Ealian blinked once, then turned away. He stood and then approached the Woodsmen.
“Ien ulst vielth nors taal, engrae na voith Ealian’tien,” Ealian said, bowing until his head was on his knees.
His greeting – if that’s what is was – was met with absolute silence. Elspeth’s jaw dropped. Grady glanced from side to side, apparently undecided over which person to look at, Ealian or Cal. The others had frozen to the spot, mouths agape and eyes wide. All but Cal and Mateaf.
Cal nodded cautiously at Ealian, all the while darting sideways glances at his kinsman. “Ulst vieth? toiv da Tien?” he asked. By the look on his face, it was obviously a question.
Ealian nodded to Cal.
“Wait-wait-wait-wait!” Elspeth shouted, waving her hands in the air. “By the gods, speak Common.” She stood up and reached out to Ealian, slowly touching his shoulder, perhaps not too sure of who, or what, he was.
Ealian backed up into the centre of the hollow. “My name is Alacin’tien. I know from Ealian Tanner that many of you will be confused, and I know this is going to take some time to explain, particularly to the Surabhan. But it appears we do not have long. If this fight is anything to go by, I’m assuming I have arrived in the midst of trouble of some kind?” He looked at the group, waiting for an answer.
Cal stepped forward. He was about to speak in Cren, then remembered Elspeth’s plea. “You are… Tien?” he asked. “The Tien… the one for whom it is named, the Tien of the ancient scrolls?”
Ealian – or Alacin’tien, Gialyn was not sure what to call him – looked at Cal with one eyebrow raised. “Well, I don’t know how ancient the scrolls are. What year is this?”
“It is 1530 by the common calendar, 1284 of the Kingdom of Crenach’coi.”
“Really!” Ealian-Alacin said, half at a gasp “Then I suppose a thousand years is quite ancient.” Ealian laughed to himself. “It feels like yesterday. And you look exactly the same.” He waved his hand, taking in the two Cren standing in front of him. “I’d have thought fashions would have changed over the millennia.”
Cal and Mateaf gazed at one another, confusion written loudly in their expressions. After a moment, they both got down on one knee and bowed to Ealian, one hand on their hearts, the other on the ground in front of them. The other two Cren followed their example.
“Ien ulst vielth nors taal, Alicin’tien,” the four Cren spoke in unison.
Ealian bowed back. “Please,” he said. “It is not the time for that. You must tell me all that has happened. I assume you have something to do with all of this.” Ealian looked over at Arfael. “Unless things have changed a lot in the last thousand years, a Kel’mai in the forest of Crenach is not a good omen, knowing what your kin generally think of the woods.”
Arfael looked bemused. “I’m not a common Kel’mai.”
“But there is trouble of sorts? Ealian tells me you are expecting an invasion,” Ealian… no… Alacin said.
The entire group – apart from the wolves, who were guarding the prisoners – were standing in a circle with Ealian at the centre. Olam stepped forward. “Well, yes, there is trouble. But what happened to Ea—”
“You are of the Ambieth?” Ealian interrupted. The smile on his face said he thought that was fascinating. “I can sense it from here.” Ealian bowed. “I guess Ambieth Raics are still rare?” he asked Cal.
“Yes, indeed they are. In a hundred years, I have only met one other.”
“Well, this is an honour.” Again, Ealian-Alacin smiled. “I’ll answer your question quickly. Although someone such as yourself should know Crenach Raics are individuals, while Ambieth Raics are the essence of ancient good or evil. You possess an affinity with the land and the creatures beyond that of a simple wizard. Crenach Raics are merely the essence of a single person, a single spirit, with only his – or her – experience and memories. If you like, I’m a living book of ancient times, whereas you are the living earth beneath my feet.”
Elspeth stood. She leaped forward. Taking her brother by the shoulder, she shouted, “What happened to Ealian?!”
Ealian – Alacin – remained silent for a long moment. Then, taking Elspeth by the hand, he led her back to the fallen tree and sat down by her side. Olam coughed and walked away, with Daric and Grady close behind. Gialyn moved back a bit but made sure he could still hear.
