Chapter Fifteen

River End, Vaneryn
2nd Week of Iaranol

“I should have warned him,” Lumaren said as she paced the sitting room. The trade talks would conclude any moment and she would see Celerion again. She hadn’t seen much of him in the last five days, so hadn’t had the opportunity to explain her brother’s little rebellion. “I should have told him what we were planning.”

“He’ll be fine, Lumaren,” the Postmaster of River End replied.

She paused briefly in her pacing to glance at Sereduin. As one of Celerion’s Wise Counselor and one of his most trusted friends, she knew she could believe what he said. But the nervous fluttering in her belly wouldn’t go away until she’d spoken with Celerion herself. He already had so much to worry about, but she was her brother’s Wise Counselor and it was her duty to advise him of Haraderyn’s best interests. There would be times when her duty to her brother’s Holding would make her heart ache for Celerion, for the additional burdens they placed on his shoulders.

“I’m not so sure, Sereduin. I remember what Lord Lenruth was like after Lady Mirythil refused to deal with him. That was a single Holding. Celerion controls the majority of River End’s trade now. I can’t imagine what misery his father will give him. How much more can he take?”

“What he has to. Like always.”

Startled, Lumaren turned to find Master Halasen striding into the room. “Has the meeting concluded?”

“The doors were still closed when I passed, but it sounded like they were finishing up.”

The others in the room watched the Weaponsmaster as he joined her and the Postmaster, their conversations momentarily forgotten. The regard in which people held Halasen had only grown since he’d accepted a position on the High Quorum of Vanor’s Weaponsmasters after Celerion’s Trials. It was evident from the varying expressions of awe on the faces of the others in the room that even those who didn’t know or like the Weaponsmaster at least respected him. He would be a very valuable ally for Celerion, for many reasons beyond friendship.

“Have a seat, Halasen,” Sereduin entreated.

He glanced at the empty chair beside the Postmaster, but didn’t sit. Instead, he joined Lumaren in pacing. After a few moments, everyone else went back to their discussions.

“You’re worried about him, Halasen,” Lumaren said quietly. “Don’t lie.”

He glanced at her, then through the doorway at the closed doors of the conference room, his brows deeply furrowed. “They’re in a deadlock.”

“What do you mean? Who?”

“Celerion and his father,” Sereduin answered. “Celerion controls, as you wisely pointed out, the majority of River End’s trade and he has the favor of the people. Not to mention, he’s the Lord Captain, a member of Vaneryn’s Weaponsmaster Convocation and has proven several times that he’s a fair law-maker and judge. All of which would usually give the Council of Lords reason to sanction a review of Lordship. However, a review is not required until a Holder’s heir has control of three quarters of trade. Which won’t happen because the three Holders who alone make up a third of River End’s trade are Lenruth’s pets.”

“But the people can request a review now,” Lumaren pointed out. “They could petition the Council.”

“And I’m sure the petition is already being drafted as we speak, but Lenruth owns too many other Holders.”

“And Celerion is aware of it,” Halasen muttered. “There’s nothing he can do, really, and it’s destroying him.”

“There is still hope,” Lumaren said, grinning suddenly. “He’s his mother’s son, after all.”

Both Halasen and Sereduin regarded her with dumbstruck frowns. Before either could question her, the doors of the conference room opened and the Holders and their heirs streamed out. Wise Counselors went to join their Holders, but Lumaren stayed behind, waiting for Arathel to join her. She watched her brother, noting the smug satisfaction on his face as he paused to speak with Lady Evenré before beckoning to Celerion and making his way to the sitting room. In contrast, Celerion looked drawn-out. She wondered how long it had been since he’d last smiled with worry-free sincerity. Or if he’d slept at all since the start of the Gathering.

“Lumaren, my stunning, incredible sister, you are a Star-sent genius,” Arathel announced, still beaming. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen his Lordship of River End so… meek. Oh, it was wonderful. We actually got something accomplished! Father should have done this years ago.”

“Years ago, Father didn’t have Celerion as an option. But, enough of that for now. Cuivien was kind enough to have a private meal prepared for us in the Rianlida dining room, away from the rucus that is sure to be dinner in the main dining hall.”

