Road of a Warrior

by R K Lander

  They were the words of a brother. His brother, the only one he would ever know.

  Lainon’s failing body blurred before him, but a voice jolted him back, and he swiped furiously at his burning eyes.

  A hand, marble strong, clutched at his bracer, desperately, as if its owner dangled from the edge of a cliff.

  “Tell Handir—tell him—be strong,” came Lainon’s halting words.

  “Lainon,” his own voice, weak and watery. “Don’t...”

  “Together—Fel’annár, you—and Handir.” He groaned the last word.

  Fel’annár’s other hand reached out, settling on Lainon’s trembling shoulder.

  “Brother...”

  Lainon smiled, throat puffing out as another groan of agony cut through his smiling, crimson lips. “You have a purpose, Green Sun. I have brought you—thus far—have loved you—as a brother.”

  “Lainon,” his voice wavered, and his lips quivered, the tears in his eyes blurring the image of his dying brother.

  A strange calm seemed to come over Lainon then, and he smiled. “I saw you, that first day at the barracks,” he whispered now, for he no longer had the strength to talk. “Your face told the story of your lineage, your eyes held a destiny given to you by Aria. This,” he groaned softly and Tensári’s head fell to Lainon’s shoulder. “This is why I left,” he said, and Fel’annár knew his words were for Tensári. “Forgive me, for I love you eternally.”

  “Lainon,” called Tensári, her own eyes brimming, tears spilling onto Lainon’s shoulder. “I will find you...”

  “I know. Death cannot sunder love. You will see.”

  “Sweet Lainon,” she whispered in his ear.

  Lainon’s eyes were back on Fel’annár, and although the Ari’atór was dying, his eyes seemed even brighter than they had been before.

  “Listen. Believe. The Protector must—leave. It is time, time for the protected one to shine.”

  The unforgettable face of Lainon blurred once more, and the hand upon his bracer closed tighter around his forearm. The body under Fel’annár’s hand shuddered violently, a moan of dread from Tensári, and then the steely grip slackened and fell away with a dull thud. Fel’annár watched as the face lost all its colour and tone but his eyes—the brilliant blue light that had concentrated there suddenly flared and then detached itself, an entity all its own, floating now between them—or was it his own light? He could not tell, did not care. A harsh intake of breath at his side.

  The light passed through him, a warmth suffusing his body even though the ground seemed to part beneath his legs. A rush of exhaled air, and then nothing.

  Only silence.

  Chapter Fifteen:

  BER’ANOR

  “Grief can send the strongest of kings to his knees. It can bring madness to the sanest of elves, but so, too, can it strengthen the will, the drive to achieve one’s destiny—in the name of the departed, in honour of him.”

  On Elven Nature. Calro.

  “Fel’annár?”

  “Leave him.” A deep, heavily accented command.

  Idernon turned mutinous eyes to the admittedly daunting Ari’atór commander, Hobin. Fel’annár still kneeled upon the sodden ground before the boulder against which Lainon had died, eyes closed, strangely placid in his moment of prayer, at least that it what it looked like to The Company.

  Hobin and his companions had taken Lainon’s body and wrapped it tightly, and all the while, Tensári had looked on in silence, her breast-plate stained with the blood of her soul mate. No one spoke to her, even those that had served with her for over a century. They knew what Lainon had meant to her.

  The Ari’atór were ready to depart, back to the distant mountains and the shrouded lands of Valley. Turning, they stood over a kneeling Fel’annár whilst Comon’s group stepped forwards to bid them farewell.

  “The Ari’atór will honour him. We take him to Valley, where he belongs,” came the beguiling voice. “I ask that Lieutenant Tensári be given leave to travel with us, for a while at least.”

  “I will release my lieutenant, if that is her wish,” said Comon, eyes drifting to Tensári’s face, which was utterly blank. “Thank you, Hobin, for your gesture. Lainon was dear to many. Is there anything we can do for you, provisions you may need?”

  “No,” replied Hobin. There was nothing superfluous about Hobin, not even his words. They were flat, succinct, almost rude if one had never met an Ari’atór. Comon had, many times.