“Elspeth Tanner, you need not fear; your brother is quite safe. His mind is intact; he survived his ordeal with the Raic’noit, but he is very tired. He is resting now, and I could not wake him if I wanted to. But rest assured, he will talk to you tomorrow.”
“I don’t believe it.” Elspeth drew her breath. She looked ready to pass out. “You have to get out of him. Our father… his father! What of our family? You are not Ealian.”
Elspeth’s skin turned pale – very pale. Ealian-Alacin grabbed her before she toppled over. “I’m going to be sick,” she said, holding her stomach. “To come from such joy to this in a mere instant is too much. I can’t bear it.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t leave, not now, not without killing your brother.” Elspeth swayed again. “I know you are angry, but consider this: Ealian was dying. Have no doubt, if they had not given me to him, Ealian would be dead and you would be crying over his corpse.”
Elspeth put her head in her hands and began to moan. “I can’t…” She took a deep breath. “I can’t accept it, not yet. And I do not believe you have to stay inside him.” Shaking, she slowly stood. “I’ll believe it when Ealian tells me. And mark me; I’ll know if it’s him.”
She glared at Ealian-Alacin as she made her way over to where her pack lay. Gialyn watched her drag it over towards the oak tree. She sat down hard on one of the large roots. He wanted to go over to her, comfort her, but what could he say now that would be of any comfort? He picked up a waterskin. Saying nothing, he placed it by her feet and left her alone.
He heard her whisper “Thank you.”
* * *
“…here. It’s not here. Have you seen it?” Grady cried.
“Seen what?” Daric asked, shrugging.
“He has taken it.” Grady was pointing at the contents of his pack, still strewn about the camp.
“Taken what? You’re not making any sense.”
“That… Bre’ach… has taken the map and run off north.”
It took a moment for Daric to register what his friend had told him. Then a sharp pain in his gut woke him from his confusion. All this; the battles, the injuries, the running… all for nothing – the bloody Salrians would deliver the scroll and the witch would be on Bailryn before month’s end. He had to steady himself; he felt like throwing up.
Daric opened his mouth to speak, but Cal beat him to it. “How long?” The Cren asked.
Cal ran to the top of the slope north of the hollow. Mateaf was not far behind him. Both men peered into the darkness, scanning across the land. Cal began to shake his head, clearly unable to see anything.
“It can’t have been more than twenty minutes,” Grady told them. “I saw him during the attack, yet he is not here. It must have been him.”
“Uld’eth has gone, too,” Si’eth said.
Cal paced along the top of the rise. “So which of them took it? This Bre’ach, or the other?”
“It was Bre’ach,” Aleban said. “I saw the other run off when I was fighting. He took nothing with him.”
“So twenty minutes, then. Can you track him?” Cal asked the wolf.
“I doubt it. North, west, south: this whole area reeks of Salrians, alive and dead.”
“Then we are ruined. If he gets that map to the witch, we are lost.”
Daric’s heart sank; Bre’ach would have an eight-hour head start if they could not go after him before morning. He felt his shoulders sag, and he was about to sit on the tree stump next to Elspeth when he remembered following Olam through the Herann’coi. I can track a fly in a thunderstorm. Smiling, he turned to Olam. “Can you follow them?”
“Of course!
” Cal said, jumping down from the rim. “The Ambieth Raic! You can track him, can’t you?”
“Yes, I can follow their trail; but sadly, I cannot see in the dark. It will have to wait until morning.”
Cal grunted. He stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the ground. “There are only two paths he can take: northeast through Cul’taris or the Tunnels themselves. Now that he has the map, he will probably choose the Tunnels. It is the quickest route.” He put his hands on top of his head and breathed in sharply. “We will be on horses in a few days. We can catch him before he gets there. That will have to do. We’ll have to hope for luck. Once we’ve reached the northern cusp of Crenach, I will send the horsemen after him. We all have our other duties, but if he’s gone that way, the Horsemen of Crenach will catch him, gods willing.”