Celerion offered her a grateful smile. Turning his attention to Halasen, he said, “If I haven’t thanked Cuvi at least five times today for always knowing what I need, remind me to thank her again.”

“Celerion, I’m sorry,” Lumaren blurted. “We should have told you.” She looked down, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. “I should have told you.”

He shrugged. “It’s done. You did what you judged best.”

“Are you all right? You look exhausted.”

Again, he offered a non-commital gesture. “I can get some decent sleep now the Gathering is over.”

As the room emptied and the Holders, heirs and Wise Counselors headed to the Great Hall for the parting feast, Lumaren studied Celerion’s face. He was exhausted, but it wasn’t the kind of weariness that could be cured by a good night’s sleep––or several nights’. She could see the truth of Halasen’s assessment in the droop of shoulders usually held proud. There were shadows under his eyes, too, and in them. The ongoing battle with his father was wearing on him. How much longer could he stand against his sire before he broke?

Halasen and Sereduin had the situation acurately pinned. Celerion and Lenruth were in a deadlock and unless something happened to tip the balance of power one way or the other, they were going to stay that way for a long time. With Lenruth’s grip on life as firm as ever, the war might go on for centuries. It wasn’t just the contension between father and son, either. Celerion was caught between the demands of his people and his inability to do more for them and sooner or later, he would break. No one could be expected to endure that kind of pressure and survive in tact.

But that was exactly what everyone did expect.

Memory of the previous evening spread the scorching ice of fury and worry through her. Celerion had treated his brother Lorion, Halasen, Cuivien, Sereduin, Arathel and Lumaren to dinner down at the Dockside Tavern. Their meal had been much delayed by a mob seeking an audience with their Lord-heir. It had been a mixed group that accosted them in the tavern, including everyone from poor farmers and peasants to the wealtiest merchants. The poorer folks had commended Arathel for his rebellion while the merchancts had interrogated him about how much they were likely to lose. Celerion had handled himself with incredible restraint and finess, assuring the merchants that they wouldn’t lose nearly as much as they would have had he not agreed to Arathel’s proposal. They were unconvinced and had kept at him for quite some time. Though he remained calm outwardly, Lumaren could see the building unrest in his eyes. Beladir, the owner of the Dockside Tavern, had finally chased everyone out and the truth of how much the situation affected Celerion had become instantly clear when he wrapped his hands around the back of his head, dropped his elbows onto the table and snarled like a caged wildcat.

The fight was gone from his face now, but the despair was still quite evident.

“Tell Cuivien we’ll rejoin you all shortly,” Lumaren said.

Without explanation, she took Celerion’s hand and led him toward his suite in the Rianlida wing. When they reached his sitting room, she pushed through the doors and led him out to his patio. She pushed him into one of the whicker chairs and sat in the one across from him. The exhaustion in every line of his body pained her.

“No one has any right to ask of you what we do,” she said. “I wish I knew how I could help you, but I only seem to make things worse.”

“You do more for me than you know, Luma,” he replied, his voice soft but strained. “You and Arathel only do what you have to for Haraderyn. I do the same for River End. And that, not anything anyone else does, pits me against my father. I’ll be fine, Luma. I’m just tired right now.”

“When are you not anymore?”

A faint smile brought a little life back to his face. “When I’m with you in Haraderyn and I’m too distracted to think about anyone or anything else.”

That he could smile at all reasured her. “I can mix a sleeping draught for you tonight, if you’d like. Or I could have Masterhealer Nyanila bring you something.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary tonight,” he said with a yawn. “I could go to bed right now and not wake up until tomorrow afternoon. But I can’t sleep just yet. I need to eat first. I wouldn’t want Cuvi to have wasted her afternoon.”

Laughing softly, she went to him and kissed him, wondering if she’d ever tire of the unsettling flutter of her heart every time they touched. She hoped not. “We’d better get you fed so you can sleep.”

He opened his eyes to a dark room. Sitting up, Celerion glanced around his sleeping chamber and saw nothing out of place. What had woken him? He slid off his bed, pulled on his dressing robe and, without understanding it, went into his study to retrieve his Lurelen knives. Everything seemed just fine, but something was out of place, he thought, returning to his bed chamber. He padded across the room, pausing when he heard muffled footsteps outside his door. Safely hidden in deep shadow, he waited.

