Shortly after his mother’s departure from the celebration the night before, Elthric took to his quarters. He’d earlier dismissed Urlan, his squire, who now slept restlessly on his pallet, and so he undressed himself and washed at the basin in the light of a guttering candle. Then he settled under warm furs and blankets in hope of sleep, if only for a few short hours. Restlessness soon drove him to the narrow diamond-paned window. As he sat on the hard stone floor covered with reeds and fragrant herbs, the night sky gave way to the colors of dawn. By the time Othreld made his appearance in the mews that morning, Elthric had long since dressed, forced down a mouthful of cold beef with a swallow of cider, and seen to Banarel, his horse, and their provisions.
Morning broke cool and damp. Mist rose from the glistening cobblestoned courtyard and hung like cobwebs on still air. The men—ten altogether, including Loknar, his uncle’s first in command. Some of the men were already mounted, drooping in their saddles awaiting orders. The evening’s revelries had taken their toll. Bleary-eyed, they grumbled their displeasure at being summoned so early in the day. Likewise, those standing in a listless form of attention, their mounts at their sides, wore scowls on their bearded faces.
His own uneasiness set off an ache in Elthric’s head. With his fingertips, he massaged along the bridge of his nose in a failing effort to soothe the pounding behind his eyes. Perhaps that last cup of sithleberry wine had been ill-advised. His mother’s preoccupation the night before had touched a nerve. A pang of foreboding constricted his heart and compelled him to imbibe without considering the consequences. Now he needed desperately to clear his mind. Yet it ran with those selfsame thoughts that had kept him from his bed.
His sister and their grandfather had not returned to the hall as expected, prompting questions and fears, along with an unending stream of improbable scenarios, to pester his mind.
When he’d finished exchanging a few words in private with his first in command, his uncle paced before the assembly, head down, hands clasped behind his back, before motioning with his head for Elthric to step forward. Elthric handed off the reins of his horse to Urlan and forced a smile and an air of eagerness as he approached Othreld.
The left side of his uncle’s face twitched. “You will guide these men to that place in the wood you spoke of.”
Elthric jammed his eyes shut against a new surge of pain. His better judgment told him to question. Why are so many well-armed men required to return my sister and grandfather to the hall? Instead, he merely nodded. “Yes, Uncle.” He forced himself to keep his voice in check.
Of course there was talk of the dangers beyond his father’s fortified walls, mostly nothing more than that…talk…to frighten young children and the simple-minded from wandering too far from the citadel. The greatest concern, as anyone knew, abided along the Border Lands and farther north. Yet, here were ten of this uncle’s best men—he and his squire not included—accoutered for battle. He glanced around at the men in their boiled black leather vests studded with gleaming circles of steel and mail, legs encased in glossy leather breeches, long swords hanging from belts, round shields slung over backs. The tall man, Brinolf, stood at ease among the knot of others, a long bow and quiver of arrows across his chest.
“I have given command of this errand to Loknar.” Through narrow eyes and with taut lips, Othreld assessed Elthric’s face for the reaction that never came.
Stealing a glance at the men behind him, Elthric clenched his jaw. Raking his dirt-grimed fingers through a ragged tawny-colored beard, Loknar leaned casually against the stone wall of the stable, his steely blue gaze boring into him with a tangible chill. His uncle was well aware of his feelings for Loknar, a dislike which had grown beyond the childish competitiveness that once colored his regard for the man Othreld relied on as his captain. Sentiments once inspired by jealousy had solidified into an intense aversion. The thought of Loknar anywhere near his sister caused Elthric’s blood to boil. He swallowed his displeasure as he would a vile-tasting remedy and again nodded his understanding. “Yes, Uncle.”
“Elthric….” Othreld lowered his gaze. His cheek and eye continued to twitch.
Amid the sudden clamor of morning birds, his mother’s voice whispered in his ear, as if she were standing at his side. Startled, Elthric turned, then glanced up at the turret overlooking both the harbor and the courtyard. The parapet remained empty. Yet the touch of her breath on his ear remained palpable. Be wary, she had said. Trust no one.
“Why has my mother not come to bid us a good leave-taking?”
Othreld glanced toward the parapet and back to Elthric. “The queen sends apologies.” The tic in his cheek twitched harder and faster. “Her woman said she was feeling unwell.”
How unlike his mother not to send him word. She was in good health the night before.
“Elthric….” He clasped his nephew’s shoulder with a trembling hand, his face pale and tense. “You have been like a son to me.”
A shiver of foreboding gripped him, as he tried in vain to read the churning thoughts running through his uncle’s mind, but all was a jumble of confusion. Along with anguish screaming soundlessly in a void. He coerced a smile and covered Othred’s hand with his own. “And you have been like a father.”
* * *
Shortly before noon, the last of the horsemen staggered into a clearing in the forest. Elthric recognized the place at once. It was exactly as he remembered. Over time the memories had never been far from his mind, especially during those first years in Nortlunde when his sister’s letters carried both news and comfort, and an aching for home.
