Would you like to read an excerpt from my next novel, Starbane? Here is a part of chapter one, the start of an epic tale of heroism, magic and sacrifice. I hope you enjoy it. If you want to read the whole novel, you can find it on my Patreon page.
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Chapter I: The Rebel
The forest was alive with noise and energy. As Carea walked down the avenue of lime trees, the sound of merrymaking filtered through the trees and she felt the answering excitement inside herself. She wished with all her heart that she could come just to enjoy it.
The trees reached up on either side of her, their branches intertwining in a beautiful natural vault. The last of their leaves glowed golden in the light of the lanterns, while those that had already fallen sighed beneath her feet, a rich yellow carpet. Warblers and nightingales filled the branches with music and flitted between the streamers that hung from the boughs, while beneath their sweet trilling was the low hum and buzz of thousands of voices. Drums rolled occasionally and in perfect unison with the pipes and woodwind instruments that rose and fell in a distant melody.
Carea had come with two companions to Mar-Lanim, the Heart of the Forest, deep within the woodland realm of Therenmar. They had come at a time of celebration: Glëvere i Opealledoré was in progress, the Festival of Falling Leaves. The whole population of the forest had gravitated here, and many other tribes besides, denizens from all the woods of Kalimar.
Pausing with one hand on a carved archway leading off from the avenue, Carea looked through the woods and saw the torches that ringed the Feast Glade. Everyone would be there. This was an occasion sacred to the whole Wood-elven nation, and few indeed would be so late in arriving as she and her companions. Most of the rituals and storytelling would already be over. Guests high and low would be replete from the fabulous feast that marked the zenith of Cásuthoré, the season of Releasing. There had been hours of song and dancing, and even now the last of the dreamweavers would be casting their final visions.
This was the moment.
Carea looked back at Lanthinde and Kelnurayn, who were keeping a respectful distance. They were among the few who knew what this occasion meant for her. The one pale and fierce-eyed, clad in his customary silver; the other dark and svelte in her supple raiment of shifting hues, they were among her oldest friends. Like her, they were not dressed in festal robes as they should have been and would stand out amid the revelling throng. Just as well they had no intention of hiding, but nor would they interfere, for this was her task, and hers alone. She had resolved on this long ago, but now it came to it, she was glad of their presence with her. Drawing support from their eyes, she nodded, and moved off towards the feast.
Striding resolutely through the trees, she passed garlands and decorative wreaths lit by torches. With the sweet scent of night-blooming qasea in their nostrils and the crunch of crisp leaves beneath her soles, she reached the edge of the glade and felt herself enveloped by the swelling music that had been growing steadily louder. It was such a scene to behold. Even though Carea had seen it thousands of times before, it never failed to entrance her. She paused again, just long enough to take it all in. The wide ring of towering lamp-lit trees enclosing the Feast Glade; the vast bronze plinths on which juniper logs crackled; the many-hued fires burning in braziers and torches all around; the vibrant tapestries stretched from trunk to trunk; the feasting tables arranged in the shape of a spreading tree to fill the ring; the heaped bowls of russet apples, pears, berries, nuts and confections and the shapely ewers and drinking vessels; the blissful guests garbed in robes of autumn finery; and the aroma of incense wafting over all in a subtle haze. She soaked it all up, every sense bathing in a million memories, lingering just long enough for the nearest folk to begin to notice her.
And as they did so, she stepped forward into their midst. Only a few eyes turned to her, for Talazin had commenced her performance and the assembled masses were completely enthralled by the visions she was casting. Many dreamweavers graced the great Firnai festivals, competing before the king and queen to delight their subjects, but Talazin was in a league of her own. Her voice had unrivalled range and inflection, now soaring high now swooping low, and the visions that she cast with words of power could not be matched by any, within Therenmar or without. Most dreamcasts were merely a playful accompaniment to the recital, but the greatest were living worlds that captivated their viewers and took them into realms of story and song. And then there were the weavings of Talazin, creations so vivid and compelling that they blurred the boundaries of reality and reverie.
She sang of trees under starlight in the elder days, of enchanted waters and the realms through which they ran. The love of trees and all that grew beautiful in the world was woven into her words, and if she had been permitted, her song would have held the company enraptured for hours while she brought to life before their eyes their most beloved folklore.
