon’s gaze for a moment, but he said nothing. Instead he reminded himself of the unrelenting determination of the Ari’atór: Lainon was surely no exception; he would not be distracted.
Inside the barracks, Captain Comon and the two commander generals watched the troops as they prepared to ride out. The noise was near deafening as the warriors armed themselves, pulling on their breast-plates and vambraces, checking the daggers in their boots and the arrows in their quivers, and all the while, Tensári moved between them, checking that nothing had escaped her control.
“Sontúr,” hailed Fel’annár as he hefted his kit over his back and secured his weapons in his harnesses.
“Your first patrol with us,” smiled the prince lop-sidedly. “Let’s see if you can keep your Silvan feet on the slopes and not disgrace yourself,” he drawled.
“You have a mean streak,” grinned Fel’annár as he took a tied batch of long arrows for his field bow. He was pleasantly surprised at Sontúr’s openness and he wondered if the prince had, in some way, come to terms with his doubts regarding his mother’s return. “Do you ride as healer or lieutenant this time?” he asked.
“Healer. One day I will decide my calling,” he said matter-of-factly, but Fel’annár detected a hint of something he could not quite fathom.
“You are torn then?”
“Oh, aye. My father despairs at my lack of purpose. A prince must define himself, he says,” said Sontúr with a smirk.
Fel’annár scowled. “Why not be both? I mean, you are a healer, and you are a warrior. It is the perfect combination, I think. That the warriors should not have to worry for the safety of their healer in battle is one less responsibility: believe me, I know.”
“I suppose so,” he said thoughtfully. “But it does not fit with military hierarchy. Changes would be necessary.”
“Then make them,” smiled Fel’annár brightly, and Sontúr stared at him, unaware at the time of the impact the boy’s words would have on him.
“Five minutes. Five minutes!” The Company and Sontúr stood to one side, tying fur-lined cloaks and donning soft leather gloves. Fel’annár had found himself a multi-purpose harness which he had adapted to hold his long and short swords and still have room for his field bow, which was almost as tall as he was. Short bows would be of no use here, for the trees were few and far between. It was a land of sprawling slopes, high ridges and rocky outcrops; he needed power for the long range shooting he would surely be required to perform. As for his hair, he had braided it away from his face and temples and had tied the rest off into a single tail that fell to the small of his back. He missed his Ari twists and resolved to ask Lainon to put them back when time permitted.
Fel’annár’s eyes sought out Lainon, who was talking quietly with Tensári. “It is strange to see Lainon like this,” said Fel’annár over his shoulder, knowing Sontúr was still there.
“In love?” asked Sontúr with a cock of his brow.
“Yes, I mean, if you can call it that. The Ari’atór are strange at the best of times, but this business of Connate spirits...”
“Is hard to grasp, yes, but don’t be fooled, Fel’annár. Those two have known each other for over a century.”
Fel’annár startled at that, tucking away the information to ask his brother later. “I must speak with him before we leave.”
“It is hardly the time,” said Sontúr with a scowl, and Fel’annár rolled his eyes.
“Not about Tensári, fool, about my, eh, my woodcraft.”
“Your woodcraft. Is that what you call magic?”
“Just—come,” he said, unwilling to call it that, for it made it sound supernatural, and Fel’annár had never seen it that way at all. He pressed his way through the crowd of warriors, careful to keep his bow out of harm’s way.
“Lainon,” he called, saluting Tensári at his side. “Do you think our captain knows I am a Listener?” he asked quietly, eyes darting around.
“I would think so.”
“I do not want a repeat of what happened on the way here, Lainon. Should I—change—I will startle them.”
Sontúr knew of what he spoke, for he’d seen it in the king’s gardens, but Tensári was frown
ing. “Then you must tell him,” said Lainon, gesturing to Fel’annár to lead the way.
Captain Comon was talking quietly with Gor’sadén and Pan’assár, but they stopped when Tensári, Lainon, Sontúr and Fel’annár approached.
“What is it?” asked the captain.
“Sir, before we leave, I need to explain something you may not be aware of,” said Fel’annár.
“Yes?”
“Sir. You know of my—gift. You know I can feel emotion from the trees?”
“I have heard it, yes.”