“Then we need to prepare,” Olam said. “As much as sleep may elude us on this strangest of nights, we must rest and be off with the dawn.”
Daric agreed, and though it was not late, he set the Albergeddians the task of readying the camp for sleep. Once done, Gialyn and Grady did a run to the river to fill up their waterskins, while Daric made sure their food was properly stored. As for Elspeth, Daric could barely get a word out of her. He left her to her own devices. Ealian – Alacin’tien – did not seem to mind helping, although he did not get much done. He spent most of the next two hours talking to Cal and the other Cren. Well, not talking; asking questions.
Daric left them to it…
…until Mateaf mentioned someone would have to go back to Brae’vis and inform Kirin’thar that Alacin’tien was back, and that he likely would not be the Cren leader for much longer, not now one of the original Crenach Council members had returned.
Daric asked them what they would do if Ealian did not want to go back with them. That had sparked an argument that lasted almost an hour. It was Alacin who finally quietened the Cren when he said he would not be forcing Ealian to do anything he did not want to do, and they should wait before making plans on his behalf. His remarks satisfied Elspeth – barely – but the Cren did not look pleased.
Indeed, there were many questions to work on through the night, and as many hopes that the dawn would enlighten them. And as much as he wanted to sleep, Daric struggled to slow his mind. It was past midnight when he finally drifted off.
CHAPTER 39
The New Road
The morning came, and none seemed any the wiser. However, the wolves from Illeas’den had finally arrived. They had reached the gully before dawn and lain quiet just south of the hollow until the camp woke. They need not have bothered; Gialyn was already awake, and so were Daric and the Cren.
Gialyn had packed his things and was now sitting on the logs by the fire, waiting. Despite the previous evening’s order to make ready, there seemed an awful lot left to do.
Toban had spoken with the new arrivals from Illeas’den and had decided Aleban and Mott would go back to the wolf village with them. The wolves were supposed to deliver the prisoners to the keep at Gieth’eire, but Daric had told Aleban to take them west, and release the Salrians once they reached the turning to the North Road. Grady had argued, insisting they should deliver Jern and his men to the keep commander, but Daric had refused. “Best we don’t cause an incident,” Daric had said when Grady asked why. To which Olam added, “We might need the Salrians before all this is done.” Grady had not looked happy but said no more on the matter.
Aleban had spent a long time talking with Toban. Gialyn listened while the Rukin Alpha explained the plan he had devised to bring the Darkin into the fight. Unsurprisingly, Aleban had been shocked at the idea.
“I do not see what good that will do,” Aleban had told Toban. “You’ve heard the same stories; they are not the Battle Brothers we once knew.”
“I know,” Toban replied, “but they have honour and know well enough the price for leaving the witch to roll over Aleras. I’m sure you can handle it. Take Sarai and two others, and don’t forget the rituals.”
“Forget them…? I’ll have to learn them first.”
Toban snorted. “Good point. Sarai will help; she knows them all. But be mindful, they will try to take the upper hand. If they do not listen, warn them of what is coming and leave. Promise them nothing.”
“Understood.” Aleban had replied.
Massive wolf-beasts or not, Gialyn could not help wondering what it would be like to meet the Darkin, Which was likely one of his wilder ideas; they were the size of horses and non-too keen on strangers. Still, some part of him wished he was going with Aleban – a small part. Knowing Elspeth, she would likely want to see them, too. Maybe they could make a detour through Crenach’coi. Or maybe you can go home and stop thinking stupid thoughts.
Thinking of Elspeth made Gialyn look for her. She had been quiet since the revelations about Ealian and the ancient Cren, Alacyn’taiyn, who now lived in her brother’s head. Ignoring everyone’s attempt to cheer her up, she had spent the night on the far side of the hollow, sleeping under a wildberry bush with her back flagrantly turned on the others.
The morning had not improved her mood; she still would not talk. For that matter, she wouldn’t even look at her brother, not since he – Ealian, not Alacin – had told her he would be travelling north with Olam. For an excuse, Ealian had told his sister his wound needed stitching, and the keep was the closest. But Elspeth had not accepted his reasoning and, after five minutes of shouting, she had gone off in a huff, not even letting Arfael get close to her.