But the three newcomers had other plans, and in their wake they left a trail of murmuring onlookers newly shaken from the spell. Carea was the foremost. She cast off her drab travelling cloak, and as the glimmering raiment beneath blazed forth she walked forward, tall and queenly with proud steps. She could command a piercing radiance when it suited her purposes, and it did so now as she moved through the dream-haze. Ignoring the gasps on either side of her, she kept her eyes locked on the centre of the glade, where a dais rose above the feast. The king and queen were seated there, resplendent on their interwoven thrones of carven wood, and around them were their great lords and attendants. The rulers of the Firnai were as susceptible to Talazin’s enchantment as any, but soon their attention would be broken.
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One watchful elf was aware of the interlopers before all others. Captain of the Forest Guard, Irnan was armed with a sabre and clad in discreet armour beneath a festival cloak, and he was one of the few to remain aloof from Talazin’s ministrations, maintaining an alert stance with some effort. His sentinels had been aware of the unwelcome guest’s presence from the moment she re-entered the forest, and keen eyes had reported to him as soon as she set foot within the glade. He had known it was likely, but he relished the prospect no more for that. She was among the greatest of his race, and her infrequent appearances usually brought unrest with them. She should have graced the forest realm as one of its greatest jewels, but instead she was a harbinger of disquiet. Lanthinde the Silversword and Kelnurayn the Farspeaker were with her, and them perhaps he could have handled on his own, but Carea was many times his match. As much as he might have wished to avoid it, this was a matter for King Therendir and Queen Lathíniel.
So, moving out from the shadow of the great throne, he passed the handmaids sitting on the steps of the dais and approached the majestic figures. Dutifully he leaned across and murmured in the queen’s ear.
‘My queen.’ He had to say it again before he could wrest her awareness from Talazin’s vision. Bright green eyes looked up at him, surprised and expectant. He motioned with his eyes to the midst of the feasting crowd where a white light was intruding on the vision. ‘Your daughter is come.’
The reaction was well-controlled, but his trained gaze saw the eyes widen and the arms stiffen on the throne. Then she in turn inclined her head and whispered to her husband, whose eyes were tracing the arc of the vision above their heads. When he too shook free, his reaction was less guarded. Displeasure rippled over his undying face and his unease was palpable, radiating across the dais. The captain stood ready and nodded to his comrades around the throne, all of whom were aware and watchful.
So, thought he, this can be delayed no longer. Now we’ll see how this ends.
***
Carea strode forward, deliberately uncloaking her radiance. She could shutter it like a lamp when she needed to move unseen, but once set free, the grace of her ancient lineage shone forth as if stars woven into her raiment had flared into life. The time had passed for discreet urgings and circumspect counsels hidden from sight. Now a spotlight must be thrown on the issue and a decision forced.
With every step she took more and more of the assembled people became aware of her. Gliding past the thronged tables she felt heads turning and eyes burning. The effect of her passing rippled outwards like a stone that has disturbed the calm of a pool, and the great vision of Talazin faltered. The dancers subsided, the pipes receded, the drums gave their last beat, the harps fell silent on their final quivering notes, and the vision waned. Carea looked to where Talazin sat cross-legged on a garlanded platform amid her players and held her eyes for several steps. Now it’s time for my song, she thought, and it shall not be so sweet. Too long have your wistful words drowned out the storm beyond our borders.
She saw the warriors tense around the dais, watched Irnan stoop by her mother’s shoulder and knew that her coming had been announced. She had done nothing to hide her movements from the Forest Guard and knew that what she had come to do would be in their presence. As the eyes of her parents turned towards her, Carea did her best to ignore the message she suspected was written there.
Drawing near the dais, she took her stand in an open space before it. She gazed about herself for a long while before she looked up, watching the assembled feasters as the buzz of murmuring slowly lapsed into uneasy silence. She beheld her father and mother, gorgeous in autumn robes and crowns that matched the dying glory of the forest around them. Beside and below them, other elves were seated in honour, the nobles of Therenmar and the visiting rulers of other woodland enclaves. She knew them all, and many she loved dearly. There was Finrone, her uncle-in-law, stalwart of the forest, and beside him were her brothers Therenar and Melrim, mild and dignified. Other lords and ladies were with them: Cúnévala of Endorratol, Rísèvar of Cavalatol and Thirenove the hawk-eyed, Lord of Jarratol. And least in her affections was Tollom, the Èvienaire. Guardian of Souls, High Priest of the Firnai and chief counsellor to her father the king, it was he who rose from his lesser throne to address her.
‘Aré,[1] daughter of the king, be welcome at Glëvere i Opealledoré…if you come in peace and not to disturb this sacred occasion.’
She held his eye unblinking and matched his tone.
