Chapter Twenty-Four: Old Friends

As he had hoped, the Dotterys invited Brandyé to pass the winter with them, for the cold weather was soon upon them and he would not have traveled through the Trestaé in the snow by choice. As the frost and snow came down, he helped seal the home against the cold (a yearly task, according to Timothaï), and with the fire roaring in the hearth even the outside gloom did not affect Brandyé’s mood, for it was always warm and comfortable. The Dotterys had built a shelter beside the home to keep dry their firewood, and having stocked it well through the summer it was an easy job to keep the fire and stove burning through the day and night.

When he was not helping Timothaï hunt or Maria and Julia clear paths through the snow, Brandyé would often play with Kyrie, whose childish joy in the simplest of things was infectious to him. She loved to be outdoors, even in the snow, and he would take her for walks in the woods where they would spy for birds and squirrels, shake pine cones from the trees, or make shapes in the snow by lying down and waving their arms and legs about. She particularly enjoyed this last, and would spend hours at it, until Brandyé could but watch in amusement and the sky grew dark.

Despite the safety he felt among old friends, he had not forgotten the fierund that had come upon him not far from here, and so he carried with him at all times his crossbow and Fahnat-om, though he of course never allowed Kyrie to touch them. She was idly fascinated by his weapons, for the Dotterys had no such things, and caught their meat in traps set out in the woods. He told her they were strictly for defense, should bad things come upon them, and she seemed to understand this well, for she never asked to hold them. She latched on to the idea of ‘bad things’, however, and he felt a slight guilt at introducing the Darkness of the world to one so young. “Are there bad things in the woods?” she would ask him, and he was often uncertain how to answer.

“I once saw things here that would hurt you, if they could,” he replied cautiously, for he did not want to frighten the young girl, “but I haven’t seen any for a long time.”

“Are plants bad?” she asked.

“No,” he said with a chuckle, “although there are some that hurt if you touch them. Those are not the bad things.”

“Is it the animals?”

“Most would never harm you,” he told her, “but there are some that might.”

“Granddad kills rabbits,” she said. “Are they bad?”

“No,” he replied with a smile. “Granddad kills rabbits to eat, but only enough to feed you all. Rabbits are not bad.”

“A rabbit bit my finger once,” she said.

“The animals I mean would kill you, the way granddad kills the rabbits.”

Her eyes grew wide at this. “You mean to eat me?”

He nodded. “A wolf, for example, might kill you to eat you. So might a bear. But those animals are not ‘bad’—they only want to live, like you and me.”

He enjoyed talking to her, for her insight into the world was innocent and refreshing—despite the dark nature of this particular conversation. He watched her for a moment as she mulled this thought over. “Then the bad animals want to hurt me, but not to eat me,” she said slowly. She looked up at him. “Why do they want to hurt me?”

“Because they are mean,” he said. “They are the bad animals.”

For a while then they walked in silence. They were returning from a visit to Ermèn, and it was growing dark, though he was certain they would arrive at the Dotterys’ home before it was night. Finally, she looked to him again and asked, “Are there bad people?”

Taken aback by the question, Brandyé was uncertain how to answer at first. “There are,” he said carefully. “Why do you ask?”

“Mommy and auntie were talking about a bad man once,” she said. “They said they never want to see him again.”

A chill, deeper than the winter cold, went through Brandyé. “Did they say this bad man’s name?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember. I think he’s far away.”

Brandyé felt a small relief, for he had for just a moment wondered if they had been talking of him. Despite the time that had passed, he could not forget the harm he had once done to this family. Later that night, when Kyrie was asleep, he sat by the fire with Timothaï and spoke to him. “Kyrie is a bright little child,” he said.

Timothaï nodded. “She is a delight, indeed. I think that without her, Maria would be destroyed. Erik’s passing was difficult for all of us, of course, but for her especially to lose not only her husband but the father of her child. She reminds her of him daily.”

“She’s a wonderful talker.”

“She speaks very highly of you. She calls you uncle Brandyé.”

