Gor’sadén turned to Pan’assár behind him. “Perhaps their help must only be mustered in the case of dire need,” said the commander quietly.
Fel’annár held up a hand. They stopped. He listened and then lowered it, urging them onwards once more. They daren’t speak and risk breaking Fel’annár’s concentration, and thus the morning wore on.
Stop. Start. Stop. Continue.
By nightfall, Pan’assár called to Fel’annár and spoke quietly with him and Galadan. He knew a cave system not far to the west. They would scout first and then spend the night there. It was too dangerous to camp outside. But Fel’annár asked that they scout the caves together and Pan’assár agreed.
They sat now in near darkness before a small fire at the very back of the cave. And still, Fel’annár’s eyes shone softly. Carodel repressed a shudder, wondering if it burned, but he didn’t ask, daren’t speak at all.
There were quiet whispers that did not touch Fel’annár at all. He sat and he listened, and from time to time his head would turn to the cave mouth. The whispers would stop, only to return timidly when his eyes were back on the fire.
No one slept.
Rinon’s sharp, chiselled features reflected off the window, beyond which the Evergreen Wood stretched to the horizon. The sight of it was calming, and Rinon needed that now, as his heart slowly returned to its natural rhythm. His anger cooled from a rigorous boil to a slow simmer.
He had ridden to Analei himself, ordered Band’orán step aside and allow him and his contingent to search the property. Band’orán had smiled softly, been so very gracious, and Rinon had searched. He had opened every door, moved every rug, every piece of furniture. He had ordered his warriors to look behind every work of art, run their hands over every statue, every bookcase.
Nothing.
Aradan watched him as he poured wine. He stepped up beside his still dusty prince and held out the goblet, watching, assessing. Rinon turned and looked at the lovely container, but Aradan knew he didn’t really see it. He gestured that he should take it and drink. A strong hand wrapped around it, steered it to parched lips and drank.
“What have they done with him? Why have they not just killed him?”
“Because they need him, Rinon. Whatever their plan, they mean to use him as leverage.”
Rinon drank again, then turned and slammed the goblet onto the table where a map lay flat, thanks to stones and other objects that had been placed around its edges. Cutting blue eyes roved over it, his mind visualising the places that were marked there.
“Do they need Handir, too? Is that why he is not here? Do they already have him?”
Aradan shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but Rinon was circling the table like a caged puma.
“Where are they?”
Aradan thought that if pumas could speak, they would sound just like that: deep and gravelly, words and sounds spilling into each other. The prince’s temper was rising again, and Aradan had work to do. He stepped up to the table, watched Rinon go over things as he pointed.
“We have deployed warriors here, here and here. We know they come from Port Helia and there are only a limited number of routes they could have taken. Still, there has yet to be any sign of them,” said Rinon, slamming his hand down on the map over an area not two days’ travel away from the fortress.
“Perhaps it was a ploy,” said Aradan. “Perhaps King Vorn’asté purposefully misled us to protect them. Perhaps they took the mountain route after all.”
“I doubt that. Had they come over the mountains, they would be here.” He poked at the map, hard enough to crease the parchment. “And if they are not here, they ventured into the woods. But they surely would not do that, not with Pan’assár and Handir in their midst.”
“But what if they are unaware of the situation? We know our missives have not reached them. What if they are ignorant of the hostility of the forest towards Alpines?”
“It is possible. But I don’t think they took the obvious route …” Rinon’s voice trailed off.
“You don’t trust Huren, and I am starting to wonder if you are right, Prince.”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Rinon turned to Aradan, riding gear crumpled, hair tangled. “All our discussions, our thoughts and our plans—he has been present for most of them. He knew exactly what was going on. We ordered patrols to every single entrance point. No word. No bodies. Nothing. He knew of the king’s outings, arranged his retinue, and suddenly he is gone. Failure after failure. Week after week.”
He smoothed a hand over his tousled hair, took a breath. “According to Vorn’asté, they should have been here already. If they are not, it is because they met with some hindrance. But then, is it not true that if they were dead, we would all know of it? It suits Band’orán just fine. He would be spewing it to the Alpines, blaming the Silvans the moment the word got out. Instead he spreads lies about Fel’annár being dead, about how he does not care enough about his people to return. No. They’re not dead, and neither is my father.”
“Agreed. And now, Huren has supposedly deployed contingents to search for the king.” Aradan turned from Rinon, his own mind working in spite of himself.
“We cannot trust to that,” Rinon said. “I must continue to search for him myself, Aradan. You must stay here, do what you did for my father for so many years.”
“Just be sure that you are not captured in the process, Prince. Keep your head cool, reason your decisions, and I will help you. But if they caught the king himself, they can do the same with you.”
Rinon nodded. “I will ride to the Silvan encampment.”
“It is too dangerous.”
“It is what the people expect. Many of them believe the Silvans have him. They do not understand why we have not already searched it.”
“That has Band’orán’s mark all over it, Rinon. It is what he wants you to do, provoke them beyond their limits.”
“And yet it has to be done. I do not believe he is there, but we must be sure, and the people must see that we are sure. To their eyes, the Silvans have motive enough to abduct the king, demand the fulfilment of their requests. Tension is close to snapping, Aradan. The Alpine people want the head of whoever is behind this, and I must show them it is not the Silvans. If I can stage this, perhaps even recruit Erthoron’s help …”
“Erthoron has motive, aye, but so too is it in his interest for Thargodén to remain on the throne. The Silvans know the consequences, should Band’orán succeed. I see the merit in your plan. But have a care, Prince. This may be exactly what Band’orán wants you to do. You are the only person in his way now, and that makes you vulnerable. Don’t let them get to you, Rinon, because that will be the end of this rule, of the line of Or’Talán.”
Rinon let out a breath. “Our army is sorely depleted. Not more than three hundred at the City Barracks. I would call on the Outer City Barracks, but damn it all, that was Bendir’s command. He is conveniently missing, Aradan. Too many coincidences. Captain Sar’pen has taken over in Bendir’s absence. I will speak with him and arrange for the transfer of two hundred more.”