by R K Lander
“Hobin. Was Lainon Ber’anor? Did he have some purpose to fulfil?”
Hobin’s head rose but his eyes remained on Gor’sadén. After a while, he answered. “Lainon was special, but he was not Ber’anor.”
Gor’sadén nodded slowly. He knew Hobin would speak no more but at least now he had something to go on, something he could ask Fel’annár. What was the significance of Lainon’s death, that the Supreme Commander felt he needed to tell Fel’annár personally?
“I will see you later, Gor’sadén,” said Hobin, bowing, and then leaving, and the commander watched him. He was a powerful elf, wise and thoughtful, humble yet strangely unfathomable. Indeed he had not lied, but neither had he told Gor’sadén what he wanted to know.
Hobin had some interest in Fel’annár he did not wish to discuss and that did not sit well with him. He would ask his apprentice, as soon as he could find time.
Later that day, Fel’annár sat at the window seat in his rooms. Winter was ending and the thaw was beginning—not quite the end of nature’s slumber, not quite the onset of its renewal. This was what Commander Gor’sadén had been waiting for.
A General Alert had been called, and Tar’eastór would ride out in two days to Crag’s Nest to deal with the Deviant threat. Fel’annár would ride to battle with Commanders Gor’sadén, Pan’assár, and Hobin. The thought of such an honour sent a thrill down his spine. Tomorrow they would be briefed, and preparations would begin. So little time to address so many issues, he mused.
He needed to speak with Handir, tell him he was with him and then ask him whether he would involve Commander Pan’assár. He had questions for Commander Hobin about his grandfather.
And then he wanted to see Llyniel.
Ever since his talk with Hobin, he had begun to question himself, ask himself incessantly whether he was being selfish, reckless even to pursue her, to act on his growing feelings for her. There were dangerous times ahead for Fel’annár and he would not expose her to them. Would not endanger her because of what he was, of who he was. She had her own dreams to fulfil, her own family to mend. Yet still, he would sit before her the next time he asked himself these questions, see for himself whether he could resist the strong tide that was pushing him towards her.
And then he wondered if it was already too late.
Dressing in the simplest clothes that Handir had brought for him, he strapped his weapons onto his back and left his rooms, clapping Galdith and Idernon on the shoulders as he passed. Together, they made for the king’s gardens and the Sentinel. If there was one place where he could, perhaps, straighten things in his own mind it was there, where his connection to Aria was strongest. After he had ordered things in his mind, he would find Handir—and then Llyniel.
With a nod at his friends, he climbed the tree and settled upon a branch high in the boughs of the Winter Sentinel.
Lord.
Sentinel. Fel’annár smiled softly. Spring was coming, he could feel it . . . and so could the tree. He couldn’t rightly say whose feelings were in his mind right now, and then he wondered if it really even mattered. Funny, he mused, that he had come so far with his skill in so short a time, and although it still unnerved him at times, he was beginning to enjoy it with every successful attempt at harnessing it.
He pulled out his journal and opened it. Lainon stared back at him, an unlikely smile on his face, and then he turned the page and studied the sketch of the lady in the trees, only he had drawn her standing on the forest floor, an acorn in one hand and an emerald in the other, and beside her . . .
“Am I intruding?”
He jumped at the familiar voice that called up to him from far below. Fel’annár turned and looked down, his hair falling over his shoulder as he caught sight of Llyniel. His heart fluttered in his chest, and he smiled.
“It’s not my tree. Come up, Silvan.”
She climbed and then settled on the same branch and took a moment to observe him. She’d never seen him in civilian clothes, save for when he had been proclaimed a lord, and she could not stop her eyes from travelling down his chin and neck to the open expanse of what she knew was a beautifully sculpted chest. Damn that dark green tunic he wore, she smirked to herself. And then she caught sight of the weapons on his back. Did he ever rest? she wondered. But the thought had spoiled her enjoyment, because she was reminded that he was a warrior, one who would one day ride out to battle and perhaps never return.
