“Lord,” said Idernon, glancing at Fel’annár as he stepped forward. “I would suggest it is related to the expectations of his people. They must be angry. We must, perhaps, assume that he is waiting for the best time, either to investigate or release Angon. This may seem callous, but with the king missing, he surely has priorities.”
Fel’annár nodded at the logic of it, impressed at how Idernon’s words seemed to calm Erthoron. With Pan’assár back, he would surely lead the search parties himself, and Gor’sadén would accompany him. They would surely come here.
“Are our people searching for the king?” asked Fel’annár.
“Not actively. Besides, it’s clear to us that this was done by his own people. Wherever he is, he is not in the forest.”
Fel’annár stared hard at Erthoron, not sure that he liked the tone of his voice. “You can’t know that,” he said, watching for a reaction to his words, and finding it. “Still, you happen to be right about him not being in the forest. I would know.”
He felt Erthoron’s eyes on him, following him. “But then perhaps none of this will matter soon. Prince Handir has something that may help us be rid of Band’orán. He may be able to accuse him of high treason.”
“What are you talking about? How could you possibly know ...?”
“I travelled here with Prince Handir, Prince Sontúr here present, and Commanders Pan’assár and Gor’sadén.” Fel’annár ignored the sharp intakes of breath and pushed forward, as succinctly as he could. “We have written evidence that Lord Sulén conspired to kill me, apparently at the behest of Band’orán. Prince Handir will strive to discredit him before the council, enough for the vote to swing in our favour. However, before we move on him in earnest, we must find the king. If we push him too hard, he may do the unthinkable.”
“If the king is not already dead,” said Amareth.
Fel’annár nodded, but closed his mind to the consequences, to his own feelings on the matter.
“Even if we had a chance with the Royal Council vote, Pan’assár will never agree to a Warlord,” said Erthoron.
“He will.”
Erthoron shared a confused glance with his Silvan companions. “How? He is …”
“He is a Purist. Doesn’t give a damn for his Silvan fighters,” said Dalú.
“All that has changed, Captain. Believe me. Things have changed.”
Dalú didn’t believe him. Fel’annár could see it in his eyes. But it was Lorthil who spoke. “What are the prince and commander of Tar’eastór doing here?”
It was a fair question, but he wasn’t going to explain the more personal nature of his Master’s task. It was Sontúr who stepped forward and answered.
“I travel at my father’s behest, as his emissary. Our commander general must share vital intelligence with your king. I am here to show your people that King Vorn’asté stands beside King Thargodén.”
Erthoron stared back at him, mind working furiously. “Your father’s support for the king works in our favour, and this evidence you speak of … perhaps there is at least a chance, although it may be too late for Thargodén. For now, we will make our plans for the investiture tomorrow morning.”
“What investiture, lord?” asked Idernon.
The Silvan council stared at Fel’annár, at the prince on his left and the warriors on his right and behind. “Did you think we would wait for the Alpines to vote against the Warlord?” said Amareth. “We have our own Council, representatives of the noble houses of old. It is decided. They will it or no, you will be our Warlord. Tomorrow.”
Whether they will it or no. And what of me? thought Fel’annár. They had not asked him, as he knew they wouldn’t. Anger surged from the depths. They didn’t care about what happened in the city. They didn’t care about the king, whether he lived or died. But then, why should they? he asked himself. Why should he? But he did.
“I won’t be here.”
“You must be,” Erthoron stated back at him.
“I know it is a lot to take in,” began Amareth.
“Don’t.” Fel’annár tried once more to quell his mounting anger. It wasn’t the moment for reproach.
“Fel’annár,” said Erthoron, stepping forward.
“Lord Fel’annár. We are not sitting together under the eaves of the schoolhouse or standing at the baker’s ovens. We are not a child and an elf I looked up to. We are strangers who have changed. I am a lieutenant and you … are a liar.”
Amareth stepped towards him. “We are all liars. Every one of us lied to you. We kept the truth from you, confiscated the books you could not read, begged your family to stay away. And I justify those lies, cruel though they were. You see, death is crueller, Fel’annár.”
Fel’annár stared long at the elf he had always called ‘mother’. He believed her, but there were other reasons for their deception. “You were protecting me, yes. So that they would not kill me. So that you could have your Warlord. You never asked me. You never considered me in all this.”
Erthoron glanced at Amareth, but she did not acknowledge it. “It was always your destiny, Fel’annár.”
“I know that now,” he murmured as he walked towards her slowly. He did know, had understood his dreams, had heard Hobin’s words. “The question is, how did you know?”
He had left her at a loss for words. She still had secrets, and he wondered if she would ever tell them. Her next words surprised him. “I will answer your questions. There is no longer any reason to remain silent. But bear with us. Tomorrow, when you are Warlord, and while the realm searches for its king, I will tell you everything I know.”
“I told you. I won’t be here, Amareth. As a warrior of this realm, it is my sworn duty to protect the king. The Company and I will be out searching. Only then can there be closure. When the king is found, and Handir exposes Band’orán, only then can we have our own representatives on the Council, have our Warlord. Those are my priorities, and once that is done, I will thank you kindly for telling me why you did not tell me all this before I left for novice training. Why you threw me into the Deviant horde without warning me that I would be recognised, that others would know who I was before I myself did. So you can save your clever words of what is cruel and what is crueller. There are many forms of cruelty.”
Amareth stood shocked, but Fel’annár was angry. Even now, she could not admit her fault. “Postpone what you must. The king must be found. We leave tomorrow morning.”
Dalú stepped forward. “You must take more warriors with you. Eight is not enough to confront whatever Band’orán has standing between the king and you.”
“We will move quicker this way. We can scout, bring back news.”
“So can others.”
“Not like us.”
Dalú hesitated, then spoke again. “You mustn’t engage, lord. You don’t have the numbers.”
Fel’annár stared at the captain, wondered if he was remembering the Battle Under the Sun and how the king had been outnumbered. “It is not my intention to engage, Captain.”