Dawn of a Legend

by R K Lander

  He slept for a while, but then the smell of dried flowers, resins, and herbs brought him gently from sleep, and he inhaled deeply. Head turning to the hearth, he saw Llyniel working quietly before the fire, muttering under her breath, and Fel’annár smiled fondly at her back.

  “You’re angry,” he said.

  Her head whipped over her shoulder. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact. It is too early for you to be answering questions and receiving a roomful of commanders and warriors.”

  “What’s going on?” he asked sleepily, smoothing a hand over his hair as he sat up.

  “The commanders are coming . . . to ‘take collective counsel’ they say.”

  “I’m all right, Llyn. And I understand the need for haste. The commanders need information. We need to decide on a plan of action; our attackers are still out there.”

  “Yes, well, I am not leaving,” she said with a pinch of her jaw, and Fel’annár admired her bravery.

  Rising from his bed, he walked to the sitting room and chose a comfortable chair by the hearth and Llyniel followed him.

  After a curt rap on the main door, it clicked open, and to Fel’annár’s surprise, Lord Damiel glided into the rooms, Prince Handir at his side, and behind them, both commanders. Moments later, The Company walked in, eyes glittering defiantly.

  “Stay outside, warriors,” ordered Councillor Damiel, but Prince Handir placed a calming hand on his forearm.

  “I vouch for these warriors, my lords. Fel’annár will need protection in the days to come, and I can think of no better solution than The Company here. If they are to guard him, they need to understand the situation.”

  The Company stared at Handir, not having expected his words at all. They hardly knew the prince and he certainly didn’t know them. Still he would have seen them together on many occasions, but it was Sontúr who was, perhaps, the most surprised. He had seen the cold, calculating prince that hadn’t bothered to think of Fel’annár’s feelings at all. They almost seemed to be two, separate people and his curiosity was piqued. He joined The Company as they moved to the window and stood by silently.

  Gor’sadén’s eyes searched Fel’annár, who in turn nodded at him in what he hoped was a reassuring way, while Pan’assár’s hand rested momentarily on Fel’annár’s shoulder as he passed by. The Company watched their interaction, eyes darting between themselves. The questions were mounting, and Idernon was surely keeping track of them.

  “The king has been briefed on yesterday’s attack,” began Gor’sadén. “An inquiry is ongoing as we speak, and both Commander Pan’assár and Prince Handir have asked to collaborate. As such, it is my job to inform you of what we know so far and what we suspect. But have a care; you are all under oath to not speak of this. My king requires it, and it is common sense, of course.” Gor’sadén’s eyes travelled over them all, reinforcing what was, in fact, a direct order.

  “Commander Pan’assár?” prompted Gor’sadén, stepping to one side. While Fel’annár had rested, the Forest commander had taken his lieutenant back to the site of the attack, in search of clues that may lead them to identify the would-be assassins. What happened during their field investigation, Gor’sadén couldn’t say, but Pan’assár had returned in a fine mood, despite the circumstances. Galadan too, had seemed less stiff, his brow smooth and he couldn’t help but wonder if they had spoken of other things beside the attack. Of all the people in this room, beside himself, it was Galadan who would have seen the darker side of Pan’assár. He glanced briefly at The Company, noticing their keen eyes, their expectation of what their commander would say, and perhaps more importantly, how he would say it. Fel’annár, though, did not seem surprised at all.

  Pan’assár truly was on a mission to atone for his years of hatred.

  The Forest commander nodded and stepped into the centre of the room with natural confidence. “Lieutenant Galadan and I personally scoured the area of the attack, and concluded that there were four archers, three of which used standard longbows. One of those shooters, though, used a different bow, the arrows expertly crafted and laced with canimbula poison. Coincidentally, all those special arrows fell in the same place, namely, wherever Fel’annár moved. Whoever wielded that bow and those arrows was skilled and was specifically targeting Fel’annár. Luckily, only one of them hit its mark.