Her eyes returned to his, and she cocked her head to one side in thought.
“You are brooding,” she murmured.
Fel’annár shook his head. “No. Just thinking.”
“About what?” she asked, head tilting to the other side.
“Well. About Handir, about home, and other . . . things.”
“Don’t you want to talk about it?” she invited.
“I do. But I wouldn’t bore you with that. It is a beautiful morning—almost spring.”
“It is, but still, I would not be bored, Fel’annár. I am a healer, and being a healer is as much about healing the body as it is about understanding the mind of others. I know you worry about our return. About meeting your father and about what will happen.”
He was worried about those things, but they were not the ones at the forefront of his mind. “Yes. Still there are more immediate concerns . . . things I don’t think you are aware of.”
“Then tell me. I won’t share them with anyone, not even Handir.”
Fel’annár heaved a breath, and she knew he was debating whether or not to speak with her. She couldn’t blame him; they were almost strangers, and yet in their short time together, they had spoken of intimate things, things no strangers would ever dream of disclosing. They had almost kissed—both had wanted it, and both had stopped themselves.
“You know that I am a Listener, I suppose.”
“Oh yes. I did hear about that, even before Handir told me. You can hear the voice of the trees and that is a fascinating thing, Fel’annár. I would know what it is like; I mean, even now, can you hear this tree? What it says? Does it use language like ours or is it some form of mind speak? What . . .” Her enthusiasm was running away with her, and she stopped when Fel’annár began to snicker.
“I can hear it, yes.” He smiled fondly.
“Well? What does it say?”
His smile was gone, and in its place was doubt.
“I won’t laugh,” she assured him.
“No. No, you won’t,” he murmured, and she briefly wondered at his comment.
“I wonder—what it feels like to understand it,” she said, softer now, and Fel’annár reached out, an invitation for her to take his hand. It was large, well-used and calloused, but it was warm and she wondered if, later, she would be able to let go.
He leaned forward, as if ordering his thoughts, and she thought she saw liquid swirl in his irises. She frowned.
“It calls me lord, sings to me of the coming of spring. The earth beneath its roots is warming, twigs are tightening, the pressure inside is growing. It is warmer, and the leaves stir, still inside their protective skins. It is not yet time . . .”
All mirth was gone, wiped from her face as she listened to the far-away words that Fel’annár muttered, almost as if he were seeing what he described. She didn’t laugh, just as Fel’annár had said. His eyes fascinated her, and at times she thought she could see stars, tiny pricks of golden light.
“How can you know all that?” she asked, eyes drawn to Fel’annár’s other hand and his fingers as they stroked over the rough bark beneath. She’d seen him do this before, she realised.
“Because I can feel it, Llyniel.”
She frowned, even as her hands held tighter onto his, as if she braced herself because there was something in his voice that was not him, a tone she had never heard. Her blood tingled in her veins.
“There are snowdrops and buttercups in the Downlands, and in the Forests, wild daffodils peek through the ground in search of light. There is a musky arom
a of wood anemone—it reminds me of home.” He smiled and cocked his head backwards, as if he could smell them here in the towering heights of Tar’eastór. A flash of blue light flitted across his eyes, and Llyniel blinked in confusion. She had indeed heard that he was a Listener, but what was this strange play of light in his eyes? This deep stroke of something unknown, impassioned words spoken by a warrior. She was an experienced healer, but she had never seen the likes. Had never felt this way.
Her eyes were suddenly attracted by movement over Fel’annár’s sleeve. The hand that stroked the branch was partially covered by a thin green shoot that protruded from a spindly branch. She could not stop the sudden intake of breath as she flinched backwards.
“Don’t be frightened, Llyniel.”
She could hardly breathe, couldn’t even move her own body. She wanted to speak, but her tongue was numb, eyes fixed on the shoot. Fel’annár brushed it softly with his other hand and it danced away, back into the twig, and Fel’annár leaned forwards, his eyes a little too bright.