The heavy door opened silently. Celerion gripped his knives, every muscle instinctively ready to fight. A man dressed in black slipped inside and even before his eyes recognized him, Celerion knew by the tingling unease. Gilron. What are you doing here? Careful to control his breathing and remain absolutely still, he watched as his father’s servant glanced first at the bed. Finding it empty, the man peeked cautiously around the room, but did not move to investigate further.

For a moment, Gilron stared straight at Celerion, but turned away to probe the study. At last, he seemed satisfied and left. Celerion waited a long while before he dared to move, in case Gilron came back. There had been nothing overly sinister about the man’s visit and yet Celerion couldn’t dismiss the impression his senses gave him. He’d mistrusted his Moon-given instincts once and had the scar to remind him how fatal such a mistake could be, so his mind quickly dismissed the possibility that Gilron had come to speak with him or deliver a message. He understood that his father’s personal attendant was possibly dangerous to him, but could not figure out why Gilron had entered his chambers tonight.

As tired as he was, he knew sleep would be impossible now, so he shrugged out of his robe and dressed in warm clothing. He slid his knives back into their sheaths, fastened his cloak around his shoulders and slipped into the knives’ harness before descending into his sitting room. He lit the lantern sitting on the little table by the door and stepped out into the night.

The storm had come, with a little rain, but the strong upper winds had ripped at the clouds, leaving windows into the star-jeweled blue of the heavens. The ground-level wind was fitful and gusty, pulling at him as he walked into the forest. The world was a chorus of sound; the creaking of the trees, the rushing whisper of wind through the leaves and needles of the evergreen plants, the rustle of leaves skittering across the ground. The flame of his lantern flickered and danced, fighting hard to stay alive. The wildness of it enveloped him and he felt as though he was a part of it, and that every tree, bush and blade of grass was a part of him.

He followed the path to the Temple of the Sky, buffeted by the wind. When he reached it, he went first to the pillar of Eryn. He took the bottle of oil from the storage compartment and poured what little was left into the stone bowl. Using the flame from the lantern, he lit the Star Fire and stepped back. Tradition required only that he light the Fire for his Region’s Star for prayer, but he went around and lit the rest. The symbolism spoke to him and he knew that the Star Houses had to be brought back to power. But how?

He went into the Shrine of the Moon and gently cleared the wet leaves and debris from the marble statue of the Lady of the Moon. There was more grime here than the storm had blown in and the levels of the oils led him to believe that his father had reassigned the temple’s priestess.

In the privacy of the night, all the thoughts he’d kept imprisoned during the Gathering came rushing forth. As the bitterness and anger threatened to overwhelm him, he fought to keep the bellow of fury locked in his lungs. In the light of day, he could understand the reasons behind Arathel’s rebellion, but with only the groaning wind and the fitful Star Fires for company, Celerion couldn’t supress the anger at the position Arathel and his allies had placed him in. It was too much, he thought, letting his head fall back. He pinched his eyes closed as despair and anger washed over him in equal force.

How could he be everything people wanted him to be when what they wanted him to be was everything? The merchants wanted him to cater to their greed while the poor wanted him to be a pillar of morality. His friends and his brother wanted him to claim his blood from the House of Eryn while his father wanted him to renounce it. Was he the shrewd trader or the noble provider? Was he the Lord-heir or the Descendant of a Star House?

Only five years since Elduin had made him promise to remember who he was and already he was close to breaking it.

Since Mirythil’s and Elduin’s deaths, he knew he’d hardened. There was an emptiness in him now that hadn’t been there five years ago and it was a struggle to keep it hidden, to make people believe he was still the same Lord-heir they so loved. Lumaren’s presence in his life helped, but not enough. He smiled briefly, recalling Mirythil’s suggestion that he marry her. No, he thought, it wasn’t that Lumaren wasn’t enough. The Lady knew that his time with her, however rare, kept him sane, but every time Luma managed to fill the void in his heart, his father managed to dig it deeper. He had to escape before Lenruth destroyed him.

It was happening again now. That night a week ago, sitting on the hill with Lumaren, he had felt whole again but he even then, he had felt something eating away at him.

