Handir spluttered, his hair plastered to his head and neck, and he turned to the other boat a distance away. He could see Llyniel clearly enough, saw that she was smiling into the breeze, eyes wide and mouth open. He had always known she had a mad streak in her.
They hurtled down the river, seemingly out of control, and Handir thought it best to watch the guide. If he was worried, then Handir would know there was something wrong. He watched as the elf leaned into the stern, watched the others as they rowed. Their muscles bunched and braids flew about their heads and all the while, their lips were upturned and exhilaration danced in their eyes. He wished he could share their glee as they battled the power of nature. But he couldn’t. He sat in his corner and fixed his eyes on the undulating horizon. He told himself it would soon be over, and his feet would walk on solid, unmoving ground.
Thank the Gods.
Handir retched again, one hand pressed against the bark of an accommodating tree. Only Fel’annár stood close by, guarding him from the sight of others. They had come ashore not minutes ago and Handir, pasty-faced, had walked hastily away from them. Pan’assár had gestured to Fel’annár to follow him, and now he stood by, waiting for Handir’s bout of sickness to pass.
After moments of silence, he turned, only to find Handir sat upon the ground, legs apart and elbows resting on his knees, head bent between them. Waterskin in hand, Fel’annár approached and looked down upon him. “Here.”
Handir looked up into the clear gaze of his brother. Reaching with a hand he took the skin, uncorked it and drank, spitting out the water and then drinking again. Fel’annár took it back and offered his other hand to the prince. After a while, Handir took it and Fel’annár pulled him up.
“I am … unaccustomed to life outdoors,” he said, eyes not quite focusing on anything.
“As I am unaccustomed to life at court. I will need you in the weeks to come.”
Handir’s gaze shot to Fel’annár. He searched for a moment, and then his taut features relaxed. Handir’s stomach rebelled against the unnatural movements of their boat, while Fel’annár’s stomach would perhaps churn at the political machinations of life at court. His still did sometimes.
“Thank you.”
Fel’annár nodded briskly. “We should return to the others.”
Soon they sat with the rest, a moment of respite before they set up camp once more.
“Talen informs me that the temperatures are unusually high for this time of year. The melts are abundant. Should this heat continue, we may find ourselves on an overly swollen river tomorrow. He believes we may have to continue on foot a while.”
“Lieutenant. Do you sense anything out of the ordinary?” asked Galadan from Pan’assár’s side. He started at Fel’annár’s hesitation.
“They’re still concerned, still confused. There is something I cannot quite grasp. Too much rock … or perhaps there is more than one danger.”
“Is there a danger of attack?” Pan’assár persisted, silence falling around him. Even the River Masters stared from afar.
“There may be. But if that is the case, they are still a way off.”
Galadan nodded. “Set a healthy perimeter guard. Status every fifteen minutes.”
Fel’annár nodded in return, briefly catching Llyniel’s gaze. She watched him leave and then helped those not on guard duty to set up the camp. Finished, she caught Handir’s gaze, knew him well enough to know he was dwelling on something. She cocked her head, and together they made for the tent.
It was cold inside, and Handir wrapped his travel blanket around himself. He sat on the chest where Sulén’s scrolls lay. He gestured with his head for Llyniel to join him.
“How bad is it really, Handir? What exactly does your father say?”
“Here,” said Handir, pulling a scroll out of his tunic and passing it to her. He would place it in the chest once she had read it.
Llyniel pulled it open and read.
My son.
Unaware as we are as to what you know, what you do not, I write in the hopes that you are well, and that Fel’annár is with you.
Band’orán is closing in. In these days that lead to the votes for equality and for the return of the Silvan Warlord, he moves his allies skilfully. He propagates falsities, says Fel’annár is dead, wrests the hope from Erthoron’s people, drives them to questionable acts in the forest. They are divided in their loyalty to their leader, have closed the forest to the Alpines, and clamour at our very doorstep. Band’orán does nothing but encourage the chaos.
If Fel’annár is with you, you must bring him with all haste but have a care. Band’orán will not welcome him. Your return will be fraught with danger. He will be hunted by Band’orán, hailed by the Silvan people.
Come swiftly and in stealth. Walk in anonymity and deliver him here. Bring him upon the Dark Road. Band’orán must not know when or how you return.
It is not my intention to cut your tutorship short. I know how much it means to you, but I need you here at my side together with Rinon and Aradan. We must appease the Silvans, give them their Warlord and convince the Royal Council that equality is the only way to maintain this realm, as it is, under my rule. We must show Band’orán’s treachery, yet the way to do so eludes me.
We have until the fourth day of April. That will be a day marked by history. Trust no one, save for Pan’assár. He will see you safely home.
Safe journey, my son.
“I can just see my father, standing beside yours, urging caution.”
Handir huffed. “And Rinon all riled and ready to slice Band’orán up.” He smiled, turned to his friend. “I’m glad you’re here.”
She smiled back at him but hesitated. “What’s the Dark Road?”
Handir snickered and thought about whether he should tell her. He shrugged. “It is an underground road. A safe passage for the royal family, should some danger threaten them. It runs from the palace to a place beyond the gates.”
“You’re not going to tell me where, are you?”
It was not really a question, and Handir smiled, saying nothing.
“Report.”
“Sir. They have camped on the eastern shore. Three hours’ trek if we were to leave now, at night and through the wilds.”
“That will make engagement at first light. We must make it before if we can. See to it.”
The scout nodded, tucking his hair behind a somewhat rounded ear. He turned to leave but hesitated. “Sir. My bones tell me there is a storm coming.”
The leader scowled. “The skies are clear. Go tell your half-caste suspicions to those fool enough to listen.”
The scout shut his mouth and left. He would never press any point where his captain was concerned. Still, he was right. His right ankle throbbed worse than it had done for decades. And he had seen some mighty storms in his time.
Birds were calling out, screams echoing off the stone walls of the canyon through which the river ran. Galadan sat up, blinking hard. It was too early. He jumped at a presence crouched at his side.