Fallen Embers (The Alterra Histories) (5 page)

This response apparently impressed Ri-Elathan, and his expression grew less stern. “You are not wrong, for this banner is dear to me. It has long been in my family, and its like will not be seen again. I have always carried it when I have gone forth, except into battle, when I bear it next to my heart.” As if to demonstrate this point, he tucked the small silken bundle beneath his tunic. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “You still have not answered the last question.”

For the first time, Gaelen dropped her gaze, her voice small and quiet. “I merely sought to practice approaching undetected; it is a skill that serves me well as a hunter-scout. I have no interest in battle-tactics and understand nothing of them…I do not know why I followed the hunting party.” Here she lifted her eyes again, and her pride shone forth just a little bit through her humble tone. “I’m afraid I’m rather used to going wherever I will, unless forbidden.”

Her eyes met those of Ri-Elathan, and for a long moment they both stood silent and unmoving. Gaelen searched deep within to behold the true nature of the Elf who became the High King. In that moment, a change came over her that she did not even begin to understand. She felt a thrill—a sort of swelling energy—filling her from her bones to the pores in her skin. Her heartbeat quickened, her eyes glowed with a soft inner light, and she stopped breathing for a moment. Things awakened within her that had lain dormant since her birth. She had never felt such a sensation before, nor would she ever again. In her innocence, she did not yet realize the importance of this happening, but as she looked deep into the King’s iron-grey eyes, she knew that she loved him.

Ri-Elathan, to his astonishment, experienced an awakening of his own. Though he had thought never to be blessed with a life-mate, this small, insignificant Wood-elf—lion-hearted, unbridled, and free—stood before him with his heart in her hands.
Surely…surely I have not Perceived her…
I had thought never to bind myself to anyone—never to leave an heir. This must not happen—it cannot happen now…can it?

He gazed into the depths of her bright eyes, trying to deny the undeniable. He was the lock. She was the key. His heart knew it, even as his mind denied it. Her spirit was so free, so young, and so like his own that he found himself aching to bind himself to her fate, forsaking grim responsibility and sharing endless days with her. He had not allowed such feelings in untold years.
Not since I was very, very young…like she is now.

At that moment, Magra, who did not yet comprehend what had befallen, approached and stood beside Ri-Elathan, holding forth the bridle-reins of the King’s great horse, Malathon.

“My lord?”

The moment was broken. Ri-Elathan took the reins from Magra’s hand, but before he turned to mount again, he spoke once more to Gaelen. “I am certain that you go whither you will even
when
forbidden. I would have your company. Will you ride with me?”

Gaelen’s young heart was given from that hour. “I will follow you, Lord, bidden or unbidden,” she whispered in a voice heard by Ri-Elathan alone. He truly smiled then, and his entire demeanor changed, being filled with warmth and good humor. He announced to his retinue that Gaelen of the Greatwood was to ride at his right hand.

As the trumpets sounded and the King rode forth once again, Tarfion breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever words his daughter had chosen, she had apparently chosen them well.

The hunting party stopped at mid-day to refresh themselves, and all dismounted to rest the horses and partake of food and drink. Ri-Elathan spoke to Gaelen, and then approached his friend Magra. “Gaelen and I wish to ride alone. Please continue, and do not follow us. We will find our way back to Mountain-home on our own.”

Magra’s normally stoic expression became anxious. “My lord, will you not reconsider? These lands are perilous! I would urge you to take some of your trusted guardians along, at least! Ill fate could overtake you and jeopardize all our plans…we cannot succeed without you.”

Though Ri-Elathan reassured Magra, he made it clear that he would hear no argument. “I will return when the moon rises. You are charged with keeping our guests occupied until then.” He took up a small pack of food and a vessel of wine, called to Malathon, and made ready to ride.

Malathon and Angael put their tails in the air, spurning the rocky ground. They ran swiftly over the hill and out of sight, to the dismay of Magra and the surprise of everyone else in the hunting party, especially Tarfion.

Tarmagil let out a low, soft whistle. “That banner must truly be something,” he said.