Celerion dropped to his knees, folded his cloak around his shoulders and across his legs and began to sing an old prayer, one asking for release and serenity. He let his mind drift with the song and welcomed the peace that embraced him as if it were the arms of his dead mother or those of Mirythil or Elduin. The solitary freedom entwined around him and he felt his heart lift toward the sky. He sang in Vaniryn, vocalizing all his sadness and confusion. When he finished the song, he asked in a faint whisper, “What should I do?”

Images danced across his vision, like when he had a particularly strong surge from his senses, but these were clearer, decipherable. The first showed a band of Yrangese Truebloods crossing into Vanor and laying waste to a small farm near Laketown. Then he saw others, all venturing across the border as if testing how far they could get. Then he saw another band of Truebloods descending on a family with bloodlust shining in their eyes. Celerion caught the spark of a red jewel on the chest of the elder boy, glinting from the heart of a Star Pendant. He was of the House of Endu…. Again and again, he watched as other Descendants fell to the Truebloods and each time, he saw their Star Pendants. Sere. Rhon. Endu. Eryn. Mir. Elduin Renath was cut down by a dark-haired Yrangese woman. Pain seared through Celerion’s chest as her sword pierced Elduin’s heart in the killing stroke. It was as agonizing as the day Elduin had died and he screamed again now as he had then.

He rocked forward, clutching his chest, and the images and vanished as his forehead touched the cold knee of the statue. The pain left him more slowly, lingering in his memory. Five years had passed and he knew nothing of why his friends had died. What had been so important that Elduin had sacrificed himself?

Yrang grows in strength. He heard the voice in the depths of his mind, distant and echoing. And Vanor weakens.

Pondering the strange scene in his vision, Celerion tried to put the pieces together. He knew the Yrangese Truebloods had been testing Vanors borders for years. Why? The Truebloods had, since their founding shortly after the end of the wars, done nothing more than antagonize Vanor.

It struck Celerion like a stone. What if they now wanted more? What if the Truebloods had finally become strong enough to take what their ancestors had failed to attain?

All these years, he’d never been able to pinpoint exactly why the dealings of the Holders bothered him, beyond mere greed. Vanor was in danger of being invaded and with the nation’s inner bonds tattered, it wouldn’t even be difficult. His palm smacked against his forehead. He should have gathered that much from his dealings with the other Holding Captains. How many disputes had he had to settle over the last five years about who would command Vanor’s armies if there was a war? Not that Vanor even had an army. The Holding Guards, while efficient at arms, were more skilled in domestic peace-keeping than war and the Holding militias were made up of members of the general populations who had even the slightest bit of training in weapons and warfare. Few of the other Holding Captains even had much training. Celerion was the only Weaponsmaster among them with Exceptional Honors, and there were only four other Weaponsmasters, one of whom had only Acceptable Honors, which wasn’t a high enough rank to train apprentices in Weaponsmastery. The rest were hardly trained better than the militia they commanded. With the lack of training and the discord between the Captains, Vanor would not be able to withstand an invasion.

“Oh, Sweet Lady,” he groaned. “What should I do? What can I do?”
But he knew the answer. Keep my promise.

Celerion knew who he was. He was the Lord-heir of River End and a son of a Star House. That was something, wasn’t it? And that was what Elduin wanted him to remember. What Lumaren had hinted at that night on the hill. He was also a loyal friend and it was time he sought the reasons why Elduin and Mirythil had died. Somehow, he sensed, whatever they had learned had a lot to do with that great destiny everyone whispered was his.

He ran toward River End, glancing over his shoulder. Even with the little bit of oil left, the Star Fires burned brightly. There was still hope.

“It’s a good thing I like the quiet of the dark hours of the night, Celerion,” Sereduin said, standing back to let Celerion enter. He led the way into the kitchen, where he had a kettle of hot spiced cider simmering. He poured two mugs, dropped a cinnamon stick into each and handed one to Celerion. “You know I enjoy these late night chats—or early morning, as the case may be—but you should be in bed. What has you up in the middle of the night when you should be catching up on the sleep you didn’t get this week?”