  Blue eyes wandered down to Fel’annár.

  “Stand, Ber’anor.”

  The words reached him as none others had, and Fel’annár gathered his feet beneath him, standing before the Ari’atór and opening his eyes. Only a slight translucence was left of the blazing light they had all witnessed earlier, yet still it was preternatural, and sometimes, a blur of blue would dance across the swirling green depths.

  Hobin sucked in a breath, and the warriors behind him stepped backwards with a murmur. Tensári held her ground next to the commander. It was then that Hobin, quite uncharacteristically, smiled. Comon had never seen it, and he struggled to mask his surprise.”

  “He chose you to carry him. The light Aria blessed him with is in you now. Carry it wisely, Ber’anor.”

  Fel’annár smiled sparingly, unsurprised by the Ari’atór’s words. “I pray he finds himself, that I will see him again on the other side of my road.”

  “He is Ari’atór, child. He will find himself—we all do.”

  It was a small comfort in that moment of numb grief, and Fel’annár nodded.

  “Be safe, Ber’anor,” said Hobin, and then, quite unexpectedly, he bowed before Fel’annár. Turning, he grabbed the reins a warrior held out to him and mounted.

  Tensári stood before Comon, eyes frank, face blank, tongue silent.

  “Go, lieutenant. Do what you must for as long as you must. You will be missed.”

  Tensári saluted and then turned to where Fel’annár stood watching her. She stepped a little closer, and then her hand came up to caress Fel’annár’s temple. He watched her with glassy eyes.

  “Perhaps we shall meet again, you and I,” she said. “He loved you well, Green Sun.”

  “My brother,” whispered Fel’annár, a quivering smile on his lips. “There is something here,” he gestured before his watery eyes, “something that comforts...”

  Tensári’s eyes welled, and she returned his hesitant smile. “You carry him now, Ber’anor.” Her smile was suddenly gone, and she nodded her head in deference. Turning abruptly, her thick black twists of hair fanned around her head, and the Ari’atór strode towards a horse another warrior held out for her. Mounting swiftly and with one last lingering gaze at Fel’annár, the Ari’atór kicked their mounts into a thundering gallop across the snow-laden plain. They were bound north, to some undefined point only they knew how to find, would never disclose, even under pain of death, and with them, the body of Lainon tucked safely away.

  Tensári understood now, but it was too late. Lainon had believed deeply, enough to follow his heart blindly, until Aria had seen fit to show him the truth, a truth she had only recently begun to understand. She would lay Lainon to rest, bestow upon him the honours befitting a Ber’ator, and after that, her own road was still veiled.

  They had spent the night in a shaded area, half a day’s trek from the Downlands. The able-bodied warriors had prepared pyres for the three dead Alpine warriors, and then together, they had stood in silent prayer as they were lit and the captain spoke words of honour and remembrance.

  Sontúr had spent most of the night caring for the injured, and Galadan gladly helped him, the knowledge he had gained from his mother helping him enough to stitch and bandage wounds.

  Much later, the warriors sat around their campfires talking quietly amongst themselves. They spoke of Incipients and the Ari’atór. They spoke of Lainon, but mostly, they spoke of Fel’annár’s transformation and Hobin’s deference to him. But Fel’annár was oblivious to their w
hispered words; he simply sat and stared into the embers of the campfire until the sun seemed to rise too slowly, as if it were reluctant to shed light on a land without Dim’atór, the Silent Warrior. Sontúr watched from beside him, aware that many of the others had avoided his gaze the entire night. There was a storm of emotions in Fel’annár’s eyes, too intense for most, the swirling green, purple, and blue light not quite natural.

  Truth be told, Sontúr rather thought he looked like he had been dragged backwards through a juniper bush. His nose was red and puffy, and his cheekbone was turning a rather disturbing deep purple. Fel’annár scowled and then grimaced, obviously wishing he hadn’t.

  “Here,” said Sontúr, holding out a bundle that he had tied off at the top. “Place it on that thing you call a nose,” he said.

  Pressing it to his throbbing face, Fel’annár realised it was full of ice. It stung, but he held it there, for it somehow soothed his pounding head.

