“You may be wrong about him.”
“I may be. But that is not enough to trust him with my father’s life. You know this.”
“And the Silvan rebel? What will you do with him?”
“Once my team reports to me, I will speak to Angon again.”
“Do you think he did it?”
“No. No, I do not. And neither do you.” There was a challenge in Rinon’s eye and Aradan, in spite of the dire circumstances, smiled in satisfaction.
Crown Prince Rinon would make a fine king, one day.
12
A Silvan At Sea
“It was one brief encounter. One glance at a Rainbow Jumper, and Ramien, Wall of Stone, knew that he would never forget it.”
The History of The Company: Marhené
It was the day they would take ship from Bulls Bay to Port Helia. They would leave Tar’eastór behind and enter the realm of Ea Uaré, where Pan’assár was still commander general.
Galadan and Idernon had returned the previous evening and informed them they had acquired passages on the Pelagian Queen, scheduled to set sail at the eleventh hour. A merchant ship bound for Port Helia with wine and other produce to be sold at the auctions, it was the fastest vessel they had been able to find.
They had taken advantage of that last day at Bredja’s Healing Halls to rest and take care of their many and varied injuries. Sontúr and Llyniel had stocked up with the supplies they would need for Handir and Fel’annár after their ordeal on the river, and Sontúr had listened carefully as the human woman told him of her special brew for submersion injuries.
The group stood just inside the Halls of Healing, waiting for Llyniel and Bredja to say their goodbyes, not for the first time but perhaps for the last.
“When you took ya book and left for Tar’eastór, I never thought I’d see ya again, Llyn. And now yer back, cavortin’ with lords and flirtin’ with that Felna boy.”
“Green Sun. And I’m not flirting. It’s more than that, Bredja.”
“’Eez trouble, kiddie.”
“He’s worth it.”
Bredja studied her eternal friend for a moment. “All that talk of moving trees and Warlords. What sorta life you gonna ‘ave with one like ‘im?”
“It won’t be boring, no. But I have no choice in the matter.”
“Ah. That’s what I wanted to ‘ere. ‘Cos it’s in ‘iz crazy eyes for sure.”
“There are many things in his eyes.”
“Love. ‘E loves ya, Bredja knows.” She tapped a finger to her temple and smiled. “Ye my favourite ever-lass and I’ll never forget that face o’ yours.”
“Are you saying goodbye again?” Llyniel smiled, but it faltered with Bredja’s next words.
“I’m mortal, kiddie. We always say goodbye. Our end is a certainty, and I’m no spring bunny. I’ve seen many seasons, ‘elped as many as I could in the Halls, ‘ad me own babbers and lost friends to the north—to the rot. ‘Ow long ‘ave I got? ‘Oo knows? ‘Oo cares, so long as today is a good day?” She smiled.
“I’ll return if I can.”
“Live ya life, kiddie. And take me with ya, always.”
They embraced, and Llyniel felt the rough cloth of her dress more acutely than she ever had. Bredja was right. What sort of a life would she lead beside Fel’annár? She didn’t know and, in a sense, she was glad that it would not, at least, be predictable. But she meant what she had said. There was no choice. What was the point of fussing about it?
Bredja turned from Llyniel and walked back inside, smiling as she passed them all. Then Hamon circled his wife with his chunky arms as they climbed the stairs, back up into the kitchen. Back to their normal lives once more.
With a signal from Pan’assár, they left the building, hoods up and eyes on everything. Behind the commander, Fel’annár walked beside Tensári, trying and failing once more to listen to the distant trees. It was too quiet, a muted, muffled kind of silence. But then a weak voice brushed against his mind and his eyes strayed sideways, to a wheelbarrow parked to one side of the street that led into the town. Inside were plants, saplings and an array of tools. This was surely a gardener’s barrow. He smiled at the collection, at their excited whispers, wondering where they would be placed, how much sun and water was to be had. But then he startled, turned and frowned.
“We’re being watched. Back, left.”
“How many?” asked Pan’assár without turning.
“Unsure.”
The commander gestured to Gor’sadén. “Llyniel, Galadan. Go to the dock with Ramien, Galdith and that chest. Take off your hoods. Whoever is following us will not be interested in you. Look for the Pelagian Queen and board. We will join you shortly.”
“And if you do not?” asked Galadan.
“Then wait for us in Port Helia.”
Llyniel shared a wide-eyed look with Fel’annár, but Galadan was pulling her along. It wasn’t until they had disappeared around the corner that Fel’annár knew they had not been followed, just as Pan’assár had predicted.
As they followed behind more slowly, Pan’assár kept Handir at his side while Sontúr walked beside Gor’sadén, Carodel and Idernon. Behind, Fel’annár and then Tensári at his back.
“Anything?” murmured Pan’assár as they turned into a busy street. Marketeers carried their goods to the town square, drunken mariners walked home on wobbly feet, and the smell of fresh fish inundated the place. But there were no trees here.
“Nothing. I hear nothing.”
Pan’assár nodded from under his hood. “When they make their move, we split up and make for the ship separately. With multiple targets for them to chase, it will improve our chances of losing them.”
The whoosh of an arrow, Tensári’s yell for cover.
“Down!” She tackled Fel’annár sideways and to the ground, the wooden shaft skittering over the paving where Sontúr had been just a moment before.
“Run!” shouted Pan’assár.
Into the crowds, they scattered, Fel’annár and Tensári pushing through. Three mercenaries were coming towards them, hands on knives. They darted right, into a building, climbed the stairs three at a time. They heard the clatter of boots and swords below as they shot through a large room, full of rowdy humans smoking some foul-smelling weed. Fel’annár hacked as he ran, desperate for an exit, some way to get back down onto the floor below.
They scrambled through an open window at the far end of the room that led out onto a flat roof and ran to the very edge. There was another building in front of them. Too far to jump.
Fel’annár ran back. Tensári followed, but then Fel’annár stopped. She scowled in confusion as he turned back to the ledge. And then she realised.
“You can’t …”
But Fel’annár was running, sprinting, and then he launched himself off the ledge, arms high above him and reaching out to a balcony on the opposite building. He crashed into the metal bars, knocking the spittle out of himself. He clung to them, eyes scrunched up, chest on fire. Bending at the waist, he cocked one leg over the railings, straddled them and then turned to kick the window in. He turned back to the opposite building and Tensári.