by R K Lander
The Company’s playful banter fell away, and they turned to stare at Fel’annár and Llyniel as they approached. All they knew about her was that she was a healer and that she was Silvan . . . that and the fact that it had been her to come up with an alternative antidote to the canimbula poisoning. Still, they had only exchanged cursory niceties with her, all of them except for Sontúr and Galadan, who had seen her before at Thargodén’s court. It was Galadan who broke the awkward silence.
“Lady Llyniel,” he nodded.
“Lieutenant Galadan,” she smiled.
“Llyniel: Lake Girl, Lady of the Lake, Lake-like . . .” began Carodel.
“Would you like me to get you a thesaurus, Carodel?” asked Idernon.
“I don’t need one. Words spring to my mind like mushrooms in winter.”
Ramien guffawed, and Sontúr grimaced at the simile, but Llyniel laughed scandalously. They hadn’t expected it, had never seen the mischievous, Silvan side of the healer she had just shown them. Galdith grinned while Ramien peered at Llyniel and then at Fel’annár.
“I assume you are all aware of this one’s dubious reputation back in Sen Garay?” she asked rhetorically, poking her finger at Carodel with a good-natured smile. It could have been misconstrued, but the smile on her face and the twinkle in her eyes told them all it was good-natured; indeed Idernon and Ramien snorted.
“We have been told,” said Ramien, and the Bard Warrior shrugged his shoulders—there was no point in denying the obvious.
“I live life to the fullest, pluck fruit when it is ripe lest it shrivel and fall,” he said defensively, but there was a false innocence about him and the others jeered as they checked their weapons and started towards the gates. Carodel expounded on the virtues of his many Silvan lovers while the others only half-listened, furtive eyes darting from Llyniel to Fel’annár. She could feel their gazes on her, and Fel’annár smiled at her grace—for remaining silent and allowing them their curiosity about what she meant to him.
And what did she mean to him? He had told himself he would be a distraction to her on her road to the status of master healer, and then he had tried to convince himself that she would remain in Tar’eastór while he was bound to return to the Forest. He had stepped away from her kiss days ago because he had felt himself losing control.
But then she had kissed him in the tree . . .
They strolled down the main path that led from the citadel gates and downwards. It was barren here save for the many rocks and boulders that were strewn about the place. He turned to Sontúr. “These boulders seem to have fallen,” he mused. “They are all over the descent, even inside the forest down there.”
“Caves used to litter the sides of the plateau. Gor’sadén ordered them sealed off many years ago. Too many hiding places for thieves and smugglers, he said.”
Fel’annár nodded, his eyes drifting to a lone tree which stood a little further down. How it had grown here with no others to keep it company, Fel’annár couldn’t say, and a thought occurred to him. “Did the forest once extend to up here? Was it felled for some purpose?”
Sontúr’s brows rose to his hairline, and he shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll ask my father.”
Fel’annár reached out and stroked the bark of the lonely tree as they passed, felt its noble heart, its brave existence.
It took them half an hour to finally stand upon the onset of the forest that surrounded the citadel. It was still somewhat sparse here, although further down, Fel’annár knew it was thicker, shadier, more reminiscent of the forests of the flatlands of Ea Uaré.
There were scattered groups of elves, some sitting in shady spots, talking and eating, while others laughed and played games. Two elves stood leaning against a silver birch. They smiled indulgently and then pulled each other close, lips coming together for a succulent kiss, and Fel’annár’s eyes searched for Llyniel. She was chatting and waving her arms in the air while Carodel smirked and Galdith chuckled.
She almost seemed to have fallen into them, melded naturally without the slightest bit of awkwardness save for the wary glances that Idernon cast her way. Fel’annár would speak to his brother, understand where his reservations came from. Sontúr had not taken kindly to her the day they had met, after his investment as a lord, but Fel’annár knew that was because he had thought she was defending Handir’s careless deeds. But then Fel’annár had been poisoned and they had worked together to save him. Since then, a special bond seemed to have formed between the two healers, even though Sontúr was not at all fond of Handir, her self-proclaimed brother.