Visible relief relaxed his features at not having to explain the entire story, but he needed to warn the captain all the same. “Sometimes, these emotions cause a physical—reaction,” said Fel’annár, his tone lightening. “To those that have not seen it before, it will be unnerving. It will be a distraction, sir,” he said, eyes darting to Gor’sadén and completely avoiding Pan’assár at his side.
Comon was scowling deeply. “Explain exactly what you mean by reaction.”
“My eyes shine,” he mumbled and looked to the floor.
“It is a translucency of sorts,” said Lainon. “Green light, energy from the trees, we believe. His hair also seems to lose its weight, as if he swims in water.”
The captain was well-versed in schooling his features, but there was no denying the disbelief in his eyes. Fel’annár could see it as well as Lainon. It was Pan’assár neither could read: only Gor’sadén would know his mind.
“I have seen this, captain,” said Gor’sadén, “as has Lieutenant Sontúr. I suggest Fel’annár wears his hood if it should happen, but you will need to pacify the reaction of the warriors. Some may think it wizardry.”
Fel’annár could see irritation creep onto the captain’s face, and he rushed to reassure him. “Sir, it is not a burden; I can help our scouts without leaving the group. I can forewarn of danger, sense the nature of it.”
Irritation turned to curiosity and he nodded. “If it happens, warrior, report to me. And keep that hood up.”
“I will, sir. I ask only that you consider my warnings.”
The captain nodded, watching as they left to join the rest of the outbound patrol. He turned then to Gor’sadén with a look of exasperation. He would, perhaps, have preferred to know sooner so that he could exclude Fel’annár.
“Comon, he is an excellent warrior; you will see.”
The captain nodded but started when Pan’assár spoke for the first time. “It is not a burden, captain. Use his gift wisely.”
“Good service, captain,” said Gor’sadén, watching as Comon left. Then he turned to Pan’assár. He said nothing, though, and the forest commander cast his eyes over the warriors once more.
“Would that I had had such warning.”
Outside, the sun was now fully over the horizon. Time to leave, and the patrol climbed into the saddles of their Alpine mounts, horses built for the cold. Their thick coats of long, chestnut hair reached past their flanks, and their manes were so long the warriors used them as blankets for their hands and thighs as they rode.
Fel’annár checked the buckles of his bags and his harnesses one last time and then arranged his cloak around him. The sound of restless horses clattering over stone and the murmur of warriors suddenly died as Captain Comon and Lieutenant Tensári wheeled their horses round to face them.
“Deviant activity has spiked, and Incipients have been spotted close to the village of Golavé. Our mission is to secure the area and neutralise the enemy should we encounter them. It falls to us now, to serve as one, for king and for honour. We must scour this land and rid it of this infection, keep our people safe. It is time to honour your oaths, to excel in the field. May Aria see us rewarded for the sacrifices we make.”
“Aye!” they shouted with practised timing, and The Company smiled, their brows riding high on their foreheads. Why could it not be like this in Ea Uaré?
But it was not. This was Tar’eastór, and Fel’annár was struck with the idea that he was proud to be half Alpine. For the first time in his life, he was seeing this land without the negative emotions his father’s identity had always tainted it with.
Their horses walked carefully down the slopes, leaving the towering city above and behind. Hooves crunched in the crisp blanket of fresh snow, and the warriors sat back in their saddles to ease their mounts’ downward trek.
The jagged ridges and peaks rode higher in Fel’annár’s sight the further they descended. Anxiety tickled his senses, but it was ameliorated by the appearance of spruce and birch, towering trees he longed to touch; indeed, he felt strange, drawn physically to their presence as if a rope had been tied around his waist and now tugged playfully for him to follow them. Worry stroked his common sense. New sensations, strong, almost overwhelming. He must distance himself, block them if he could, lest he lose his focus.
“Fel’annár,” called Idernon, drawing Sontúr’s attention beside him. “Is all well?”
“What is it?” asked Sontúr from his other side.
“They call to me,” murmured Fel’annár.
“Who?” asked the prince.
“The trees, Sontúr. They reach out.”
The prince said nothing, eyes straying to Idernon who looked back at him steadily.