Brandyé looked deep into the fire for a moment. “She asked about bad people today. She said she heard Maria and Julia talking about a ‘bad man’ once.”

Timothaï sighed. “I suspect they were talking of Danâr. We try not to think of the past, but sometimes things happen that remind us. I often wonder of the fate of Consolation.”

“As do I,” Brandyé acknowledged. “Tell me—you’ve never been visited here by any other, have you? No one other than Ermèn has ever been here before?”

Timothaï shook his head. “No—we are very much alone.”

Brandyé stroked his chin. “Do you ever wonder what Kyrie will think of the wider world, if she is ever introduced to it? Is it good for her to grow up in such isolation?”

“It’s a difficult choice,” Timothaï said, “especially for Maria, now that Erik is gone. No—I don’t think it’s good for her. But what else do we do? Return to Burrowdown? Who knows if Danâr still rules, and if so I would not go there for anything. Move the whole family to Courerà, to live with Elven? In a kingdom of disease and death? What would you do, Brandyé?”

Brandyé realized he had no answer, for it was a difficult choice indeed—and given the possibilities, remaining safe in the Trestaé was not the worst. Yet for him, he knew he had no choice: when the winter was over, he must seek out his friend.

The winter, however, did not seem to abate for some time, and as the days grew short and dark, he tried to forget the Darkness, and the gloom, and focus on the family here that, for all that had happened to them, seemed nonetheless happy. For all the days that snowed and froze, he did not see or sense any sign of fierundé, or any other Dark creature, and was relieved. He wondered what the Dotterys had done to avoid such danger, and find such peace in the middle of the Trestaé—though he did not deliberate too greatly on the matter, almost as though by doing so he might dispel their good fortune and bring a pack of fierundé upon them at once.

Of course, the darkest days could not last forever, and eventually the snow stopped falling, the air warmed, and the frost on the earth lifted. Though the sky remained ever clouded (Brandyé had nearly forgotten the sun from his time in Viura Râ already), he could sense spring was nonetheless upon them, and when the first buds appeared on the trees and bluebells were among the bushes, he knew he had lingered with the Dotterys long enough. The time to leave had come, and so he began to prepare for the long journey ahead.

Kiriün lay, he knew, to the west of Erârün, and the two kingdoms were separated by a great wall that spanned hundreds of miles. Yet he knew the wall could not run forever, and by his reckoning he ought to be able to slip past it to the south if he kept a course due west through the Trestaé. As best as he could recollect his grandfather’s maps from his youth, this would eventually lead him past a great river, and into what had been to his grandfather unknown lands—the southern fields of Kiriün. He could only hope to encounter a village or town there that could lead him to the capital city of Courerà.

He packed a great pack with blankets and food, and Timothaï gave to him a small hatchet, that he might be able to cut firewood when he needed it. Arian provided him with a small flask of medicine that Elven had taught her to make, and Ermèn, who had come to the Dotterys’ home to bid him farewell, gave to him a somewhat larger bottle of brandy, that he might keep warm in the rain.

Kyrie was sad to see him go, and hugged him greatly as he stepped from the front door, saying, “You won’t go for long, will you?”

Brandyé could but smile and return her hug. “I don’t know, dear,” he replied. “I have to see your uncle, and he lives far from here.”

“Be safe!” she said. “Don’t let the bad animals eat you.”

“I won’t,” he reassured her, and when she finally released him he turned to leave. Just as he did, a cry came from the clouds above, and even as Brandyé recognized it Kyrie shouted with joy.

“It’s Sonory, it’s Sonory!”

As Brandyé looked up to the sky, he saw a heartwarmingly familiar sight: a great falcon, circling ever lower, and coming to rest on the needled ground only a few feet away. Sonora the falcon hopped toward him, and as he kneeled to rest his hand against her head he saw the note tied to her leg. “It’s so wonderful to see you,” he murmured gently, and the bird cawed in response, a gentle and comforting sound. “Is this note for Elven’s family?”

He reached to untie the note, but did not unwind the scroll—it was not for him, he knew, and thus not his place to read it. He laid his pack on the ground and returned to the home, the note in his hand. “An interesting coincidence,” he said as Timothaï looked up in surprise; “it seems just as I leave, Elven’s sent you word.”