They soon found themselves in the more secluded areas. The forest was thicker here, but still there were rocks and boulders scattered everywhere. They made for excellent places to stop and eat, and so, choosing a delightful spot in the sun, Ramien unravelled the contents of his cloth sack.
“Now the merit is not mine,” he began. “Sontúr got this for us and then used me as his mule.”
“A logical move,” said Idernon, and Galadan rolled his eyes to the heavens as he laid back against the boulder behind him, watching as the pastries, bread, cheeses, and wine were unravelled.
“Oh, cake!” shouted Sontúr, although the others might say that he squeaked, for the prince loved his cakes and buns, sticky buns, and he reached out to poke his finger at the spongy, toasted crust.
“Don’t be a pig, Sontúr,” said Carodel, crossing his legs and retrieving his lyre from where it sat on his back. He strummed and then twisted the pegs until he was satisfied with the tuning.
Llyniel smiled at them and then turned to Fel’annár, who was helping Ramien to organise their feast. She watched as his heavy Ari locks danced around his shoulders, the tips reaching almost to the ground. She watched his hands as they arranged the food and then watched his mouth as he spoke and laughed. He was as beautiful as the day, she mused. But it wouldn’t last—he was a warrior and Tar’eastór was on General Alert. He would soon ride out, perhaps to battle, and she would be left to wonder if he would ever return. The thought squeezed her gut, and for a moment she could not eat. There was a choice before her, one she needed to make soon, because somehow, she knew that after today, that choice would be taken away from her, that it would be too late to turn away.
Ramien and the rest had no such hefty thoughts to spoil their appetite, and before long, little else but crumbs were left, some of which decorated their tunics, but they didn’t care at all, and they chatted while Carodel strummed his soft melodies. There was no mention of their upcoming patrol, of the Deviants they said were massing at Crag’s Nest. Today was for enjoying, and Llyniel would do no less. She fell into their brotherhood, observed them, came to understand that the one, unifying factor amongst them—was Fel’annár.
There was a mystery about him, she thought. Something they all seemed to understand but did not give voice to. She had had a taste of that something earlier, when she had seen the swirling lights in his eyes.
“Who’s that?” asked Ramien, watching as a group of mounted soldiers approached. Sontúr slowly stood, observing as they dismounted and strode forwards. He nodded at them as they bowed.
“What has happened?” he asked. They all stood now, thinking that the moment to ride out was finally upon them and these soldiers had been sent to inform their prince. Carodel slung his lyre over his shoulder, arranging it beside his weapons harness.
Fel’annár stood rigid, a discordant note in his mind, but these were fellow warriors, weren’t they? Something was wrong, though, and his eyes fell to their hands.
Too tense.
The leader of the group stepped forward.
“Galadan?” murmured Fel’annár, hand straying to the dagger at his belt without turning to look at the lieutenant.
But there was no time to answer. The leader was crouching low, one arm stretched out as if he had thrown something, but they had not seen anything move. Fel’annár, though, was sailing through the air, landing on two feet even as three small blades thun
ked into a tree trunk behind him.
“Ambush!” cried Galadan, and The Company drew their swords.
Fel’annár drew both his blades and faced his first opponent, parried his attack and then slashed one blade along the back of his knee. He fell with a scream, but three more were running at him. Fel’annár sprinted towards them, and then jumped, and with both feet before him, he projected all his energy into a flying kick that sent all three swordsmen crashing to the ground. He turned, searching frantically for Llyniel only to realise that the soldiers had split into two groups. One had been keeping them busy while the other was circling Llyniel. Tree branch in hand, she brandished it before her in sweeping arcs, eyes wide. She was scared, but she was not going meekly. Fel’annár wanted to run to her, but the trees screamed a warning and he leaned backwards, spine stretching almost painfully as the tip of a blade hummed past his cheek.