  “Notably, there were few tracks to mention, but we did find a hidden door just over the lip of the north-eastern overhang. We believe this was the route the assassins used to escape. We will know where it leads once our preliminary search is concluded. Commander Gor’sadén will, of course, be conducting a closer inspection into other possible passageways that are not recorded on the city maps.

  “However, evidence seems to suggest that this attack was carried out by highly-skilled soldiers, mercenaries perhaps. Whoever the mastermind was, he or she was a master archer and tracker. The use of these specially-crafted arrows shows expertise, and the choice of poison is significant. Canimbula is deadly within the hour, should the antidote not be administered. It is not a coincidence that the entire stock of spade root, the key ingredient for the antidote, was stolen from the supply halls just days past. Should their arrows fail to kill Fel’annár, the poison would certainly have finished the job, had it not been for Healer Llyniel here,” said Pan’assár.

  Startled at the mention of her name, Llyniel’s face shot up, wide eyes landing on the commander. He smiled wickedly at her shocked expression, and she felt her own mouth turn upwards, but then her gaze crossed Handir’s and the smile was gone. They had not spoken since the incident in the corridor, but there was no missing the regret in the prince’s eyes—not perhaps for what he had said, but for the simple fact that they had argued.

  “I would also suggest that it was a tone flute that panicked our horses, used so that we would be thrown and then prevent us from fleeing. These instruments are not easy to come by and if we consider the nature of the canimbula poisoning, also difficult to locate in these parts, our conclusion, so far, is that at least one of these attackers is a Shadow, possibly a renegade. Their skills are certainly compatible with the training we provide our loyal secret warriors.”

  “If this is the work of a renegade Shadow, Commander, such a service would come at a high price,” said Idernon, stepping forward.

  “That is exactly what I think, Warrior,” said Pan’assár. “The question, of course, is who—and what it is they have to gain.”

  Handir couldn’t be sure if Pan’assár’s question was rhetorical, but as far as he was concerned, there was no reason to hide his own suspicions, not after an attempt to kill one of the king’s recognised sons. He stepped into the centre of the room with a nod at the commanders.

  “I suggest we may be dealing with King Thargodén’s detractors,” he stated boldly. “With the Forest Summit, presumably still in progress, and the proclamation of Fel’annár here as a son of Thargodén, the radical Alpine Purists will not be pleased he has been named ‘lord’. I believe they will see him as a threat.”

  “Who, exactly, do you believe we are dealing with, Prince? If what you say is true, treason runs deep in your realm. Someone schemes, to an end I do not wish to contemplate,” said Gor’sadén gravely.

  Handir turned to the commander and nodded. “I believe we must concentrate our investigations on the House of Sulén. They have everything to gain, Commander; that is, if my uncle, Band’orán, has his way and overthrows my father.”

  The Company gasped, Gor’sadén stepped backwards, and Pan’assár lifted his chin.

  “Over my dead body!” he hissed.

  Handir held the commander’s furious gaze, glad at his passionate reaction albeit a little surprised. He nodded in satisfaction and then continued.

  “As you may know, my king has family here, distant cousins whose forefathers rode with King Or’Talán in the days of the colonisation. I have heard their hushed talk of Alpine superiority, heard their veiled insults at court. It is likely they are sympathetic to
the beliefs of Lord Band’orán. In answer to what they have to gain with Fel’annár’s demise, I would say it is favour—favour from a would-be-king, one who may grant land, power . . . ”

  Damiel stared back at his pupil in respect. He had spoken boldly and clearly, no hint of hesitation or insecurity. He was proud, he realised, because in spite of his pupil’s conflict over his half-brother, he had put that aside and done his job admirably.

  “And so you see, I cannot claim this to be true, but my suspicions are well-founded. I have watched my cousins for months now and have curbed my tongue before their derogatory comments against the Silvans of Ea Uaré, and I have done so for the sole purpose of observing, of inviting them to perhaps reveal something which may be of use to us. They speak highly of Lord Band’orán and I have led him to believe I am neutral in the matter.”