Timothaï took the note and unwound it, beginning to read. As he did, Brandyé watched uneasily as he saw Timothaï’s face fall, and shock steal across his features. “What’s happened?” Brandyé asked, concerned. “Is Elven all right?”

For a moment, Timothaï said nothing, but merely stared at the paper. Finally, he closed his eyes, and handed the note to Brandyé. “Ill news, I’m afraid. Not for him, but … well, read the note.”

Frightened at what the note might say, Brandyé tentatively took it, and as he read, his own reaction mirrored Timothaï’s:

Dear family,

It is with the deepest despair that I must bring you word of yet another passing in our family: that of my son, Farthyn. At only three years of age, Death have seen fit to take him from Talya and myself, and for this I can never forgive them. I curse them, and all the races of power.

Farthyn died this past summer of the Sleeping Death, and Talya and I have been deep in grieving ever since. Meredith has borne his passing better than all of us, and she is a light in these dark times. Courerà continues to fall into sickness and decay, and I am beginning to fear that nothing will bring us back from the brink. Death and Darkness are coming for us all.

I send my best wishes to all of you, and I hope that you will live out your days in peace in the forests of the Trestaé. If I ever can return to you, I swear one day I will: but duty now binds me to this kingdom, whether I wish it or not.

With deepest love,

Elven

“I’m so sorry,” Brandyé uttered.

“What is it?” asked Arian as she approached them, voice full of worry.

“Elven’s son is dead,” Timothaï said softly, “of the sickness that lies over his land. Some time ago—it seems he could only bear to tell us now.”

Arian clasped a hand to her breast. “Farthyn?”

Timothaï nodded grimly.

“We never even met him …” she muttered, and took to a nearby chair.

“What … what can I do?” Brandyé faltered. “I don’t feel that I can leave now—not on this eve of death.”

But Timothaï took in a deep breath, and lay a hand on Brandyé’s shoulder. “No—there is nothing you can do for us here. Better you make your way to him: he needs you now, more than ever. Go and bring him some peace.”

So Brandyé’s journey from the Dotterys’ home started not in hopefulness, but in somber and grim despair, and thoughts of Darkness and Death were heavy in Brandyé’s head for quite some time thereafter. As he made his way slowly through the hills and forests of the Trestaé, the sky seemed darker than ever, and the rain colder than ever, and he was glad of Ermèn’s brandy when he could not light a fire. As much death as he had seen in his life, he thought, Elven had suffered immeasurably worse, and he found he could not fathom the thought of losing a child. Guilt began once more to gnaw at his heart, and he began to wonder if somehow, despite his utter absence for so many years, this latest tragedy in the Dottery family was somehow of his doing as well. He began to question the wisdom of journeying to see Elven—what if he brought only further despair upon his friend?

But he knew that he could not stay forever with the Dotterys, and with his banishment from Erârün he knew not where else he could go. So he plodded grimly on, day upon day and week after week, through endless swamps and bogs, until there came a day when the hills and valleys faded into the distance, and the dense forests were left behind, and he was making his way through fields of tall grasses and heather, and the plains stretched out as far as the eye could see.

Here the going was easier, though he grew himself uneasy: there was precious little cover here, and though this meant he would see an enemy easily from a great distance, there was equally nowhere to hide from such an enemy should he ever see one. There were no trees except every here and there, dead and leafless every one, but he made his way from one to another, resting beneath their bare branches each time, for it was the only place he could make fire, short of burning the dry grasses that sprouted throughout the fields.

As he progressed, he began to feel a heavy weight on his heart, a sense of impending Darkness that was drawing ever nearer, and he would look frequently over his shoulder, or stop and look in every direction, searching for the red eyes he now felt certain were pursuing him. He walked for hours at a time with his crossbow in hand, or resting his palm on Fahnat-om, but for day after day there was no visible threat, nor any howl in the distance. If his enemy was following him, they were doing so silently.