He parried a skilful attack on his right flank and then whirled away and sent his long sword through one soldier’s leg while the other attacked from the left. Not fast enough, and Fel’annár parried, sending his opponent’s sword flying into the air. In three strides he was before the wide-eyed soldier and then smashed the hilt of his short sword into his temple.
Turning to Llyniel once more, his heart sank, for she had obviously been subdued, her hands tied behind her back. She’d been wrestled into the saddle before a burly, armoured guard, yet still she struggled, legs thrashing about the horse’s shoulder, but not enough to keep the soldier from wheeling his horse around and galloping away.
“Fel’annár!” she screamed, but all he could do was watch as the rider disappeared into the trees. The other group of soldiers had disengaged and vaulted into their own saddles, leaving their fallen companions and following after their leader at a thundering gallop, and Fel’annár was loping over the ground, deaf to Galadan’s calls for him to come back. The Company sprinted after him, barely able to keep him within their sight.
Fel’annár could no longer see the horses, but he didn’t need to—the trees guided him, but there was a warning in their voice. He leapt over roots and logs, skirted bushes and fallen branches, but then a thick branch dropped into his path and he dug his heels into the loamy earth and skidded to a halt, just inside the tree line.
Before him was an open glade, and as he caught his breath his eyes focussed on three figures in the distance, standing out in the open. His eyes scanned the trees off to the left, searching for the remaining group. He couldn’t see them, but he knew where they were, crouched behind a low ridge of stone, close to the tree line. He calculated his own distance from them, their distance from the tree line and then the distance from the three who stood in the open. A crashing sound behind him alerted him to the arrival of The Company. He turned and gestured for them to stop.
“It’s a trap,” he whispered. “Two are holding Llyniel out in the open where we can see them, using her as bait to lure me into the clearing and then shoot me down. There are six archers behind that ridge there.” He pointed.
Galadan peered over Fel’annár’s shoulder, the rest behind him.
“I need to get over there,” said Fel’annár.
“And what are you going to do? Step into range and allow them to shoot you down? And even if you did somehow manage to avoid their arrows, what are you going to do when you find yourself alone before two foes with Llyniel tied and vulnerable?” asked Idernon.
“If we stand here and do nothing, they will kill her.”
“You take that for granted?” asked Galadan.
“You saw them, Galadan. They are warriors, better than most. They are hired hands, sent to kill me. Llyniel was their fall-back plan. If we ignore her plight it is nothing to them to kill her. And still they will come for me.”
“And if you go, they will kill you. It is not your responsibility, Fel’annár,” said Galadan. “Let us handle it.”
“It is my responsibility,” hissed Fel’annár, eyes blazing, and Galadan swayed backwards. “She is in danger because of me, because of who I am.”
“So you will just barge in there and get her, is that your plan?” asked Idernon, angry now.
Fel’annár closed his eyes. He needed to calm his rising anger. It was not characteristic of him to allow his emotions to interfere with his duty as a warrior, but they had tied her, held her before them, seeing her as nothing more than prize bait. He was outraged, enraged. He breathed deeply, but his eyes remained stubbornly on Llyniel.
“No. That is not my plan. All of you skirt around, behind the archers that lie in wait behind those boulders. We have an advantage—we know where they are, and they have foolishly turned their backs on the forest. You can neutralise them as I stand before the ones that hold Llyniel. We must time this to perfection, but we can do this.”
“And even should we kill those snipers before they shoot you, what will you do when you stand alone before two skilled swordsmen holding Llyniel at knifepoint?”
“I won’t be alone, Idernon.”
“No. But trees don’t fight, Fel’annár.”
“No. But they can help, Brother.”
“You are asking me to have faith, and you know my answer to that.”
“I do. But I also know you know we have no other choice.”
Idernon stared back at Fel’annár, but he didn’t answer.