‘Ava,[2] Èvienaire. Ever did you raise your voice before my father, and much grief might have been averted were it otherwise.’
Ignoring his instant indignation, and turning her eyes to her parents, she continued.
‘I come to speak to my father, the King, and my mother, the Queen. And…’ raising her voice, she turned to the assembly, ‘…to all the folk of Therenmar. Will you hear me?’
King Therendir, Lord of all Wood-elves, looked as if he would like nothing so much as to refuse, and yet he could not bring himself to dishonour his daughter before the entire realm. Wayward she might be, but she was his firstborn, and held in awe and devotion by many who did not actually dare to follow in her footsteps. Only those who knew the tranquil king well would see the conflict in his eyes, but Carea saw it only too plainly; she saw also the lightest of squeezes on his arm as her mother tipped the balance. The king nodded gravely to the High Priest.
‘My daughter has leave to speak.’
If anything, the irritation on Tollom’s face heightened, but he reluctantly gestured for her to proceed, and then remained standing, as if ready to leap down. Carea paused and prayed for strength, and as she did so, ten thousand of her kindred held their breath. When she spoke, she broke a silence in which only the crackling of the fires could be heard.
‘Honoured father…beloved mother…you know why I have come. I have come to say farewell. I can no longer stay in this forest, delaying the destiny to which Prélan has called me.’ She watched their eyes shut in visible pain. When they re-opened, green and hazel both, they were pleading with her to unsay the words, and leave unsaid the words yet to come. She steeled herself to continue.
‘I come also to relinquish my duties with the Qydéth.[3] I can no longer serve as commander of our border guards when my true charge lies beyond our marches. It is no longer a matter of keeping watch over our frontiers, for the time of uneasy peace and petty raids has passed.’
She turned a slow circle, taking in all the watching feasters.
‘Let none be mistaken or ignorant of what transpires in the outside world. The forest may be at peace, but Astrom is not. War is brewing. We have seen it with our own eyes, I and those who follow me. In the last century the threat has been mounting, as Kurundar gathers his forces and prepares his stroke. The evil cities of Dorzand test our vigilance with ever-increasing raids, Faudunum is on the warpath and the seas are teeming with hostile fleets. And in an unholy alliance, the goblins and harracks even assaulted Oron Amular itself. I was there – I saw how close our enemies came to the hallowed places. But worse is to come. We can no longer remain idle in the face of such menace.’
The king stirred, clenching his hands on the throne and shaking his head.
‘It is as I feared: your misadventures have given you a crooked view of things. You should never have provoked the Gundogai, should never have been in harm’s way. Your unfortunate association with Kulothiel led you into unsound beliefs. He had you seeing enemies everywhere and fearing peril where there is none. Instead of following our given policy and encouraging your devotees to obedience, what did we find? Your post abandoned, the marches in uproar…you yourself taken captive and entangled once more with the Falikir.’[4]
Carea winced inwardly at hearing the familiar accusations now spoken openly before all. Still he cannot name him, she thought, grieved by the old slight.
Therendir continued, gesturing in exasperation.
‘I had hoped that the days of such disrepute were long past, but alas, you persist in your follies.’
‘They are not follies, and I do not ask your forgiveness, father. Events have not always unfolded kindly, but were it not for my efforts then much worse might have befallen. You knew what a menace the harracks posed, yet you did nothing. Had Curillian not come to my aid the xaphund might have been set loose and the whole Nimrell vale thrown into tumult. But we threw down the stone-demon and forestalled the plans of the enemy. Instead of an invasion, the worst you had to suffer was injured pride on my account. But I say again, worse is coming.’
Her father was plainly furious, but he restrained himself. He exchanged glances with both the High Priest and the Captain of the Forest Guard, but it was her mother who spoke next, regal and measured as always.
‘Daughter, you are mistaken. What can I say to assuage these fears of yours? Will you not renounce them and come back to us? Even now you are welcome, as you always have been whenever fate wrenched us apart. Kurundar is not gathering his forces; he was defeated when the League of Wizardry assailed him. It has been a mortal lifespan since the forces of high and dark magic destroyed each other, ridding the world of both great evil and great excellence. All that you have seen since are but shadows of the old evils, the unhappy chances of the world and no more. The Mortal kingdoms contend amongst themselves as they ever did, and the menace of the Gundogai is held well in check. We honour you for your valour and courage, but you must leave this reckless path.’