“Don’t be frightened, Llyniel. It is playful, ’tis all,” he said as he took both of her hands in his.
She was frightened because she could not explain what she had just seen, just as she could not fathom why his words had touched her so deeply. He painted a picture of Silvan wonder at the coming of renewal and she saw it all, smelled the flowers and felt the warming sun on her own skin, or was that his touch?
She leaned forward, watching the spectacle of light. One hand came up to touch the side of his face, tentative, searching. She had told herself her attraction to Fel’annár was physical, and it was. But just this simple touch of her skin against his told her there was more, just as she had always known but never acknowledged. She was falling into a place of warmth and comfort, to an end she could not foresee. Her own ambitions, her own fears that Fel’annár would be killed in battle . . . they were fading away, and her eyes lowered to his mouth. She leaned forwards until she could feel his lips upon hers. She pressed harder, inviting, and he accepted. She felt his strong, calloused hand against the side of her throat, fingertips ghosting over her skin. They felt too cold—or perhaps it was her flesh that was too warm.
Llyniel had only ever fallen twice. Once when she was a young child, she had fallen from a tree. It had hurt, and now, she was falling into an unknown place of wonder and heartache. She was plummeting forwards, upwards, but she did not hold her hands out to brace the fall. Handir had asked her to step away from Fel’annár, told her only pain would come from loving this warrior. She had not heeded him—because she had told herself she didn’t love him. But then Fel’annár’s hand moved to the back of her head and his body leaned forwards, strong, powerful muscles wrapping around her, pulling her closer. She wanted to fall into him, and she opened her mouth as he deepened their kiss. Her heart seemed to stretch and something jolted in her chest: surely she would not be the one to end it. Her body felt too light, her heart too heavy, but all she wanted was to melt into him, transcend his skin and see what lay beneath.
She didn’t love him, did she?
She leaned back, watching Fel’annár’s eyes looking back at her in wonder, like an astounded child contemplating the first snows. Slowly, his lips stretched wide until his teeth sat on display.
“What have you done to me, Healer,” he murmured, and Llyniel could not help the hand that came up to cup his cheek—and then the traitorous thumb as it brushed over his lips.
“I don’t know,” she whispered truthfully, shaking her head. She had broken their kiss, and she suddenly wished that she hadn’t.
“We will ride out soon,” said Fel’annár, playing with her hands as he spoke. “Tomorrow, or perhaps the following day. After that there will surely be little time left to enjoy the spring, for Prince Handir will call for our return.” He sat a little straighter, and his eyebrows rose. “Shall we go into the forests, Llyniel? Shall we be Silvan just for today?”
She arched a brow, wondering what part of being Silvan he was referring to this time, and he laughed. “The Company won’t leave me alone, Healer. Besides, it’s high time you got to know my brothers properly. Let’s just enjoy this day together, all of us. We may not have another chance for a while. There will be time enough for us—to talk of what the future may hold.”
The joy and anticipation on his face was addictive, and she nodded, feeling like a child once more when her own mother announced they would visit the Deep Forest. It hadn’t happened often, but when it had, she had stored up the best memories of her life. There would be time enough to talk, just as Fel’annár had said, but he had shown her the coming of spring, and she was Silvan. Her smile widened.
They were soon scurrying down the bark, and Idernon and Galdith turned. The Wise Warrior arched a brow, and Galdith grinned like a ten-year-old imp.
“What?” asked Fel’annár in mock anger.
“Nothing,” said Galdith, his voice a little too high-pitched, and Llyniel snorted in mirth.
“We are spending the day in the forests. I don’t suppose you’ll want to come?” asked Fel’annár with a lop-sided smile.
“Of course we do, you fool,” said Idernon, and Llyniel smirked.
“Galdith, find the rest of The Company. We meet at the gates in thirty minutes. And take this to my rooms, will you?” he asked, handing his friend his leather-bound journal.
Galdith took it and was away at a brisk trot.
