“It should take us a full day to cover the distance to the descent and down, then another day and night to cover the area inland.” Pan’assár drew a heavy breath. “The task ahead requires endurance and a strong mind. I pray Aria has kept them safe, that she has found a way. But if they are gone, if we have lost our prince and warrior, then let us at least send them off with honours. This is your most important mission, warriors. Keep your hearts here,” he said, tapping his finger against his temple. “There will be time enough for mourning, should it come to that. But now is the time for faith and strength.”
They nodded in silence, even Idernon, and then Pan’assár turned to Llyniel. “Are you well, Healer?”
Her sluggish eyes drifted towards him, stayed there as she pondered the commander’s question. “No. I am cold, tired, worried.”
Pan’assár nodded and made to stand. She leaned forward to stop him. “He’s not dead, Pan’assár. Fel’annár is not dead,” she whispered.
He started, wondering if she was simply finding her own way of coping with the uncertainty, or whether she truly knew. Fel’annár was supposedly Ari’atór, in which case he would know if his Connate had passed, but she was Silvan and did not have the same connection.
“I will hold to that,” he said, turning his eyes to Idernon and the purple bruise on his cheek. “He is a Kah Warrior, Wise One. We do not die easily.” Glacial eyes pierced through Idernon’s cloudy gaze. The commander watched as they cleared and focussed. Nodding, he left to take up the fore, the others following.
As The Company organised themselves around Llyniel once more, Idernon bent his head to speak to her. “How do you know?”
Llyniel shook her head. “I don’t know. But I feel no sorrow, Idernon. Only concern.”
Feel. She felt no sorrow, she said, claimed that she didn’t understand why not. But was it even possible to feel if you could not understand the wherefore of your emotions? He told himself that what she had said meant nothing. Fel’annár was dead and all they would achieve this day, if luck graced them, was to find the dead bodies of his friend and the prince. Sontúr likely thought the same, and Idernon studiously avoided Galadan and Ramien’s gleaming eyes.
It was soon time to leave once more. There were still two or three more hours of light left, time that could prove vital.
The trek was not easy. The incline down the Horizon Falls was treacherous, especially for those who carried the chest. But as the land began to flatten, they were able to inspect the calmer shores. They found floating timber in the shallows, pieces from their damaged boats. And then, a little further along, they found the first body.
A mercenary, floating face down, with one hand caught between two rocks. They left him there but soon found another, and then another.
“Did they follow us in boats?” asked Pan’assár.
Gor’sadén shook his head. “No. I saw some of them running along the banks, following our progress for as long as they could, but they fell behind. You made the right decision, brother.”
Pan’assár heaved a long, noisy breath. “I dread what we may find amidst the reeds, Gorsa. If Handir is dead, I will leave these lands.”
“And perhaps I will follow you. Perhaps it is time,” he whispered, eyes cast upwards to the slate-coloured sky.
Pan’assár smiled. “Always together,” he murmured, casting his gaze sideways to his friend, aware that his limp had become more pronounced. “You should have seen Idernon, Gorsa. He would have rowed to infinity, down the very falls and to his death. When he finally stopped rowing, it cut his very soul.”
“Calrazia …”
“Yes. For a moment it was me, watching as Orta met his death.”
“And he is angry,” added Gor’sadén. “Enough to lose his focus and slip on those treacherous rocks he so deftly navigates now.”
“Yes. A misstep for sure. I steadied him in his fall.”
“He blamed you?”
“Indeed.”
“And why did you stop?” Gor’sadén was looking straight at him now, but Pan’assár didn’t have to return his gaze to know there was no accusation in his eyes.
“Because it was right. It was my duty to preserve their lives, and even if it hadn’t been, Handir would not have wanted our sacrifice. Neither would Fel’annár. Ramien reminded us of that.”
Gor’sadén’s eyes flickered momentarily, and then a sad smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He said no more. His left hand tingled, and in his mind’s eye was an ashen face, a last smile at the living world from a warrior too young to die.
If a son could choose a father …
A call from further ahead, loud, disbelieving. “Here! Over here!” Galdith was beckoning to them from a little further along the shore. Before them, a mighty tree had split down the middle, almost in two. It lay on its side, the roots stuck into the air like pikes on a battlefield. It reminded Pan’assár of a dead sea creature the mariners had once caught and taken to shore.
They ran towards it, stopped just behind Galdith. Gor’sadén gritted his teeth against the ache in his leg. His gait was awkward, arms moving to compensate, but he didn’t care.
Galdith was peering into the nooks and hollows of the tree, while the others joined him. Carodel smoothed his hand over the bark and gave voice to what they were all thinking.
“It looks like it’s been pulled out by the roots by some giant.”
“A freak storm, the sheer volume and speed of the water …” Idernon was shaking his head, but Llyniel stepped towards it, eyes registering the split wood, the mangled roots.
“Sweet Aria,” murmured Galdith, reaching into a crack between the trunk and a thick branch. Pulling his hand back, he turned to Llyniel beside him, utter shock on his face. Holding out his hand, he turned it palm up. There, a small amber river stone lay, and through it, a white water line. She reached out, plucking it gently from Galdith’s hand and smiled. She could feel him, on some unknown plain, in some unexplained part of herself.
Fel’annár’s honour stone.
She closed her fist around it, eyes drifting over the others, daring them to gainsay the facts.
“He’s alive,” declared Gor’sadén, breathless, eyes wandering over the fallen tree. He marvelled at its sheer size, the length of its roots. An unbelievable suspicion nagging at him. He watched as Llyniel placed a hand over the dead tree, and then the other Silvans did likewise, all of them except for Idernon. Where wonder and thanks shone in the eyes of Carodel, Ramien, Galdith and Llyniel, in Idernon’s there was only confusion and reluctance.
“Over here!” Pan’assár’s voice jolted the Silvans from their thoughts and they rushed to where the commander was crouching.
“There is a disturbance in the gravel,” said Pan’assár, pointing to the tracks he had found. “It looks to me as if someone has lain here, then been dragged away—but I can’t be sure.”
“Over here!” came another shout from Galadan, further ahead. Pan’assár was smiling even before he arrived, The Company, too, but Sontúr and Llyniel saw nothing but sticks and stones in the sand.