Carea hung her head, reaching deep to maintain her poise. The words of her mother were much harder to withstand than those of her father. It had always been so. Not because they were truer, but because they were spoken with more love. Loving, but a stumbling block, nonetheless. Therenmar had fenced itself off for so long that it no longer recognised the outside world nor saw clearly the threats which filled it. It would be so much easier to return to a life of indolence in the forest, but she could not join this wilful self-deception. She looked up again.
‘Mother, no words of yours can deny what I know to be true, nor deflect me from my course. Unlike you, I have seen the reality with my own eyes. Only those that follow me have the courage to confront our enemies openly, and so it is we who speak truly in this. Kulothiel saw things more clearly than any in this realm. More clearly than you, more clearly than the Èvienaire and Elaraire[5] both, more clearly than the High King. Both Kulothiel and his brother were among the survivors of that battle of sorcery, and would that they were the only ones. Since it was his own brother who once again threatened the Free Peoples, would not Kulothiel have known better than all others what was happening?’
‘Nothing is happening!’ Tollom broke in, no longer able to restrain himself. ‘You, my lady, are a dupe of the Keeper and his sordid fantasies. It was he who allowed enemies to defile the sacred valley of the Amulir and desecrate the Mountain. Even the High King has said as much. Your warmongering was not welcome in Paeyeir, and it is not welcome here.’
Carea stood her ground, struggling to keep the heat out of her voice.
‘The name of warmonger I will not accept from you, Tollom, you who only advocated action when the enemy had already burned Faurelimar and were marching with fire on the very eaves of Cavalatol. If it had been left to you, even Mar-Lanim would have been reduced to ashes. Is it warmongery to acknowledge the threat we face and insist that we be ready? Is it heresy to say that we must destroy those who seek to destroy us? Shall we not rather speak of the cowardice of those who deny the facts and neglect their duty to keep this kingdom safe?’
The onlookers were all astir now, shocked by what was being said, and she could see in their faces that they did not know whom to believe. Most just looked frightened. Other than the very youngest, they had all lived through the Second War of Kurundar, when death and devastation had come to Kalimar itself, and were appalled to think that the old dangers might be returning. Still, she had more to say to try and win the argument, and she raised her voice to speak over the clamour.
‘Kurundar has returned to his old strength. Urunmar is poised ready to ravage the world, yet again, and new evils have flocked to its dark cause. Make no mistake, the danger is real. Has not Hendar been assailed again and again in recent years? The attacks it has sustained have been of increasing ferocity; invasion cannot be far away.’
The people were being moved by her words, but she could not tell if enough of them were on her side. Enough to sway him? Part of her recoiled from this laying bare their worst fears, but she could not leave these things unsaid. If they refused to side with her, at least she would have done everything she could.
‘Why?’ she called, prevailing over the background noise. ‘Why should we hide here when the world is in peril?’
Her father broke in, struggling to control his wrath.
‘I will not send elven troops to die in a Mortal war. This is not our fight.’
She would not back down, not in the face of such brazen parochialism.
‘It is our fight!’ she retorted, and in her anger the radiance around her flared back to life. The very air between them was charged with their battle of wills. ‘This struggle belongs to us all. If we go forth, as we did in the First War, we can help make victory possible. But if we hold back our arrows in the hope that victory will be won in our despite, what will happen if things go ill? What if the Mortals, whom so many of you have disowned, should fail? If they are unaided and cannot hold back the tide, we shall soon enough find it at our doors. The flood of war will break upon us, and this time we will not be able to turn it back. There is no Silver Empire to bear the brunt this time, and the League of Wizardry is no more. It is for us to win this fight, and if fight we must, let it be on foreign fields, not waiting till our beloved forest is engulfed by flames.’
The uproar had been subsiding as she made her appeal, and the force of her words had brought a dreadful hush again. An errant wind gusted across the festival fires, and folk murmured in quiet consternation. No one knew what to say or how to respond. Her companions stood faithfully by her, but even they looked dismayed, though whether it was at the picture she had conjured with her words or the reaction to it, she couldn’t tell. For a painfully long time she held first her mother’s eyes and then her father’s, refusing to look away.
But look away her father did, nodding to Tollom. Sadness was etched in his face, and in that of the Èvienaire also. He opposed her fiercely, but he took no pleasure in doing so. Yet now he turned and gestured to someone waiting behind the dais. Carea could not see who it was that had been summoned, but she could guess, and she felt a chill of foreboding as the mood in the crowd changed again. The murmurs rose again in volume and a wave of tension radiated throughout the glade. She waited as someone approached the dais from its far side, and then watched as some of the lords and servants of the king made way. When she heard the hooves on the platform her suspicions were confirmed. The familiar figure appeared into view, and she closed her eyes, heart slowing to a mournful rhythm. So, it has come to this. My parents’ last resort.