“I couldn’t sleep. My dreams were disturbed.” Celerion took a long drink of his cider, considering his words carefully. Sereduin knew him well and his decision to follow a five-years’-cold trail would undoubtedly seem sudden, rash and entirely out of character. Especially after the happenings of the Vaneryn Gathering that had ended only a scant few hours ago. He should be digging in and getting down to work on all those new proposals that were sure to follow in the wake of Arathel’s rebellion, not running off on a personal quest. But he could deal with trade contracts from a far with his brother aiding him. Besides, it would be good for Lorion to step into the role of Steward because Celerion was serious in his ambition for his brother. He wouldn’t allow Lorion to become a useless, mindless and bored second son.

“I’m leaving River End,” Celerion finally told Sereduin. “Tonight. Before someone tries to change my mind.”

The last emotion Celerion expected to see on his friend’s face was one that looked distinctly like satisfaction. But that was exactly the expression he saw.

“This is rather sudden,” Sereduin remarked after a moment of consideration. “Though not completely unexpected. May I inquire as to what has brought you to such a decision?”

“I was thinking about an old friend. I made a promise to Elduin, Ser, and I’ve nearly broken it already. I won’t let that happen. He and Mirythil went looking for something. Something Elduin knew would mean his death. I have to know why they died.”

“Oh, is that all?” the Postmaster replied lightly. He chuckled. “You’ve never done anything in halves, do you know that? Not once. Where will you start?”

“I don’t know,” Celerion answered. “I haven’t gotten that far. But I know they were heading to the Mist Lake area. I’ll head that way and figure out the rest when I get there.”

“I have something that might help you.” Sereduin drained the rest of his cided and excused himself. Celerion watched over his shoulder as the Postmaster ducked into his bedroom. Sounds of a closet door opening was followed by a lot of rustling and incoherent muttering. Then, at last, Celerion heard an exultant, “Found it!” When Sereduin strode back into the kitchen, he brandished a dusty envelope sealed with Starcove’s colors and Mirythil’s personal seal. His throat closed at the sight of that seal. He hadn’t seen a document with it since she’d died. All the contracts he’d signed with Starcove in the last five years had borne either Lord Dorien’s seal or that of his Stewardess, Lomé Urinthrond. It was bittersweet to see the seal of the late Lady Mirythil again.

“Ser, how long have you had this?”

“Elduin left it in my care the day he and Mirythil left for Crossroads. He told Halasen to tell you I had it, if you decided to go looking for your answers. Originally, he’d planned to give it to Halasen, but Halasen thought it would be safer with me. He’d be the first person anyone looking to cause trouble would ask about something like this. Ah, listen to me, I’m rambling on about something that probably doesn’t matter. Here,” Sereduin said and handed the letter to Celerion. “I imagine this might give you a better heading.”

“Thank you,” he said softly. He caressed the seal momentarily before breaking it. Inside was a fairly short note from Elduin, written in Vaniryn and the elegant Senrila.

My dear Moonson Celerion,

For me, it has been only hours since we spoke last, but for you, it has been much longer. I trust Halasen has done as I asked and you are now free of certain obligations. I asked that he keep you from following my trail until you had at least reached your majority, though I hoped he waited until young Oréthwyn Saifarad regained her family’s farm. For more reasons than just your duty to her. I hope things will have settled down some by the time she comes into her own.

I told you that someday you would learn what I have and so you will. I have left a trail for you to follow. It is not safe for me to disclose all in a single letter, so I have left several for you with people I know I and you can trust. This being the first step, your second will take you to Moonbay. Lady Evenré and Lady-heir Riyara will welcome you warmly with a gift. I hate to ruin the surprise, but it is a book about a son of Endu who had an interesting tale to tell. Read the book. You might find it a welcome addition to your library on the Star Houses.

I wish, as Mirythil does, that things did not need to be this way, but perhaps it is best. Whether you believe the rumors or not, I do. You are destined for greatness, Celerion. What I have learned I firmly believe will help you along that path.

Make us proud, Celerion. Remember who you are.

Yours always in memory,

Elduin Renath

Celerion carefully folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope. Sereduin had refilled his mug and he took a drink, savoring the calming combination of apples and cinnamon. “It does give me a better heading,” he said. “I guess I’ll be heading to Moonbay first because I doubt Lady Evenré brought such a potentially dangerous book with her.”