So the days and weeks passed, and the land slowly changed around him, and he hunted when he needed food and stopped when he needed rest, and for all that time he was utterly alone. Here, it seemed, was a great barren part of Thaeìn outside of the borders of either Erârün or Kiriün, where it seemed no person dwelled, nor had dwelled for many thousands of years. Forests gave way to fields, which gave way to heathered moorland, and then one day he crested a low hill to look down upon an immense river, perhaps half a mile wide and running deep through the plain. It ran dark under the gray skies, and as Brandyé approached its edge he realized he had no way of crossing it—the waters were deep, and there was no bridge or ford to be seen.

This gave rise to concern, for whilst he had known this river would bar his path at some point, he had not reckoned on its breadth, nor on how he might cross it. So used to the streams and trickles of the Trestaé had he become that he had forgotten that greater rivers ran through the lands of Thaeìn. He looked up and down the flow of water, and considered his options. He could follow the river downstream, of course, to where it presumably met the sea. Here, perhaps, it might become shallower and more easily forded, but it might take him far out of his way. He could follow it upstream, but this might take him deeper into the territory of Erârün, where he might be captured.

He unslung the pack from his shoulder and settled under a tree by the river, contemplating his choice. He ate a bite of dried meat, and refilled his gourd from the river, whose waters were clear and cold. He could also try to swim the river here, he thought, though he doubted his ability to swim with his pack across the entire breadth, and was worried he would ruin what was left of his provisions.

Then, as he paced before the river with these thoughts in mind, a slow sense of dread came upon him—subtle, at first, like the first shadow of night stealing over the hills. He became aware of a deathly silence around him, such that not even the great river seemed to make a sound, and he gradually slowed his pacing and came to a standstill. He looked to the sky, and to the plains behind him, and there was a faint waving in the tall grass, as of wind, or of some creature sneaking toward him. He laid a hand on Fahnat-om and grasped his pack, readying to flee—though he knew not where he might go.

The grass rippled once more, and then he heard a faint sound in the distance: a soft growl, a snarl—a baring of fangs. He felt a warmth at his breast, and suddenly the field before him erupted in movement, and as a searing pain overcame him and brought him to his knees, the fierund leapt clear and let loose a terrible howl, resounding in Brandyé’s ears and into the distance. His enemy had found him.

Staggering again to his feet, he swept Fahnat-om from its sheath and swung it blindly at the beast, cleaving nothing but air yet keeping the great wolf at bay. Breath ragged, he clasped the sword in both hands, staring the fierund down, unable to look from its glowing red eyes. The beast took a step toward him, snapping its jaws in anticipation. Brandyé jabbed the sword toward it, but the threat passed it by, and it reared its haunches to leap upon him. He dove behind the tree, falling helplessly to the ground as the terrifying jaws clenched shut behind him. The fierund twisted as it leapt, pawing heavily at the tree and nearly uprooting it in the process. Brandyé rolled in a panic to the side as the dead tree tottered and fell, nearly crushing him. He heard the fierund howl again, and then, as though his fate was not already sealed, two more howls answered from the distance.

Abandoning his pack, he brought himself once last time to his feet, turning to face his doom. The fierund had recovered from its bound and and turned to face him once again, a fierce and furious snarl on its countenance. Dimly in the back of his mind, Brandyé recalled a phrase, spoken many years ago: Do the fierundé swim? He realized he had no answer to this question, but saw no other escape: in a single swift motion, even as the fierund leapt again at him, he threw himself bodily into the river.

The water soaked through his cloak in an instant, ice against his skin, and he fought for breath as his lungs threatened to fail him entirely. But just as swiftly the current caught him, and he was borne away from the fallen tree and the fierund, left standing furiously, snarling after him. The fierund approached the water cautiously, pawed at it briefly, and then retreated, a howl escaping its throat. Moments later its companions appeared, but not one of them leapt into the water after him.

