“We have it, Prince.” Pan’assár almost smiled at Handir’s utter relief, and then startled as Llyniel skidded to a halt beside him. She crashed into Handir, hugged him close.
Soon, they were all sat around the fire, except for Fel’annár who lay between Sontúr and Llyniel, now clean and with his bare and bruised feet on display. It had taken an extra trip to the nearest water source to provide the healers with enough of it to wash away the Hound blood. There was murmuring, and then Sontúr shoved his travel pack under Fel’annár’s head as he began to stir.
Just opposite, Handir sat, face flushed as he cleared his throat. He had a fever, no doubt from the effects of the river water. But he was well enough for now, and Llyniel looked down on Fel’annár, his still groggy eyes fixed on her. Sontúr was crumbling herbs into a cup he had salvaged from his pack.
Cuts and bruises marred his face, older ones down his body. She wondered how he had acquired the strange lines of bruising that coiled up almost his entire body. She started, frowned, and then she realised. The tree, the image of airborne roots still floating in the water. Had it reached out, broken their fall and left these marks? She glanced at Sontúr, saw him shaking his head, silently denying what she herself could hardly believe. And yet what other explanation was there?
She bent down and stroked Fel’annár’s loose but messy locks. “Look at this,” she tutted, but her hands would not cease their wandering, their need to touch and feel his warmth. She bent closer, words soft, meant only for him, and she felt Sontúr shuffle backwards.
“I didn’t grieve,” she whispered into warm skin. “I couldn’t feel your presence, but neither did I feel your loss.”
Fel’annár smiled. “You can’t escape me, Llyn.”
“How do you feel? You were already injured … ”
“Nothing you can’t fix.”
From across the fire, Pan’assár watched them, eyes drifting to Handir. He had not lied. He would have taken the Long Road had the prince been lost. But he knew now that he had not wanted that. Life meant something to him now. There was a road ahead for him, of atonement and achievement. There were still things he could do. His oath to the line of Or’Talán still drove him.
He glanced sideways at Idernon, faithless and wise, eyes full of his friend, the one he had convinced himself had died. He could see regret. Perhaps because he had not believed. Sorrow, perhaps for himself and his sceptical ways. Relief for the return of his friend. And he saw thanks, although he wondered who Idernon gave it to.
But above all, he saw love. Love for a brother. The same love he felt for Gor’sadén, still felt for Or’Talán.
The glowing embers of their fire contrasted with the dark sky beyond their cave. Handir coughed, trying not to breathe too deeply.
“Alright?” asked Llyniel from beside him at the fire.
“Just about. I will never again impersonate a fish underwater. It hurts.” His voice was nothing but a husky whisper, a light sheen of sweat beading on his upper lip.
“You breathed water?” she asked.
“I did. I remember it vividly.”
She looked carefully at her friend, thinking that perhaps she should not yet insist. Whatever had happened, Handir had surely almost drowned. “You must tell me about that later.”
He nodded and then turned to Fel’annár, who was stirring. “Is he alright?”
“I will be.” The words were strangled and strained. Handir’s lips twitched at the stubborn sound of his words. It was Sontúr who answered as he rummaged through his pack.
“There are four damaged ribs and several bruised bones in his back. That knock on the head and all this bruising. His feet are particularly bad; walking is going to be a trial. Ideally, I would have him ride, or better still rest for a few days at least. But we do not have that luxury.”
“I don’t need it. Stop fussing,” said Fel’annár, trying and failing to sit up. Llyniel pushed him back down.
“We are not fussing. You will remember our words soon enough when we are back on the road.” She filled one of Fel’annár’s leaf cups and helped him drink from it. “And while we are on the subject, how in the wilds did you fight in this state?”
Gor’sadén leaned closer from across the fire, caught Fel’annár’s gaze. “The Dohai.”
The word echoed around them. Pan’assár’s brow twitched.
“The Kah Warrior draws from that strength to fight, to intensify his power. But you surely had none. We have not weaved the Dohai for days.” Gor’sadén was confused.
Fel’annár nodded slowly, grateful that Sontúr had helped him into a half-reclining position. “There is … there is a way to draw strength, the same strength, without performing the Dohai itself. Or perhaps,” he winced, “perhaps it is the same thoughts that render similar results.”
“You drew energy without the Dohai,” murmured Pan’assár.
“I think … I think it is the Dohai … but a different method.” He finished with a groan and Sontúr pushed him down.
“Enough.” Sontúr silenced them, and Handir admired the prince’s tone of command.
He felt exhausted, both physically and with the sheer relief that he and Fel’annár had survived the night, that Llyniel was alive, the chest intact. While The Company guarded them outside, Handir watched as Sontúr and Llyniel took up their silent vigil over Fel’annár. The commanders sat together silently, and Tensári, perched upon a rock at the cave mouth, cared for her blades. She was another enigma that surrounded Fel’annár. Her presence was no coincidence, just as Handir knew Commander Hobin’s visit had been purposeful. The common factor was Fel’annár.
But what was it that he still didn’t understand? What was Fel’annár hiding from him? He turned to where Gor’sadén sat beside Pan’assár. Do they know? he wondered. Does Llyniel know? For some reason, he realised that they did, although perhaps not Pan’assár. He and the commander were not close enough, he thought. Fel’annár did not trust them enough to confide in them, and Handir wondered if he ever would.
Just after dawn, Tensári approached the fire pit, depositing a string of skinned and cleaned rabbits and behind her, the other half of The Company came to take some respite after their night guarding the cave. She lay the rabbits carefully upon the stone, passing a hand over them and murmuring a prayer. She turned, black cloak fanning close to the flames, and then took up her chosen place by the cave mouth. No one spoke to her, though her presence remained unexplained. She knew they had questions, especially the forest prince.
It had been a close thing; she had almost lost Fel’annár. It was something she would have to learn. The Guiding Light was, as yet, intermittent, and her ability to understand it still nascent. Still, she had found him, and he was, for the most part, intact. But he was not prepared for what she had to say. Even if he had been, she needed privacy for the revelations she would make. Not for the first time, her eyes landed on the Silvan healer, the one she now knew was Fel’annár’s Connate. Did she know? wondered Tensári. Did she know what Fel’annár was? What Tensári was?