“Are you sure you must leave tonight, Celerion?”

He nodded. “If I wait, I might not leave at all.”

“I doubt that, but you’ve always had a knack for knowing what you need to do. What can I do to help you prepare?”

“I’ll need to leave letters for people. Can you get me some paper, quill and ink?”

“Certainly. Here’s a sheet to get you started,” Sereduin replied, handing him the supplies that had been sittng on the counter. “I’ll get you more.”

While he did, Celerion wrote a letter to his father, one which felt like it had been a long time coming. He signed it and sealed it in an envelope. As he held it out infront of him, his elbows propped on the table, he frowned. It had been a long time in coming. He didn’t know what he would find on the road ahead of him, but if Elduin and Mirythil had found something they were willing to die for, it would likely spell disaster for Lenruth. Anything that will make your father flinch is a thing worth doing well, Mirythil had once said.

Handing the letter to Sereduin, he grabbed another sheet and scribbled a hasty note to Lumaren, telling her of his plans and promising to write her throughout his travels. He also asked her, with Halasen and Cuiven’s help, to see that his valuables were taken from his room and kept for him in Haraderyn. He ended by thanking her and vowing he would see her next in her family’s Holding. He folded the letter and set it aside.

Celerion scribbled a note to Halasen and Cuvi, thanking them both for all their care, letting them know of his departure and asking to help Lumaren with the arrangements for his valuables. He also asked the Weaponsmaster to help Lorion understand that he had to do this and that he wasn’t abandoning his brother. He made an additional note that he expected his brother to continue in his training. The final letter he wrote was to his brother, apologizing for his sudden departure and the piles of work he was expecting Lorion to oversee for him and stating how proud he was of Lorion, for more than just his hard work in training. He prayed Lorion would understand. In the past five years, since his predawn return from Stormcove, he and Lorion had bonded in a way twenty years of separation had made him believe was impossible. If his departure destroyed that, it woud be an incredible waste. With a sigh, he folded the letters, stuffed them into envelopes and stacked them on top of the one to his former Master.

He walked to the kitchen and stared out at River End. The city was dark with only a few lanterns burning near the docks and along the streets where the inns and taverns were located. There were many who would think he’d abandoned them, but it couldn’t be helped. They would understand or they wouldn’t. He’d made his choice and he refused to let himself be disuaded.

“Would you like me to deliver all of them, Celerion?” Sereduin asked, breaking through his melancholy thoughts.

“Only the one to my father. I’ll take the rest myself, but thank you. I’d best be going. I’ll need to pilfer supplies from the kitchen and pack.” As he headed for the door, he paused and turned to face his friend. “Ask Cuvi for the key to my suite so you can peruse the rest of those books I brought back from Stormcove.”

“I’ll have to do that.” Sereduin placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head in the traditional salute of respect. “May the light of the Moon guide you and give you luck in your search. Luck for us all that you find the answers you seek. Periatho.”

“Periatho, my friend.”

Celerion bowed as he left.

“This is what you wanted, Luma,” he murmured as he strode up the hill to the Lord’s estates. “You wanted me to do more than what I have been.”

Back at the keep, he first saddled his stallion, secured his camping gear behind his saddle, then led the horse to the door of his sitting room. He packed two changes of clothes, all of his weapons, and all of the money and a few valuables he had stashed in his suite before venturing down to the quiet kitchens. He took only enough to get him as far as Sanel––two days away over the Bay Mountains––where he could buy more supplies to see him through to Moonbay. Once he had Elduin’s second clue in his possession, he could figure out what to do next and supply himself accordingly in Lady Evenré’s Holding.

He was about to slide the letters under the Weaponsmaster’s door, but couldn’t bring himself to leave so coldly. With envelopes in hand, he wrapped his knuckles on the bed chamber door. Silence answered, so he knocked again. This time, he heard a grunt from with in, a muttered promise to return in a moment and footsteps heading toward him. Halasen opened the door, his hair in disarray and his eyes slanted with sleep.