Thrashing desperately, Brandyé fought against the current and the weight of his cloak, eddies swirling around him and threatening to drag him under. As he was swept away from the shore the current picked up its pace, and he gasped for air against the cold that was crushing his chest. Yet even against the river’s icy grip he felt the burning of the brand on his chest, and it gave to him a strength that he would otherwise have not known. Pulling at the water he moved, stroke by stroke, into the deepest currents, and then beyond and onto the far bank. As he approached he saw the boulders and branches sweeping by, and in a last effort he allowed himself to be cast against a great stone, and there he remained, breath ragged, as the water continued to flow around him.

After a great time, he felt the cold begin to leave him, though only slightly, and he gradually picked himself up and squelched up the bank, pausing for breath under the barren branches of a dead oak. He was soaking and frigid, and though he was still frightened of pursuit from the fierundé, he knew he would get no further until he allowed himself to dry. He stripped himself of the drenched cloak and clothes, flinging what he could over the tree’s lowest branches, and swiftly set a great fire going.

Soon he was no longer shivering, and sat with his back to the flames until his tunic and breeches were, while still damp, warm and dry enough to wear. By this time night was coming on, and so he resigned himself to waiting out the night by the fire, and hoping he was not set upon in the dark. So he spent a dismal night, hungry and wet, though tending to the fire at the very least gave to him some degree of warmth.

Come the morning he was yet unassailed, and he came to the conclusion that these fierundé, at least, had no love of water, and had abandoned their pursuit at the river’s edge. Staring across the continuous stream he could see no sign of them, and wondered if they had, as he had planned to, followed the river downstream to a place where they might more easily ford the waters.

He set out at first light, wrapping his cloak tight around him, marching onward and carrying forward into the west. It did not escape him that both Fahnat-om and his crossbow had survived the crossing of the river, and he was weighted down with the knowledge that he would never be rid of this weapon of death.

Yet after some hours of walking he was warm once again, and as the rain held off he made quite some progress that day, and the days that followed. Having now crossed the great river the land took a turn for the worse, becoming increasingly barren. Soon there were no trees to be found, and he struggled each night to light a fire of the dried heather and sparse grasses that grew here. The land began to rise, and he found himself passing through empty, barren moorland when he one day came upon a sight that took his breath away.

Before his feet stretched an abyssal canyon, a churning river rushing through its depths. Spanning this canyon was a white stone bridge, decaying but still intact, and across it stood the remains of an ancient city, carved out of the limestone cliffs that stood before the sea—black as ink, the same that he had once spent a year on the shores of, abandoned and lost. Great towers and spires reached high above the dark waters, yet every one a ruin, crumbling and heavy with despair. This was a city of ghosts, he felt, and Darkness weighed heavily upon him. He took a first tentative step onto the bridge, and then another, afraid it might collapse beneath him.

But despite its age, it bore his weight well, and once across it he started down an overgrown cobblestone street, and into the depths of the town. As he did, the first few drops of rain began, and before long he was caught in a downpour, the stone soon wet and his cloak drenched, rivulets running down the sides of the streets. He ducked into an open doorway, out of the rain, and slid to a rest against the cold stone wall. He would not get much rest here, he thought; it was an unsettling place, and he was afraid what creatures might be stalking the empty and forgotten streets. He had no sense of fierundé, but with the black sea on the horizon and night coming on, Darkness crept through the shadows, and he was uneasy through the lightless hours until dawn.

As he waited for the night to pass and could not sleep, his mind drifted to the coming days, and how he might find his way to Elven. He thought he had a sense of where he was now; past the great river, he was well into the west of Thaeìn, most likely near the southern borders of Kiriün. This town, in fact, might once have been a grand port of the kingdom, before the great War of Darkness and the settling of the world into Darkness. He imagined the city, similar to the island towns of the Cosari, bustling with folk and rich with the scent of baking and spices, and a bitter sadness came to his heart at the thought that the place had been brought so low over so many years. Like the ruins of Viura Râ, he realized there must have finally been a last resident of the city, a solitary soul who would have been driven mad by the solitude and isolation. Then he recalled Abbey and the desolation of Wutherford in the north of Erârün, and a dark realization came to him: Life in Erâth was slowly being extinguished. So it had been for thousands of years, and now, with the Sleeping Death encroaching upon the last kingdoms of the world, it was nearly done.