On many an occasion, when he was a small boy, Gamba was wont to lead him here with his sister for their weekly “instruction” in the ways of old Lothria. And what lessons they were! Elthric smiled as a trail of images flashed past his mind’s eye. Memories filled with an old ghalthrach’s conjuring, the exhilaration of defeating a scaly, foul-breathed ergoch while wielding a sword light as a feather and stronger than any steel he’d yet to know. No matter that all, in retrospect, was nothing more than an old man’s art and a young boy’s naiveté, those adventures had taken root in his heart.
Had it been so long ago? Had ten years of his life passed since he last ventured upon this ground?
At second glance, the signs revealed no indication that his grandfather and sister had passed through this place, let alone spent the night. Neither had they discerned a trace of them on the road from Ishlonna. No one had seen them steal from the hall; they left the city unnoticed. Perhaps Gamba had created one his illusions and spirited them both away. But to where and for what purpose? What reason did his uncle have for ordering this search?
Followed by Urlan, his young attendant, Elthric dismounted and led Banarel down the slope and upstream along the bank of rushing water, past small groups of dour men lazing on the rocks dappled in sunlight. A cold silence rippled over the men as he passed, then turned to one another amid murmured exchanges.
Spring melting in the mountains to the north had swelled the stream to nearly twice its size. Its roar played on his conflicted senses, drowning out the men’s muttered words, slipping a veil over their surly looks. Peering up over the treetops at the western sky, Elthric allowed his thoughts to wander.
His uncle had been edgy of late, his behavior erratic. Nothing to concern yourself about, Othreld had assured him more than once. Yet it was no secret that the Imperon was displeased over recent events in Lothria. Rumors had reached Nortlunde of a secret alliance between Wolthar and the false king of the west, Aldain. A skirmish in neighboring Isenia across the narrow sea had grown into war, a war that diverted too many men from more important engagements. The Skaddock slave rebellion in the Ice Mountains had disrupted the Imperon’s supply of galoriron, the ore he craved for strong, light-weight weaponry and armor. With spring’s arrival, his campaign of conquest in the eastern regions had resumed. But without their most efficient swords, breastplates, spear- and arrowheads, the offensive had already suffered too many setbacks.
On the rise above the stream, a few of the men argued, their voices heated and strident. Though the contentious words were indistinguishable over the rushing water, the squeezing in his gut said more than words could convey.
“We were wrong not to object, Banarel,” he said, absently stroking the white horse’s mane as it drank from the stream. “I fear we have been misled.”
Urlan led his gray horse to water and stood silently at Elthric’s side. Urlan had been his squire for less than a year and had proved himself a capable lad with little to say. Elthric regarded him closely and realized he knew nothing about the boy save what his uncle had told him. Never had he opened his mind to the boy. He was not about to start now.
Having drunk his fill, Banarel lifted his head and gave it a vigorous shake, spattering foam in all directions. He then looked Elthric squarely in the face with one eye and nickered, as if he’d been listening and understood.
Elthric smiled as he stroked the velvety patch above Banarel’s nostrils. “Yes, I know. Too many questions.”
Banarel nudged him, nearly pushing him over.
“Yes,” he said with a laugh. “I know what you want.” Elthric nodded to Urlan, who rummaged in his saddle bag, emerging with a large yellow turnip, which handed to his master. Elthric proceeded to cut the turnip into small pieces with the sharp knife from the embossed leather sheath on his belt. As he fed the slices to his horse, his gaze wandered up the rise, where two men continued their animated discussion.
A customary scowl on his raggedly bearded face, Loknar thrust the other man aside with a swift palm to the chest. Without another word, thumbs looped through his belt, he strode down the bank toward Elthric, spurs clanking.
“I don’t like the look on his face.” With a quick turn of his head, Elthric indicated that Urlan move away.
“Lord Elthric….” Even as Loknar addressed him in a respectful manner, his voice and icy gray gaze bore the customary hint of disdain rarely absent from his manner. “There is no sign that your sister and grandfather passed through here. Perhaps they are in more danger than we imagined.”
Most likely, Elthric thought, the danger is from you. He sucked in a shallow breath. “It’s been a long while. Perhaps my mind deceived me. There are many glades in this part of the forest. It is possible I was mistaken.”
“We searched the wood on both sides of the road from Ishlonna. Might they have gone west…or south?”
Elthric fed the last slice of turnip to Banarel and, catching his upper lip between in teeth, pretended to ponder Loknar’s question. “They are aware of the perils west and north. I don’t suppose either of them would be foolhardy enough to risk venturing in either direction. South and east of Ishlonna there is only the sea. I can think of no business they would have going anywhere by boat.”
Loknar tugged on his tawny unkempt beard. “Then perhaps you will do the honor of answering me this.” He learned forward; his breath reeked of onions. “If this is indeed a prank, and assuming they do not wish to be discovered, in your opinion, my lord, where is the last place they would think to be found?”
Elthric nearly laughed out loud at the absurd thought that flashed through his mind. “’Tis no secret. My sister would sooner die than spend a minute on Morolath Isle.” The moment the words were out, he regretted having spoken.
“Then I will tell the men to mount up. We head for Morolath.”
He clutched Loknar’s shoulder before the man spun away. “I tell you, my sister will not be found there.” He sucked in a calming breath. “She and our grandfather most likely are back in Ishlonna as we speak, enjoying a hot meal and a bath.”