“Celerion? It’s the middle of the night,” the Weaponsmaster said, his voice slurred groggily. As he took in the sight of Celerion dressed in traveling clothes and gear, he snapped awake. “Where are you going?”

“Moonbay, apparently. It’s time I found out why Mirythil and Elduin died.”

There was no skepticism in Halasen’s face, only the usual pride and worry and the same satisfaction Celerion had seen in Sereduin’s expression. There was also resignation and loss in his Master’s sigh.

“Selfishly, I wish I could either keep you here or go with you,” Halasen remarked. “But I have your brother to train and this is something I think you need to do alone.”

Celerion nodded and handed his letters to the Weaponsmaster. “Will you see that these are delivered?”

“I will,” he answered. Over his shoulder he said, “Cuvi, come here, my love, to properly send this boy off.”

Cuivien appeared moments later, her sleeping gown rumpled beneath her hastily donned dressing robe. She looked first at the envelope Halasen handed her, then glanced between her lover and Celerion. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “We knew this day would come, and I know it’s not good-bye, but it is in a way,” she said, curling around Halasen. “You’ll change, just as you did in your year Fostered in Stormcove. No one can ever truly come back, especially not after travelling a road like the one before you.”

“I don’t know what I’ll learn, but I know nothing will be the same after,” Celerion agreed.

“Don’t forget us.”

“What makes you think I could?” he asked, embracing her. The strength in her arms said even more than her words could. When Celerion returned, the boy she’d taught and mothered and loved would not be coming with. He laid his cheek against hers. “You’ve raised me.”

“River End raised you,” Halasen corrected.

Celerion shook his head. “No, the people of this Holding only helped shape who I am, but the two of you have raised me.” He gathered a hesitant Halasen into the embarce. “Things will change. I can’t say how, but I can sense it. I promise to write you every chance I can. And I’ll see you again before too long.”

“You’d better,” Cuivien said. “Your brother will be sorry he missed saying good-bye.”

“We’ll help him understand,” Halasen vowed before Celerion could ask. “And Lumaren as well, though I suspect she had a hand in your decision to leave.”

“She did, but not as much as you might think. She only gave me a little shove.”

“Travel safely, Celerion,” Halasen said, bowing his head with his hand over his heart. “The road is dangerous and, if Elduin died for them, the truths you find will be even more so. Go cautiously, anoron, and do not lose yourself.”

“Thank you, anoradha.” He turned to Cuivien and touched his forehead to hers. “Yn anorvara.”

Moonfather and moonmother he’d called them, much as they and Elduin and Mirythil called him their moonson. He dropped to one knee, touched his hand to his heart and bowed low in deep respect for them both. The tears she’d managed to hold back now streamed down Cuivien’s cheeks.

“Go, Celerion,” Halasen said, wrapping his arms around Cuivien and pulling her head against his chest. “And may the Lady go with you. Ithondaras, periatho.”

“Ithondaras, periatho,” Celerion repeated and quickly retreated to his room. Until we meet again, farewell.

He made one last check of his rooms before heading into the black early morning through the outer doors of his sitting room. He settled the packs and led Calel through the quiet streets.

He walked, feeling oddly invigorated and wanting to save his horse for the longer stretches of the road. The stallion nudged his back and he laughed softly. He glanced over his shoulder as they crested River End’s eastern hill, pausing for a moment to commit the city and the scattered, winking lights in the houses of the early risers to memory. He felt nothing in his heart that would have made him reconsider his decision to leave. The road ahead of him held far more intrigue and importance and he started walking again. He wished Lorion could have come with him, but Halasen was right; this was something he needed to do on his own. Besides, he’d need Lorion in River End to help him handle the piles of trade contracts that would soon be arriving. And to be an extra set of eyes and ears.

If Elduin had truly left him a string of letters and clues to follow, it shouldn’t take him long at all to find out what had really happened to the Lady and Lord-by-marriage of Starcove. With luck, he’d be back in River End before summer. He shuddered. The idea that Elduin had left him a trail to follow was unnerving.

Calel nosed his shoulder, sensing his unease. Celerion reached up and patted the stallion’s soft cheek. Calel pushed harder this time and Celerion chuckled.

“It’s going to be a long trip, boy,” he whispered, refusing the offer to ride.