  “Someone smashed your face in good,” smirked Sontúr tiredly, watching for the fruits of his efforts to draw Fel’annár out. He had not spoken since his exchange with Hobin and Tensári—since Lainon had died.

  “He paid the price,” said Fel’annár absently.

  Sontúr’s eyes travelled to Galadan, who nodded slowly at the prince, silent thanks for his diligence.

  “Ten minutes, warriors. Ten minutes,” called the captain. They rose slowly, straightened their attire and pulled on their weapons halters, in silence mostly save for the occasional murmured word. It was a stunned sort of silence, one Fel’annár did not notice, for he was at the centre of it. His body moved, did what he knew he must on an instinctive level, but his mind was still away, lost in a lighter world where Lainon still existed, standing at his shoulder, guiding him on his road as a warrior.

  Nothing changed on their walk back to the village of Golavé. The people had come out to greet them, but there was no joyous laughter this time, for the warriors were battered and silent, their faces bruised and numb. There were fewer than there had been just days before.

  They would spend the night here, enjoying the comforts of civilization, but no sooner had they been dismissed then Fel’annár simply deposited his weapons and left. Upwards he climbed, to the last place he had shared wine and conversation with Lainon, to the rocky outcrop and the stunning views over the lake and beyond.

  He sat as he had that night, his feet dangling carelessly over the edge, hands resting on the rocky lip. His gaze remained there, northwards and to Valley, where Tensári would lay his brother’s body to rest so that his spirit could find itself and return to physical form, lonely years into the distance.

  Fel’annár heaved a long, cleansing breath and closed his eyes. It had been so very sudden, beyond his ability to imagine. His grief hurt as if a chunk of his own flesh had been ripped out, and yet Hobin’s words had comforted him; he had believed them, and even now he imagined his brother, alive again, reunited perhaps with kin in Valley. Yet more even than this, there was the calm sense of peace that had lodged itself behind his eyes. The light of Aria that Lainon’s body had harboured had not dissipated before his eyes as he had first thought. It had penetrated his own, joined his own green light, mixed with it, and although he knew it was not Lainon, not his spirit, it was his light, his energy, a part of him that Fel’annár would carry. Hobin had not spoken simple words of comfort. He had spoken literally.

  ‘He chose you to carry him...’

  Fel’annár smiled, lips stretching as they quivered, and his eyes brimmed. He cried then, and he did not stop, even when The Company joined him much later. They sat beside him, silent and sad, their own eyes cast northwards to where Lainon now resided.

  The ride back to Tar’eastór had been quick. Dark clouds had rolled in on their heels, and even now, the distant rumble of thunder seemed an ominous hail to the returning warriors. As they passed the gates, the sentinels looked down upon them in sadness, and the bastion horns rang throughout the kingdom. Captain Comon carried four swords upon his back, a sure sign that warriors had been lost. Where normally they would be met with shouts of joy and respect, now, only heavy silence greeted them as their horses plodded tiredly into the silent, teeming courtyard.

  Dismounting, Comon spotted Gor’sadén together with Pan’assár and Prince Handir, talking quietly upon the steps that led into the Royal Palace. Lainon had been Fel’annár’s guard, but he had been the prince’s before that. He would want to know. Bidding the patrol return to barracks, with the exception of the wounded, Comon climbed the steps and then saluted Gor’sadén and Pan’assár before turning and bowing to Handir.

  “Commanders, Prince.”

  Gor’sadén’s eyes travelled to the pommels that jutted over Comon’s shoulder and then cast his eyes over the distant patrol, instantly spying Fel’annár’s silvery-blond locks and beside him, the grey hair of his prince.

  “I bring ill tidings, lords. We lost four on the field of battle. Lieutenant Lainon has taken the Short Road in service to Tar’eastór. You have my deepest sympathies, prince.”

  Handir stood staring at the captain in slowly dawning comprehension. His own eyes turned to the patrol, as if to gainsay the captain’s words, but Lainon was not there. Instead, Fel’annár was staring back at him, and Handir was moving, walking stiltedly and then striding towards the patrol and Fel’annár, face set in mounting fury and disbelief. Ramien and Idernon stepped to Fel’annár’s sides, but the prince stopped, just an arm’s distance away, overly bright eyes burning into Fel’annár’s own steady eyes.