The person who emerged onto the platform was like no other in the whole glade. He was one of the last of a noble race almost vanished from the world. From four well-groomed hooves his sinuous legs and sleek grey hindquarters rose up to fill the space between king and High Priest. Cowled figures led him forward to the Èvienaire’s side and there he stood, a baleful figure, one hand clutching a tall staff and his front half covered by a deep hood of rich green-black velvet. After a long pause his free hand reached up and drew back the hood. Slowly, the muscled torso came into view, and then his long, dour face. The elf-like part of him rose up from a wide green belt and from his head fell long black locks, braided and hung with green stones. Yet his most striking feature was his eyes; large and milky-white, they stared unseeing at the crowd.
The watching elves gasped to see him, for his appearances were few and far between, even for Wood-elves with long memories. Many had not seen him since the Second War, and even those who did not remember further back knew well enough that those sightless eyes were rarely unveiled in public except at times of great consequence. Carea had seen him often and listened to his pronouncements. She had known him since he first came to Therenmar in ancient times as a refugee from his native Ciricen, where his kind had been hunted to the brink of extinction. Neither friend nor foe, he had spoken just as often for her as against, aloof and beholden to no one. Savanré the Seer he was called, revered by all Wood-elves as a mouthpiece of Prélan. Oron Amular had its Oracle, the Avatar and Marintors had visitations from Ardir or other divine messengers, but the Wood-elves had Savanré: centaur, soothsayer and doomsman.
Tollom the Èvienaire broke the silence, and looked gravely at Carea.
‘Princess, you have said your piece. Now it is the turn of another. None of us wanted things to come to this, but hear now the words that are doomed for you in this hour.’ He yielded to the centaur and stepped back. Savanré turned his blind gaze upon Carea. He did not speak for many heartbeats, and in that eternity she knew what was coming. When finally his words came, they swept over the whole glade, deep, rolling and irresistible.
‘Carea, Daughter of the Forest, thou hast laid claim to the destiny of Prélan. Hear now what is ordained concerning thee, where this path will lead thee in the end. If thou goest abroad from this forest the last chapter of thy long story will open. A chain of events will be set in motion that none can reverse. Much good thou may achieve, and thy glory may wax brighter than ever before, but a tempest of woe thou wilt unleash, and griefs shall fall about thee like the falling leaves of this sacred festival. Thou shalt soar high and far, but then at last thy wings shalt fail thee. Mortals shalt honour thee as divine, but darkness shalt extinguish thy light, daughter of the eldest days. These words I hath received from Prélan, and do but share what He revealeth.’ At that he smote his staff resoundingly onto the dais, once, twice, thrice. ‘Verily, this is the destiny thou hast claimed; dost thou desireth it still?’
The tears had begun almost as soon as he had started speaking, and by the time he finished they were coursing down her cheeks. Her light dimmed, and through tear-rinsed eyes she saw the dais shimmering, and her parents weeping also, their hearts reaching out to her. Faintly she heard her companions weeping also, and sorrow spread like wildfire throughout the glade.
‘Father…’ she whispered. Therendir heard her soft words and leaned down from his throne, appealing to her.
‘Daughter. Firstborn. Come, it need not be. None of this need come to pass.’
She raised her chin and her voice, though the tears kept flowing.
‘Father, how could you?’ the bitter words rang out across the glade. ‘How could you allow these words to be spoken? How could you think that they would change my mind? Do you know me so little, that you think I am afraid of death?’ She swallowed hard and sniffed deeply as her father leaned back, more troubled than before. She raised her voice still further, allowing everyone to hear.
‘I am not afraid to die! If this is my fate, then so be it. I embrace it gladly. Verily, I know it to be true, for Prélan has spoken thus in my own heart also. I only tremble to hear how it is embellished in the mouth of Savanré. How can I avert these words and yet be true to myself? If Prélan asks my life of me, I shall not withhold it. All I am and have I lay at His service. He has given us all a choice in this hour, but if you will not lead our warriors forth, I at least will not baulk at the chance to fight for freedom. Let each of us live with the consequences of our choices…’
She paused, and a deathly silence fell. ‘But this I say to you, Savanré: using every last grain of grace that has been given me, I will achieve more good than even you can foresee; and mine shall be the glory of the undaunted, the unafraid, the unconquered. If I must die, then let the enemy rue what it will cost him!’