Gialyn had to admit, having a wound stitched was a poor excuse for leaving his sister alone. Maybe there was another reason; something the ancient Cren had told him. But if that were true, Ealian had given no hint as to what it might be. Indeed, for the past half-hour, Ealian had been sitting quietly on the edge of the hollow, pack at his side, waiting patiently for the others to finish their business. That in itself was enough to make Gialyn suspicious; the Ealian he knew would never have sat patiently for anything.
Another half an hour passed before his father finally called them all over to the oak tree.
“So, we all know what we’re doing?” Daric asked the group.
Despite his eyes taking in everyone, Gialyn got the distinct impression his father was directing his comment at him. Gialyn did not mind, though; if he were honest, he would have to admit he had more than a few doubts about travelling back to Albergeddy by himself. Well, not by himself – with Elspeth. The Marsh, in particular, was a worrying thought. Still, the wolves would be there for most of the journey, and once through the Ambieth, Albergeddy was only a few days on a straight road.
“Yes,” he told his father, who smiled back at him.
“Good,” Daric said. “Mateaf is on his way back to tell Kirin’thar what’s happened here. Cal is coming with us. We’ll leave as soon as the fire is buried. We’ll go to the river together, and then—”
Elspeth turned on her heel and stomped off. Ealian followed.
Ealian caught up with his sister at the edge of the hollow. He grabbed her elbow and tried to turn her around, but Elspeth pulled herself free. She began to wave her arms about in an argumentative manner. She was saying something to her brother Gialyn could not hear. Ealian reached out to her with an open hand, a look of pleading on his face. Elspeth slapped his hand away and then struggled free when Ealian tried to hold her arms. She pointed a finger directly at her brother’s face. Gialyn could hear snippets of what she was shouting. “Mother…! Why…? What about us…?” It was not hard to understand the essence of what she was saying.
Ealian tried again. Elspeth turned her back on him and tramped away.
Gialyn took a step forward. He had a mind to go to her, see if he could help, but his father grabbed his arm. “Leave them be,” Daric said. “There’s nothing we can do.”
Gialyn was about to argue the point when he heard Ealian shout, “Elspeth, please. It’s me. I love you.”
Elspeth stopped dead in her tracks.
A long moment pa
ssed. She turned and ran back to her brother. Arms wide, they embraced. Gialyn could see her shoulders shaking. She was crying. It looked like Ealian might be crying, too.
Gialyn felt a tap on his shoulder. “Come on,” Daric said. “Leave them to it.”
The next ten minutes passed quickly. They made a procession to the river. Grady and Daric were standing with Olam and Arfael when Gialyn came out from under the trees by the riverbank. To his left, he could hear the sound of the waterfall; to his right, open country spread out before him as far as his eyes could see.
“So here we all are,” Grady said, “the seven who started out on this trek at what seems like months ago… and a few new friends, of course.” He nodded at Cal and the wolves.
“Indeed, it does, my friend,” Olam said. “And I fear it will appear longer still before we are done.”
Daric nodded. “What was that you said? ‘Where would we all be if great men sat idle?’ Or something like that; I don’t remember. Well, I’m not sure if anyone would call us ‘great,’ but this is the time when men… and women—” Daric looked at Elspeth, who grinned with embarrassment, “—must do their part for the good of all.”
Olam chuckled. “I was not expecting to live up to that mantra just yet. Still, it is a good saying, and it applies to us all.”
Arfael – who had also been quite since the previous evening – continued his run of silence. His farewell message came in the form of a bone-crushing embrace, which he inflicted on everyone, including Cal, who looked very taken aback.
Gialyn patted the big man on the shoulder. “I hope we meet again, Arfael.”
The big man gave a half-grin. “Soon, I hope,” he said, looking more at Elspeth than anybody else.
Elspeth returned his grin and then lowered her eyes. For a moment, Gialyn thought she might start crying again, but she managed to hold back her tears. Instead, she gave Arfael a long hug.
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