King, prince and advisor sat in silence as she worked. They sipped wine, sat rigid, waiting for her to say something. But all they heard was the scratching of a quill over paper, the scrape of a candle holder, the slosh of water in a bowl.
The dinner bells chimed, and Aradan arranged for food to be brought to them. The trays were taken from the servants at the door, which was then promptly closed. They ate as they watched Lerita work, her own food untouched. She sat there, thinking and scribbling.
Hours later, a chair leg scraped over stone. A low hiss and the sound of a quill moving rapidly over parchment.
Rinon’s head slipped from his hands, jolting him awake. He rose, joined Aradan and the king at the table where Lerita now stood.
“I have it.”
They looked down at the mess she had made. Sheet upon sheet of scribbling or drawings sat between wet patches of red and green. The parchment itself was damp in some parts, mottled with patches of purple.
“There are multiple cyphers. Substitution, graphic, concealment. Whoever did this is highly skilled. First, note the date stated for the battle and the date of the missive itself. They are far apart. I found a reference to this. This parchment is the fifth to be sent, by carrier bird. Second, with reference to the battle. There is some … some startling news.”
For the first time, Rinon saw emotion in Lerita’s otherwise impassive countenance. She was shaken, and he bolstered himself for what she would say. What could possibly startle one such as her?
“A high lord stoops, seeks the end of the sun. Twice the sun rose above.”
“What?” Rinon was so impatient he was angry. Lerita was not moved.
“There is a name, scrambled and numbered. The name is Sulén.”
“Sulén … Ar Ileian?” asked Aradan.
“Presumably,” said Lerita. “To clarify, lords, King Vorn’asté tells us that Sulén is conspiring to kill the sun.”
“For the Gods …”
“Rinon.” Thargodén’s stern eyes turned back to Lerita. “Go on.”
“Of course,” she said blithely, moving to the next set of notes she had made.
“The sun did set and Aria brought the dawn. A dawn of green leaves.”
Rinon blew out, pulled a frustrated hand down his own face, distorting it, but Thargodén was too shocked to laugh at the comical result.
“Green Sun. Fel’annár.”
She nodded. “Sulén tried to kill him twice, tried and failed. I admit I do not understand the reference to Aria.” Papers shuffled in her hand, and she continued to her next set of notes. “It is here, my lords, where the greatest news lies. The battle the king refers to … it came upon them unawares. The thousands-strong Deviant army would have breached the walls of the citadel. But six objects stood in its way,” she whispered, eyes shining as they flitted from her notes to the drawings, simple lines and symbols she now knew told a story of extreme bravery.
“A wall of stone and a lyre, a fierce face and a fire. A book and a green sun. These objects represent people, I am sure of it.”
Thargodén stepped forward into the blazing halo of light around his desk, eyes on the strange markings, and specifically on one: a tree inside a circle.
“Continue,” said Aradan.
“Magic comes to Ea Uaré. I cannot decipher what exactly, but this image seems to refer to trees.”
“This doesn’t sound like a king’s missive, but more like a bard’s eulogy,” said Rinon.
“It is often the case, Prince. A cypher is never obviously a report. It is one more ploy to mislead any who stumbles across it. The words may be interpreted literally or symbolically.”
“Continue, Lerita,” said Aradan once more, hand waving about in the space before him.
“Travellers left Tar’eastór two weeks ago. You must look to the sea. Now, this list was especially difficult to decipher, my lords, but it reads like this:
Prince Handir travels with the sun. The commander with his warriors and dignitaries from Tar’eastór. But the spirit flew.”
“The spirit flew … Lainon?” asked Aradan.
“May be dead,” murmured Rinon.
“There is one more sequence. It is a warning.
‘Twice the darkness struck the light. Again the darkness seeks the sun.’”
The king’s voice jolted them all from the strange words and the equally strange scholar that had uttered them. “They are being followed. Sulén Ar Ileian still seeks to kill Fel’annár.”
“Band’orán,” spat Rinon. “Sulén is doing Band’orán’s bidding.”
“Aradan, we must send Turion to Port Helia. If anyone can see them safely back, it is him.”
Aradan smiled grimly, for he was almost as insightful as Lerita. “I already have.”
It was close, they could all feel it. The smell, the air that pulled their skin tight, the taste of salt upon their tongues. The sea lay just over the cliffs, not yet visible.
Pan’assár explained the dangers of the Glistening Falls, and as he did so, he handed the rope he had salvaged to Ramien. He was to keep it safely tied to himself and Ramien could guess why it might be needed. To Gor’sadén, Sontúr and Galadan, it was the most natural of things for a warrior to carry rope. They had been born to the mountain, climbed slopes as easily as Silvans did the trees. But to the Silvans among them, it was nothing but a reminder of the danger they would face.
Closer to the cliffs and their destination, Prince Handir coughed, Gor’sadén limped and Fel’annár wore a perpetual frown. But they did not slow their pace, not even when the first sliver of silver appeared above the green and below the blue of a clear, early spring day.
The air was tangy with salt and Ramien breathed it in. There were no trees here, only grassy plains. It was too open. There was nothing to hold on to and he felt heavy, as if the skies pressed down on him. As they came closer, the sliver became thicker, a band of hazy metal that flickered and sparkled. It lay across the entire horizon and his step quickened. It surely wasn’t so big as to encompass his entire vision, he mused, but as he walked and the expanse grew, he knew that it would. When they came to a halt near the edge of the cliffs and the sea stood before him, Ramien struggled to understand.
The rest of The Silvan Company gathered beside him but nobody spoke, and behind them, the Alpines and Llyniel watched. They had seen the sea many times, especially Llyniel who had lived for ten years on the island of Dan’sú. But there was no denying its impact on one who had never seen more than a forest river, or the occasional lagoon.
Ramien let out a shuddering breath. He thought he had never seen anything so wild, so harsh or so powerful. Pinpricks of emotion and sensation danced over his skin, sending his heart into an unfamiliar rhythm. He wanted to reach down and clutch at the grass, anchor himself, and yet he wanted to fly over this blanket of liquid silver.
“We descend!” called Pan’assár, and while the others moved away, organising themselves as the commander bid them, Ramien lingered. This was a new world and it had taken his breath away, though his mind still struggled with the immensity of it.