Savanré was unmoved, but Tollom stood aghast, and it took him some time to recover enough to speak. He at least thought they had done enough to gainsay her.
‘And what of your followers? The griefs shall fall on them too…’
‘None follow me save by their own free will,’ she shot back at him, angry once more. ‘Two are with me and have heard every word. They are free to choose, as they have ever been.’ She turned, looking at Kelnurayn and Lanthinde, her companions. Though they stood trembling with emotion, their answers were loud and unhesitating.
‘I am with you, Carea.’
‘Where you go, I go.’
She smiled at them with an aching gratitude, blinking away more tears. They had stood with her through storm and sorrow, but still their loyalty touched her afresh. She turned back to the Èvienaire.
‘And all the others shall hear the words of Savanré, and they too will have the freedom to choose. You may deprecate them, Tollom, and call them outlaws, but they are truer sons and daughters of the forest than you have ever been.’ His mouth opened, but before he could answer, and before anyone could stop her, she appealed to the assembled nation.
‘Every one of us has a choice. Will you come with me and fight against evil, or will you hide in the forest while the battle is won or lost? Everything we hold dear is threatened. Come with me, and you have a chance to avert it, if Prélan wills it. Which of you will follow me?’
She spread her arms and beckoned to them, turning a slow circle. Irnan the Captain of the Forest Guard had stepped down from the dais and moved towards her, but whatever he intended to do, a word from the queen stayed him. A deeper silence than ever fell, as if the forest itself were holding its breath, with not even a whisper of wind through the trees. Carea waited, looking out over the sea of torchlit faces, daring just one of them to speak. The yearning silence stretched until she thought her heart would break. Then someone stood.
‘I will go,’ she said. ‘I am here, Carea, and I will go with you.’ It was Erenan, an old friend and companion of many adventures. They had been through much together, but after the hurts of the Second War, Erenan had returned to her home. Now this mighty warrior and gifted morpher would rejoin her. Carea’s knees almost buckled in relief. There was no one else in the glade she had wanted with her so desperately. Then someone else moved, someone close to the dais.
‘I too will go.’ And there he was, the youngest of all her many cousins, Ashrin. So young in fact that he had been a boy in the eyes of his people when he took up the sword and bow to defend Therenmar in the Second War, though he had won much renown thereby. She smiled at him as he nodded to her. The younger generation would be represented. Another voice spoke from off to one side.
‘My bow will be at your service, my lady, daughter of the king.’ It was Gansin this time, an archer of the Forest Guard, and Irnan looked at his comrade accusingly as he bowed deeply to Carea and then stood beside her companions. Carea turned to see someone else walking out from the crowded benches, a golden-eyed elf with red braids in her hair and the leaf-medallion of a dreamweaver about her neck.
‘I’m with you, valiant heart. Vúnaria is my name, and though you may not remember me, I saw you fight for us in the Second War. My husband fell in that fighting, and I would avenge him.’ Carea clasped her arm in welcome. And still they came. Tolethir, a servant of the Èvienaire, walked out from the shadow of the dais, and ignored the outrage of his master to stand with Carea’s growing company. Then, last of all, one of the queen’s handmaids stood. Bowing, she kissed the queen’s hand, and after whispered words, she descended and went to stand with Carea. Evaya, thought Carea. I would not have expected her. So young, so beautiful, yet stern and resolute as she stood beside the warriors in her autumnal gown.
More had come than she had feared, but not so many as she had hoped. With a hundred archers of Therenmar her company would have been greatly strengthened; with a thousand she could have averted much evil. But I have six, and that is better than nothing. They shall join the three dozen I have already, and together we will go out into the storm.
‘Father, mother,’ she called to the dais, ‘these shall go with me. We shall leave you in peace and go forth.’
She turned to leave, the volunteers joining Kelnurayn and Lanthinde at her back. Quick as a pouncing cat, Irnan moved to intercept her, and stood blocking her way, shoulders squared. She looked down at him. He was a great warrior, proud and dutiful. I could have used you, but my heart rests the easier knowing that you are watching over the forest. She did not speak to him, but called over her shoulder to the king and queen.
‘Mother, father, they have all freely chosen, so I beg you not to hinder them. If we must go without your blessing, at least let us go with your leave.’
Queen Lathíniel had hidden her face and would not respond. King Therendir gazed at his daughter and her followers a long while, his face filled with dismay and regret. Finally, he spoke.
‘So be it.’
To be continued…
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