Magra shook his head, hoping that Osgar and his contingent would leave soon, taking Gaelen with them. Ri-Elathan and his allies had taken on a grim and formidable task, and the hope of the Light hung in the balance. They had a war to wage—they could ill afford such dangerous diversions. Still, Magra reflected he had not seen the King in such a relaxed good humor in quite some time. Who was he to deny Ri-Elathan a few hours of pleasant company? Surely that was all it would be…a few hours of pleasant company. Magra sighed. He had seen the glow in Gaelen’s eyes; she had not been aware enough to try to hide it.

My friend, I hope she’s worth it.

Gaelen and the King had been riding for nearly an hour, covering about ten miles, when Ri-Elathan slowed his mount and trotted into the forest with Gaelen following close behind. Here a pleasant stream flowed through a glade of tall pines. A thick carpet of fragrant needles rustled and crunched under the horses’ feet as Ri-Elathan dismounted, leading Malathon to a welcome drink. Gaelen did the same, then they unsaddled the horses and turned them loose to find grazing; they were both quite reliable and would come when summoned. The high, warm afternoon made the cool tranquility of the dim, green glade attractive and inviting.

Ri-Elathan sat back against a moss-covered boulder, his long legs stretched out before him on the soft carpet of pine. Gaelen brought wine and food, and then sat beside him. They talked quietly as they ate and drank, mostly about their origins and history, as neither knew much about the other.

“I know that Kings are not born with such kingly names,” said Gaelen. “No one would have given you the name ‘Ri-Elathan,’ though it seems an apt one now.”

He sighed. “For all our sakes, I hope it is apt. I did not ask to be named ‘King of Wisdom.’ Actually, my given name is Farahin…I’m surprised you don’t know that. Know you so little of our history?”

“At least I know what it means. Was it raining when you were born?”

He smiled at her. “I suppose it was the color of my eyes. My mother always said they reminded her of rain clouds.” He reached up to stroke Gaelen’s hair, fingering the short, silken strands. “Why do you crop your hair? It is certainly a beautiful color…nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed of it,” said Gaelen. She paused for a moment, but then continued as though telling him the story was the most natural thing in the world. “I lost a very dear friend long ago…a skirmish in the forest. He had very long hair—he was quite vain of it—and an enemy grabbed him from behind. I’ll never forget the way he struggled as it wrenched his head back and nearly cut it off. It was horrible. The look in his eyes…and I knew I could do nothing to help him. He knew it, too. I wept long for him, covered in blood. I have made certain that no one will ever need weep for me because my hair made an all-too-convenient handle for a back-stabbing enemy. I think it’s…it’s a way to honor his memory.”

She turned to Ri-Elathan, surprised at herself. “I have never told anyone else that story, though many have asked. Yet I tell you now in full knowledge that I may trust you with any of my secrets, though we have only just met. How is it possible?”

Ri-Elathan smiled at her. “How could one so young have many secrets to reveal? Perhaps life in the Greatwood is more complex than I would have guessed—filled with intrigue and subterfuge.” He reached for her, intending to embrace her, and she drew back a little, making him hesitate.

Gaelen was not prone to let others touch her, but this was different. She longed for it, in fact. As soon as he saw it in her eyes, he smiled, gathered her in his powerful arms and held her to his breast. “Don’t fear, little Taldin Silent-foot. I will not pry into your secrets. And you may know whatever you will of mine.”

Gaelen returned his gentle embrace, closing her eyes and settling comfortably against his broad chest. He was very large, very strong, and very old compared with her, but his spirit, it seemed, had been fettered when it came to matters of the heart, as though he were yet young and yearned for the freedom to explore his own feelings. Thus they remained throughout the long afternoon, speaking in soft voices, sharing warmth and gentle touch, and their hearts were gladdened. At last Gaelen turned to him and asked the question that had been troubling her mind.

“What of this war that you are making ready? What does it all mean?”

Ri-Elathan sighed. “I do not wish to mar the joy of this day with talk of war,” he said. “Upon another time, I will reveal my thoughts to you. Will you be content?” She nodded, but fear stirred in her heart. She knew that her time with him would be short ‘ere he went off to this war, and she feared for him. For now, she would respect his wishes. She rose and whistled for Angael, who soon trotted into the glade with Malathon behind her.

“We have many hours and a difficult ride to Monadh-talam. Perhaps we should begin making our way back, though I would not wish it.”