  “And are you, Prince?” asked Galdith, boldly stepping forwards, ignoring Carodel’s hand on his forearm. “We Silvans do not rightly know what our rulers think. You have not told us. All we see are your rulings, which favour the Alpines in commerce, in the military, in education, in anything and everything that is important to us.”

  All heads turned in disbelief to Galdith, but he simply stood there, stubbornly waiting for an answer.

  Pan’assár stepped forward, but Handir held out an imperious hand to stop him and then turned to face Galdith, cloak fanning around him, jaw clenched and eyes glittering. “I am averse to the suffering of my people. I am averse to injustice and intolerance. I am averse to arrogance and the lust for absolute power, but above all I am averse to vermin who would use good people, crush them underfoot, and spit on them for the sole purpose of gaining land and coin and renown. It disgusts me, gnaws on my very soul, burns my blood, and so help me, Warrior, yes, I am averse to those beliefs. I have nothing to gain with the death of this warrior,” he said, pointing at his half-brother even though his eyes remained on Galdith.

  To Fel’annár, a king stood before him. This was a side to his half-brother he had never seen. Handir’s words had stirred him, and he knew he was not alone. Galdith stepped forwards, and where before there had been suspicion and challenge in his eyes, now there was only curiosity—and dawning respect.

  “Then you will forgive my impertinence,” he said softly. “But when you have lost everything, your soulmate, your infant child because our Alpine rulers did nothing to defend their people, perhaps you can understand that it is hard to stand by and continue watching the same injustice being committed, time and time again. It is enough, surely, that we die.”

  Handir’s anger was gone, and in its wake, Fel’annár saw his conviction strengthen in the prince’s eyes.

  “It is too much, Warrior,” he said, walking towards Galdith and placing a hand upon his shoulder. “And it is time to stop it.”

  Galdith lowered his head in thanks, and Handir turned back to the respectful gazes of them all. Llyniel smiled at him in pride, her lingering anger forgotten, while Pan’assár was looking at him as if it were the first time he was seeing him.

  “To conclude,” continued Handir after a while, “I suggest we set a watch on Lords Ras’dan and Sulén, and his son, Lord Silor, with whom some of you are familiar.”

  A snort echoed in the ensuing silence, and Fel’annár looked over at The Company . . . and to Ramien who was studying the cuff of his tunic.

  “None of you may discuss this with anyone,” continued Handir. “The commanders will, of course, keep us all informed should any further information be uncovered. For now, we must assume that the danger may come from the palace and the barracks. As such, I am placing Fel’annár under your protection,” he stressed, his eyes travelling over the warriors he knew were called The Company. “You are to stay with him at all times, except when he is training with the commanders.” He found Gor’sadén’s gaze and nodded. “Furthermore, Fel’annár will take all meals here in his rooms. In case of injury he is to be treated here, with healing supplies that can be trusted and only by Prince Sontúr or Lady Llyniel. Also, I or the commanders must be notified of any further break-ins at the Healing Halls. Fel’annár, you understand the safety measures that have been set in place?”

  “I do, Prince,” he said as he made to stand. Handir held out his hand for him to stop.

  “See that you heed them,” he said. He nodded at the commanders and then made to leave, but he stopped on his way out and turned once more to The Company.

  “Guard him well, Warriors. I am counting on your loyalty to him . . . and your discretion in this matter.”

  “You have it, my prince,” said Idernon. Handir nodded curtly and then strode away, Chief Councillor Damiel just behind him.

  “Was that a royal prince I just saw . . . or a protective brother?” murmured Carodel under his breath.

  “It was both,” said Idernon thoughtfully.

  After a restful sleep, Fel’annár sat pondering the meeting that had only recently ended. The Company, charged with his safety by Handir himself, had left him alone with Llyniel when they had seen his pale face and drooping eyelids. The healer had gestured to the door and they had obeyed her silent command, albeit reluctantly, resuming their diligent guard outside. They would surely be back soon to discuss the surprising council, in which Pan’assár had seemed utterly changed, and Handir had become a true prince in the eyes of The Company.

