“How much further?” he mumbled to Llyniel at his side. There were too many potential dangers around them.
“Just up here.”
They took a left turn into an even quieter street, at the end of which stood a large stone building. Soft light shone through a small window and Llyniel gestured with her head.
Pan’assár nodded. “You go first. Find your friends and explain what we need. We will wait around the corner for your signal.”
“Alright.”
“Llyniel? Have a care,” he warned.
She turned, eyes steady and reassuring, and Pan’assár gestured with his chin. With that, she was gone, and the group melted into the shadows to wait.
Approaching the door, she took the heavy iron loop in her fingers and banged it against the wooden door three times. A small hatch opened at eye level, and two grey eyes landed on her. They widened, and the hatch was shut. With a deep groan, the door half-opened, and a figure bent around it.
“Llyniel! What the shite are you doing here?”
“Alright, me luvver?” she answered, easily slipping into the accent she had learned during her time in Pelagia. Bredja always laughed when she used it.
The chuckling from the other side of the door had Llyniel grinning even before it fully opened. There stood a short, round woman with smiling eyes, arms akimbo as her gaze travelled from Llyniel’s fiery head to her booted toes. “Well, look at the everlass, will ya? Bugger me, but ya still look sixteen!”
“Bredja, you twat. Come here!”
They embraced, and Llyniel could smell the herbs and tinctures on her friend, the wholesome food and tobacco smoke. So many memories they evoked, and she squeezed tighter before stepping back, shocked at the passing of time on her human friend’s face.
“I need a favour, Bredja, an important one. Can we talk inside?”
Bredja scowled, and then looked left and right. “You in trouble?”
“No.”
Bredja’s gaze lingered for a while before she stepped to one side. To the right was a small room where the healers assessed their patients. It was empty now, and they entered. Llyniel looked around. They were alone, save for one patient who lay in a bed at the far end of the long room.
She leaned forward, voice soft. “Bredja. I travel with ten merchants, bound for Ea Uaré and Thargodén’s court.”
“An intelligent way to travel, girlie. Keep yourself well guarded.”
“What do you know of the goings-on in Ea Uaré?”
“Enough to stay well clear o’ that place. They say the Silvans are turning wild, attackin’ the Alpines and the merchants. They all go there with guards now, right armed.”
“The people I travel with. Can you give us shelter for the night? Just until tomorrow?”
Shrewd eyes bored into Llyniel’s unwavering gaze. “What ‘ave they done?”
“Nothing. It’s what others want to do, should they be recognised.”
Bredja scowled. “I’ll help you, if you tell me honestly who enters my house.”
“Not a word, Bredja. Their lives—my life—depends on your silence. Will you keep it?”
“I trust ya.” She nodded after a while. “There are three patients down the hall. I’ll tell Hamon to open the back door. Meet us there in five minos.”
Llyniel leaned forward and pecked Bredja on the brow. The human healer swayed backwards and batted at her. “Get off, ya dafty wazzock.”
Llyniel smiled as she turned back to the others, but there was a hint of sadness in it. Bredja’s hair was greyer and her eyes heavier, skin hanging about her jaw.
Five minutes later, the entire group of elves lined up at the back entrance to the Halls. Pan’assár surveyed the alleys around them, watching for unfriendly eyes, some movement in the dark, but found nothing.
Llyniel greeted a towering human who stepped aside to watch the cloaked elves as they filed through the door. Closing it behind them, he made his way to the fore and gestured for them to follow. Climbing a steep, narrow staircase, they emerged into a large room, dominated by a kitchen, and at the centre, a harvest table stood laden with fruit and vegetables. Behind, a large hearth with a healthy fire over which hung a steaming pot where Bredja stood stirring whatever it was that smelled so good.
“Now then,” began the plump human. “You ‘ave me silence, girl, in exchange for your honesty. Oo ‘e these people you travel with?”
Llyniel turned to Pan’assár. “Commander?”
Both humans stiffened, turning to the one who reached for his hood and pushed it back.
“Ooz ‘e, then?” asked Hamon, pointing in confusion and looking to Llyniel for answers.
“This is Commander General Pan’assár, leader of the military forces of Ea Uaré.”
“What the shag’s goin’ on ‘ere?” said Hamon, stepping forward, while Bredja gaped and scowled at the same time.
“Peace, man. We seek shelter for the night and will give you no strife. You have my word,” assured Pan’assár.
Hamon looked lost as he turned to Bredja.
“So mister Pansa, oo ‘e ye friends?”
Llyniel reigned in the chuckle that bubbled at the back of her throat, and she covered her mouth with one hand.
Gor’sadén stepped forward and shrugged out of his own hood. “I am Gor’sadén, Commander General of Tar’eastór. I am most grateful for your help.”
“Gorseidn, as in … like the king’s …”
“The same. Well met.”
Bredja and Hamon shared a wary yet disbelieving stare. Bredja was the first to shake out of it. “Come on then the rest o’ ye.”
Sontúr stepped forward, revealing his grey hair. “Prince Sontúr of Tar’eastór.”
Bredja’s mouth formed a perfect circle, but she curtseyed to her prince all the same, holding her pinny up as she did so.
When Handir stepped towards her, hood down, Hamon gasped and then bowed. “Well if it isn’t Maeneth’s brother!”
“You know my sister?” asked Handir, wondering how they had guessed his identity.
“We do, Prince. Best elf-lass, save for Llyn ‘ere. You’re the spittin’ image of her!”
Handir smiled and nodded.
“Two princes, two commander generals. Are there any other surprises for us, then?” asked Bredja with shining eyes.
“Just one more. Fel?”
Stepping forward and slipping back his hood, he smiled at the strange humans with whom Llyniel seemed so familiar. “I am Fel’annár.”
They scowled, and Handir spoke. “Fel’annár Ar Thargodén. He is my brother.”
Understanding, Bredja’s tongue was loose before she could school it. “You’re the bastard they’re all going on about? The Warlord?”
“Bredja!” gasped Llyniel, no longer able to hold her mirth.
“Well, it is. Look at that,” she said, stepping towards Fel’annár. “Eez a bootie and no mistake.”
Fel’annár frowned in confusion, but Llyniel was chuckling once more. “She fancies you,” she said, and Bredja smacked her on the arm.