  “Lainon is dead.”

  It was neither a question nor a statement, and after a moment, Fel’annár nodded.

  “Defending you?” whispered Handir.

  Fel’annár took a moment. They had saved each other, but still, that scimitar would have killed him had Lainon not sacrificed himself. He nodded once more.

  Anger flashed over the prince’s face, but his eyes filled with tears, fists balling tightly at his sides. Turning, he closed his eyes, then opened them once more and walked away through the gates, his unsteady, rigid gait taking him away from the crowds, from everyone.

  Fel’annár caught the captain’s gaze, his silent request answered by a simple nod. Then Fel’annár was away, and as The Company made to follow, he stopped them with a shake of his head.

  He found Handir further down the slope, kneeling in the snow behind a boulder. Silent tears dripped onto the snow, melting the puffy flakes before his knees.

  Fel’annár sat beside him, his own knees bent before him, forearms resting over them.

  “Lainon spoke often of you,” said Fel’annár quietly. It was the first time he had spoken with the prince, his half-brother, he reminded himself. It felt brash to speak to him uninvited, but Lainon had spoken of Handir in his dying moments. Handir needed to know how much he had meant to him. Everything else was unimportant.

  “Tell me, tell me you were not rash, that his sacrifice was not for your stupidity,” whispered the prince furiously albeit his eyes were set on the horizon, unfocussed.

  Fel’annár resisted the urge to bite back. He understood this anger. It was irrational, directed at anything within reach, a defence mechanism, something to focus on that was not one’s own pain.

  “I was not careless, my prince. We fought Deviants. I saved his neck from an unseen scimitar at the beginning of the battle, and he saved my heart from an enemy blade at the end.”

  Handir’s eyes dropped to the snow below him, tears falling unchecked. “Did he suffer?”

  Fel’annár chose his words carefully. “He died a warrior’s death, my prince. I and The Company had time to bid him farewell. He had words for you, and I...”

  Handir turned to look at Fel’annár for the first time. He took a moment to study his brother, just as Fel’annár studied him. Lainon had been close to Handir, perhaps as close as Fel’annár himself had been, and it occurred to Fel’annár that Lainon was the only one that could bring them to this point�
��in which the son of forbidden love sat before the son of unrequited love. Both were the fruit of devotion, bound in some strange way by the fates of their mothers.

  “He bid you be strong, that you and I should—do something together—what he meant, though, I cannot say.”

  But Handir did know. The plan Aradan, Lainon, Turion, and he had devised, the one Fel’annár knew nothing about. He said nothing.

  Fel’annár breathed a heavy sigh, sniffled and then grimaced as he stood slowly, looking down upon the prince of Ea Uaré, wondering if he would ever be at liberty to speak freely with this elf that looked a little like him, that shared a part of his blood, that had chosen the same brother in Lainon. He would honour Lainon’s dying plea that he should do something together with Handir, but the prince had not spoken, and Fel’annár was left in ignorance. “We both lost a brother, my prince. I am sorry for your loss; sorry I could not stop him from protecting me.”

  Handir turned misty eyes upwards. The anger was gone, and in its place was grief, grief and indecision. The prince simply nodded slowly, but still he did not speak.

  Fel’annár’s gaze lingered for a while before leaving Handir in the snow, bound for the Healing Halls and Arané’s disapproving eyes.

  Handir was a prince. His heart was secondary to the needs of his people, he had always understood that. He resolved to speak with the boy as soon as he could, just as he would confide in Damiel, for Handir had found a sympathetic ear in the venerable councillor, that and a sharp mind which would surely help him to make the right decisions.

  Handir slowly rose from the snow and raked a hand down his face. There was so much to do, so many unlikely things to achieve. There was still the question of the messengers that had arrived from Ea Uaré and the missives they had delivered. The party had been unexpectedly large, he supposed because the missives they bore were written in the king’s own hand, words meant for none other than their recipients.