Llyniel had seen The Company together on many occasions by now, had seen their steadfast protection of Fel’annár—indeed he called them his brothers. Theirs was a special bond she wanted to understand, because by understanding them, she would, perhaps, learn what it was that made this elf so special . . . learn what it was that her heart had recognised but that her mind had yet to grasp.
Lord Councillor Sulén turned from the hearth in his personal suite of rooms, hands clasped at the wrists, expression trained on his only son, who stood rigid, blue eyes trained on the plush carpet beneath his supple, gold-trimmed boots.
“I have spent countless coins on your education, sat you at my knee as I worked, taught you everything I know, and yet everything you do is a failure. Tell me, Silor. What have I done to deserve such a weakling son?”
“Father, Macurian is a legend at what he does—there are no others better suited for the job.”
“Then what is going wrong, Silor? Are you not explaining yourself sufficiently clearly? Is that why this legendary Shadow fails time and again?”
“He is good at his job, Father. He has been studying the Silvan, watching his movements, speaking to others. The bastard’s powers with the trees are stronger than we thought—Macurian knows this now. I have doubled his sum, and he will strike today. He and his men wait only for an opportunity to arise.”
“A simple arrow will not do it, Silor, we know that much. What is his plan this time?”
“He does not say. All I know is that he has many at his service and that he promises me it will be done today.”
“Lord Band’orán is relying on us. The Forest Summit will soon end, if it has not already done so; this is the last stretch of our lord’s plan, and you know what this means. Our departure will be imminent, before even Prince Handir returns, but that unnatural abomination must be put down before then. We cannot let our lord down, Silor. Do whatever you must, and do it now.”
“I won’t fail you, Father, I swear.”
“See that you don’t,” said Sulén bluntly and then left, closing the door quietly behind him.
Macurian was no lover boy, but he recognised the attraction between the two Silvans.
He watched from afar, careful not to touch the trees. He’d seen the Silvan’s powers of perception, had heard the rumours, and he was taking no more chances. Sulén was a generous patron, and Macurian would oblige him. He’d promised the lord’s son he would complete his task today, and the perfect opportunity may just have arisen.
He followed the three Silvans, watching as they met P
rince Sontúr and the rest of what he now knew was The Company at the city gates. They laughed and joked as they prepared to head out of the citadel, and Macurian knew that now was the perfect moment to put his plan into action. Turning, he raised his hand and executed a flurry of hand signals. Pulling the cloak over his head, he walked to the stables.
He had done as he’d said. He had watched and waited, and soon enough, he had found The Silvan’s weakness. The healer would serve his purposes well, for if his plan failed, she would be his solution. All that was left to do now, this very day, was use that weakness against the boy and claim his recompense—and his lost pride.
Fourteen
Silvan Interlude
“Fel’annár was a lord of Ea Uaré, but so too was he a lord to the trees and an apprentice of the Kal’hamén’Ar. Soon he would ride with the greatest warriors of their time, back to the mountain and perhaps to battle. But Fel’annár was young and he was Silvan, and the gentle breeze of love danced playfully, just beyond the limits of his consciousness.”
The Silvan Chronicles, Book V. Marhené.
The entire Company stood talking animatedly at the open gates of the citadel as they waited for Fel’annár, Idernon and the healer to arrive. The Bard Warrior stood with his lyre slung over one shoulder while Ramien carried a heavy sack on his back, filled to brimming with delights Sontúr had procured from the kitchens. It smelled of all things wholesome, and the Silvan giant was hard-pressed to stop himself from ripping into the cloth and gorging himself on the hot pies he knew were nestled in there somewhere.
Fel’annár could see them talking, excited at the day of rest and relaxation they had hastily organised. As he approached them, Llyniel at his side, his hand itched to take hers, but that would have been a statement he had yet to decide he should make. He wanted to though. Their kiss lingered in his mind, like balmy haze in the summer, yet more than that it had changed him. Something had nudged him, moved him in a way he had yet to understand. Still, she had broken off their kiss—she still had reservations.