  Llyniel sat behind him, cleaning and rebandaging his wound, wading through her own thoughts and impressions. Handir had shone so very brightly, had publicly announced his mission to stop Band’orán’s plans to take the throne from Thargodén. She smiled as she worked, and then a question popped into her head.

  “What happened with Silor?” she asked suddenly.

  “He was a trainee lieutenant. Let’s just say that he dislikes Silvans.”

  “You said was. He is no longer training?”

  “He committed acts of misconduct and was temporarily relieved of his duty by Commander Pan’assár, even though it was he who gave him the honour of training as lieutenant in the first place.”

  “Of course. Alpine lords must have their sons in the Inner Circle while we Silvans fight on the front lines,” she said sourly. “Mind you, our commander seems changed of late. He’s hardly recognisable as the racist bigot I have come to know. Galdith, now, spoke well before Handir.”

  “Yes. And Handir answered him well.”

  “He did.”

  She smiled as she tied off the bandage. Shuffling sideways, she sat beside Fel’annár on the padded bench. “He makes me proud,” she said, eyes slipping to Fel’annár, but he did not return her gaze. “I wonder if things will ever be the same as they were before. If Handir really can restore our forests to what they once were.”

  “Before the Alpines came?” asked Fel’annár.

  “No. To what it was under Or’Talán’s rule . . . and Thargodén’s rule, before the queen left.”

  “I don’t remember those days, Llyniel. I am not even fifty-two years old, I am a base warrior with a thousand things to learn. I have only ever known the Forest as it is now.”

  “And have you given any thought to what you might do, Fel’annár? After this, you know who is responsible as well as Handir does. You will never be free while Band’orán is left to his own devices.”

  “Somebody has to do something, Llyniel. I understand that much. Handir is the statesman—and a good one from what I can see, and your father is the chief councillor. They are the ones who can change things.”

  “Handir is an able statesman, yet to prove himself at his father’s court, but he will, just as he did today. He is good and with Lord Damiel’s help, he will be exceptional. He is sharp, with a gifted mind, and he is well-loved by our people. But he will not move the Silvan people as you will. He knows this. He needs you to do it. You are a key player, you will it or not.”

  Fel’annár turned, pulling his undershirt on. “I do see the merit, Llyniel. Handir claims I can move the Silvan people, and I know you trust his
assessment, but that, to me, sounds wrong. Why would they listen to a fifty-two-year-old warrior? The plight of the Silvan people requires experience, wisdom—I have none of those qualities.”

  Llyniel smiled and nodded. “I can see that it would look that way to you. And I know you do not yet trust Handir when he says that they will look to you. So who will you listen to?”

  “Lainon. But he’s not here. And then perhaps I need to see it for myself, once we are home.”

  “Well, I can’t say I blame you. It does sound strange that you would hold sway over the Silvan leaders. But then, as you said, I do trust Handir. I know that if he says it is so, it is truth. But I cannot will you to see him as I do.”

  “However,” added Fel’annár softly, “the fact that someone saw fit to kill me . . . if this is related to who I am, then someone else, at least, agrees with Handir.”

  “You have a point, yes,” said Llyniel, “and that does seem likely, Fel’annár.”

  He shifted, taking one hand to his chin. “You believe strongly in this cause, even though you come from a privileged background. Your parents are lords, you were raised at court, where your own father is chief councillor,” he said, observing her features as they hardened at the mention of Aradan.

  “What is it? I’ve never heard you mention your parents …”

  “That is a long story.”

  “Longer than mine?”

  “No,” she chuckled. “I would have preferred a childhood such as yours, in the Silvan villages. I have always felt my forest blood strongly. I could not stand the scheming, the absurd rhetoric, and the spreading racism that few seem concerned with. But I saw it so clearly, saw how my mother looked away and held her tongue despite her distress, and saw how my father assured me it would end. And yet he did nothing to change it, even as the chief councillor to the king. I could not respect that, and so I travelled, in search of a fairer place to live.”