“You must be silent, and you must do this simultaneously. They will be distracted, trying to shoot me down. You must take advantage of that.”
Galadan, too, was scowling, but Fel’annár was right. The only alternative was to walk away, and none of them were capable of doing such a thing.
“This plan is held together by ribbons, Fel’annár. If one of us fails to kill a sniper, the rest will realise what is happening, and we will be engaged in battle while you confront them. Then what?” asked Sontúr.
“I won’t fail. I am not alone.”
“Yes, I can see one spindly tree—a formidable warrior,” said the prince with a clenched jaw.
But Fel’annár ignored Sontúr’s familiar sarcasm and placed a hand on Idernon and Galadan’s shoulders. The others gathered close. “You stalk them from the trees, and I wait until you are in position. Once I leave my cover, do not be distracted. Wait for Llyniel to be set free. Once she is out of their range and I am within their sights, they will be shooting, and you must take them unawares lest they turn their bows on you. Neutralise them and find me but stay behind me. Questions?”
“Are you mad?” asked Ramien.
Fel’annár’s nostrils flared. “No.”
The Company watched the rocky expanse before them, six of them imagining where their prey lay in wait while Fel’annár watched the two that held Llyniel, one hand resting on the birch at his side.
Save her.
“Are you ready, Brothers?”
“We will have words when this day is done,” said Sontúr.
Fel’annár nodded. There was no more time for discussion. The Company left, silent and stealthy, and Fel’annár waited for a sign that they were ready. Minutes passed and still he could not see them, could not sense them.
Llyniel’s captors had been waiting for him to arrive, but time had passed and they had surely guessed he waited inside the woods. Any moment now, they would make their demands, and Llyniel prayed Fel’annár would not simply walk up to them and give himself up. He was young—perhaps impetuous, what did she know. Handir had hinted at it, and then his feelings for her, however deep they ran, might lead him to place himself in danger. These mercenaries were out to kill him, but Fel’annár needed to live so that he could help Handir, so that he could help her Silvan kin.
But he wouldn’t walk away. Somehow she knew that. All she could do was pray he had a plan that did not include senseless sacrifice.
A soft brush in his mind and Fel’annár’s eyes strained harder. Minute movement over to his left told him at least one of The Company was in position. He needed to wait, just a little longer. He had to be sure.
“Come out, Silvan. Your lady friend is anxious. It is you that we want, not her. Show yourself and we’ll release her!”
“If I show myself, you’ll kill me!”
“If you don’t, we will kill her!”
“You give me no guarantee of her safety in any case. Send her to me. I will meet her half-way.”
There was a moment of hesitancy that Fel’annár used to think, just as he knew his enemy would be calculating distances. The half-way mark was where he knew he would become a target, and Llyniel would be caught in the cross-fire, but to confront his two opponents while one held her at knifepoint was equally risky— if not more so.
“All right. Come out!”
One more glance at the tree line behind the snipers and a sharp whisper in his mind told Fel’annár they were ready. He took a deep breath and then another . . . and then he stepped out into the sun.
Nothing happened, as he knew it wouldn’t. He was out of range for now, but with every step he took, he walked further and further into the trap they had set for him. Llyniel’s bonds were cut, and she was pushed forward, almost stumbled to the ground but broke her fall with her hand. Straightening, she walked slowly towards him. He could see her stiff gait, her fear, her bravery.
Llyniel kept her eyes on Fel’annár, saw his wary confidence, his overly-bright eyes trained on the enemy behind her.
They were closer now, and Fel’annár allowed his eyes to fall on hers for just a moment. There was something in them, something that threatened to shake his concentration.
Closer still so that she could hear him, just as through the trees, Fel’annár could hear the creak of bows being drawn, trained on him, ready to fire no sooner he stepped into range. He wouldn’t let them hit her.
“When you pass me, drop to the ground. Lie flat, face down, and don’t look. When the arrows stop, run to the tree line.”