Their shaggy mounts walked parallel to a meandering stream, its loamy banks lined with broad leaved trees and mossy boulders. Silvan eyes were drawn to the woodland colours: so many shades of green and brown, each one boasting its own adjective in their Deep Forest dialect—deep, vibrant green; rich, reddish brown; light, river-moss green would be their translations, but to Silvan elves one word of colour held a myriad of connotations. These lower lands, the Downlands as the Alpines called them, were a little piece of their southern forests. Sontúr watched them, soft smiles and misty eyes, children of the forest, home for just a moment.
The river curved away, and their path turned. Grey rock towered on both sides now, a ravine that would be ill-defended should the enemy decide to attack here, but their commander did not seem concerned at all. These lands were still close to the city, doubtlessly well-defended.
Pebbles crunched under their horses’ hooves, and as the light began to fade, the ravine began to open. Beyond, a hint of blue sparkled on the horizon only to spread across it in a sheet of twinkling, crystal azure. The sun moved towards it, drawn to its loveliness until water kissed fire and a flare of shocking reds and oranges set the sky alight. Fel’annár gasped in wonder, The Company beside him equally humbled by such sublime beauty. The Alpine warriors turned to watch them, proud smiles on their own faces, but they did not stop.
Before long, a village of stone houses and smoking chimneys emerged from behind the slowly widening ravine, the smell of burning wood tickling their noses and accentuating the cold. It was foreign, alien to them in this lofty place, but there was a quiet happiness on their faces. They had thought Tar’eastór a place of opulent majesty, and it was at Vorn’asté’s fortress city, yet here in the village of Golavé, it was rustic simplicity, a vertical world of humble cottages and everyday people who even now, as the warriors entered the valley, looked on and smiled, holding their hands aloft in esteemed welcome.
There must be farm lands nearby, thought Fel’annár, for he could see carts laden with tools, pulled by domesticated animals. He could see elves with baskets upon their heads, wares perhaps, bound for a local market. They all smiled, for no one here knew who Fel’annár was. There was no baggage for them to consider, to judge him for, only an Alpine face upon an apparently Alpine warrior. A wave of delight rolled over him.
He felt free.
To one side of the narrow valley, a long stone building extended into the growing darkness. An outpost big enough for a full patrol which was surely their destination; indeed, they were soon greeted by warriors, and Tensári gave the order to dismount.
The ride had been long, and the weather cold. Muscles were stiff, and The Company stretched and moaned as their feet touched the ground.
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“What now?” asked Ramien.
“To the assembly hall,” explained Sontúr. “Our captain will brief us and then we will be set free for the evening,” he said casually, but his eye was on The Company and specifically the younger members.
“Set free?” asked Carodel with a gleam in his eye, and Sontúr smirked. Fel’annár, though, smiled distantly, for his eyes were still on the far horizon, on the other side of the narrow valley where the lake gleamed invitingly under a rising moon. Sontúr watched him for a moment, but words seemed inappropriate at that time. There was a soft, wistful texture to his features, his eyes almost translucent, he thought, and then wondered what light was reflecting in them. He shook his head minutely and then turned.
“Come. Our captain awaits.”
They were to set out at first light, after the morning meal, bound for the lake and the mountains beyond—into the less protected parts of the realm, but for now, they were, indeed, free. Lieutenant Tensári had warned them to behave themselves, but Sontúr promptly told them not to take her order too seriously. There were things to do here, places to visit, and Sontúr had taken it upon himself to show them the other side of Tar’eastór, the side most visitors never saw.
“The cold can be beneficial to your body, Ramien, make no mistake. We sit in huts with blazing fires and hot stones and then jump into frigid pools of mountain water. It sets your skin on fire, purifies your body, and stimulates the muscle.”
“Sounds like torture,” said the Wall of Stone, and Carodel giggled.
“It is not, I promise you. I for one will start my evening in a tavern. Good food, good wine, and then I shall take the steam. Join me if you are brave enough,” he said.
“I’m in,” said Galadan, for he still remembered taking the steam himself, back in the day when he had been nothing but a novice warrior. Galdith nodded, and before long, all except Fel’annár and Lainon had accepted the challenge.
“I will find you later, brothers,” said Fel’annár with a smile.