Ri-Elathan seemed reluctant, but he rose to his feet, stretched his powerful frame, and made ready to leave.

They rode back toward Mountain-home, each lost in private thoughts. After a few more hours the twilight grew deep, and the stars became visible. Soon the moon would rise, but they were still a long way from their destination.

Magra, the second-in-command of Ri-Elathan’s army and the closest thing he had to a friend, paced the upper courtyard as the moon began to rise above the mountains. There was only one easy way into Mountain-home, and it was constantly under watch. The sentinels’ horns would sound if anyone came near, their tones declaring the nature of those who approached. It was Magra’s fondest wish to hear the horns announcing the return of Ri-Elathan, but the night sky remained silent, save for the wind and the ever-present sound of the water.

Magra’s pacing was interrupted by Alduinar, Lord of Tuathas, who had come looking for him. “They tell me you know the whereabouts of Ri-Elathan. Will you enlighten me? I would speak with him before we go down to feast tonight,” he said.

“I cannot enlighten you, as I do not know his whereabouts at present. He promised to return by the rising of the moon, yet it has risen and there has been no sign of him. I pray no ill has befallen.”

Alduinar could understand Magra’s concern. “I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me how our mighty friend came to be out in the hills with only a Wood-elf for protection? I’ve been hearing odd rumors whispered around Mountain-home.”

Magra shook his head. “You won’t believe it. Not if what I think has happened
has
happened.”

“Do tell,” said Alduinar. “I have plenty of time.”

Magra told the tale of the banner and subsequent events, adding his own speculations.

“You are aware that Elves perceive the one they are destined for—the one with whom they will beget children? And you know that this event can come at any time, and cannot be denied? The King had not yet found his life-mate, and he had thought never to find her, but—Lord of Light help me—I would swear he perceived her today.”

Alduinar sat quietly for a moment. “I can’t pretend that I really understand you or your folk,” he said. “And the way in which you perceive your life-mates had always baffled me. Perhaps you are wrong…it seems an unlikely match, after all. Even if you’re not, I doubt we have anything to fear.” He placed a reassuring hand on Magra’s shoulder. “I have known the King for many years and have fought beside him, even as you have. It would take a great mishap indeed to fell him. I also know him well enough that your time may be better spent elsewhere; he will return when he wills it. Ri-Elathan is a good king—one of the best commanders I have ever known. He will alter his course as conditions change. If he has lingered beyond his promise, it is because something has changed to make it so.”

Magra, unconvinced, shook his head. “I only hope a great mishap has not befallen him—a mishap that may place our plans in jeopardy. His heart was bound to that Wood-elf, if I am any judge. Now he lingers because he is blind to all caution…you did not see the way he looked at her. I have seen such looks before, but never upon the face of the King. And that She-elf was positively
glowing
. I tell you, this is a disaster!”

A vague smile crossed Alduinar’s face. “Yes, I have heard your folk whispering of it. The feast tonight should be…interesting. You are much older and wiser than I will ever be, but I know Ri-Elathan. Don’t worry about our plan; he has spent too long preparing for it and knows too well its importance. No Wood-elf, however dear she may be to him, will sway him from his course. My sense is that the contingent from the Greatwood will be leaving very soon indeed, perception or no perception. And don’t forget—Lady Ordath is watching over this realm. Ri-Elathan is quite safe, I expect. Come, my friend. Your folk will alert you when he returns, so let us go down to feast. Otherwise we will miss some very interesting commentary and, as ever, a superb meal. I am weary from the day’s events.”

With that, Alduinar turned and strode from the courtyard, pausing to wait for Magra, who considered briefly before joining him. Alduinar smiled and shook his head. He hoped Magra was wrong; the last thing they all needed was for the King to be smitten to the heart.

The moon had risen high over the tall peaks when Gaelen and Ri-Elathan first beheld the approach to the hidden gates. They had dismounted and were leading their horses along the cascading waters, as Malathon had bruised one of his feet on a stone. This suited Ri-Elathan, for he wanted to spend more time conversing with Gaelen, and though he very much regretted the worry he was no doubt causing his friend Magra, he now had an excellent excuse. Gaelen sang as she walked beside him. As her rich, clear voice rose into the starlit sky, the years fell from the King’s shoulders, and he was young again.