So his resolve to find Elven redoubled, for he would not allow the world to die so easily. He now understood better the roles of the Duithèn and the Namirèn in the fate of the world, and knew that Death was not ultimately responsible here, but Darkness: they were indeed growing stronger, bolder, and more resilient against the remaining strongholds of men. Even if a cure was found for the Sleeping Death, the armies of Darkness would no doubt be upon them shortly—a matter of weeks, or months, perhaps, before the sieges began against Vira Weitor and Courerà. What hope was there left for the world of men? Little enough, he supposed—but if Elven could become king, then anything was possible; and so far, the forces of Darkness were leaderless.

These thoughts remained with him through the night, and come the dismal gray of dawn he left that place, turning his back on the black sea and making his way through the wet streets and once more into the plains that ran onward to the north. Here, however, he found a path, stretched straight before him, great flagstones laid into the earth and nestled so tight against one another that in all the centuries that had passed since it had last been tended, hardly a blade of grass had grown between them. This gave him some hope, for it seemed likely that, should this town have once been a part of Kiriün, this road would lead him to their capital city.

As days continued the rains came and went, the sky remained ever gray, and eventually the stone road gave way to gravel, and then to grassland, and he could but continue along the path that was now behind him. Eventually even the grasses faded, leaving barren earth and dead trees surrounding him. A bitter weed was all he could find, and he realized that, without food or shelter, he might not pass through this land alive. There were no longer animals to hunt, nor caves in which to hide from the rain, and day after day went by without food, without water, and without respite.

But just as his despair was at its peak, and hunger threatened to consume him entirely, he came upon a break from the monotony of the wastelands: a small settlement, a patch of houses, and to his indescribable relief there were folk there, alive, if not strictly well. Like so much he had seen in his journey so far, the place was in ruins, but three families remained, and they tended what little land they could, raising gaunt and malnourished pigs on the weeds that were so plentiful. Brandyé spoke to them, and they brought him into their home and fed him what they could, and he slept soundly for the first time in months.

Come the morning he was awoken by the sound of a rooster crowing, and he asked the people if he was on the right path to Courerà.

“What d’you want to go there for?” they asked him, scratching their heads. “Ain’t nought but death that way.”

But Brandyé insisted, and so they set him in the right direction, with a fresh pack and some salted pork, bidding him farewell and the best of luck: “You’ll likely need it, if you’re headed to the city: the Sleeping Death lies that way.”

“I’ve passed through that Death and lived,” Brandyé told them. “It isn’t for myself that I’m afraid.”

It was less than ten days to what the farmers called the Lichae—the inner circle of Kiriün, and a place where the barren wastelands were no more—and this finally brought a touch of hope to Brandyé’s heart: after so long and so much strife, it seemed he was nearing his journey’s end. Soon he would be in the welcome company of his oldest friend, and together, he was certain, they would find a way from the Darkness that was threatening to consume them all.

But as those final days passed and the land around him grew greener, the folk he met were ever less welcoming. At first it was merely the suspicion of an outsider, but soon the villages he encountered would not even let him pass, and he became aware that here, the Sleeping Death was all too real: there were many who had succumbed, and many more who were ill or in fear of exposure. He found himself sneaking around the outskirts of the villages, and he noticed that soldiers and guards were increasingly prevalent, and he wondered at their presence. Surely Elven did not have a martial law in place, he thought.

And then, on the eighth day since the Outland farmers and well into what he had come to learn was called the Hösland, his journey came to an abrupt halt. As he was rejoining the road that led from a town that he had passed by, he saw in the distance a troupe of soldiers, riding toward him at speed. Wary, he stepped off the road and took shelter behind a large boulder, waiting for the soldiers to pass him by. But as they grew nearer he heard the clap of hooves come to a halt, and a voice called out, “Stranger—show yourself!”

With a sigh and a sense of dread, Brandyé knew they spoke to him, and stepped out from behind the boulder. There before him were no less than five soldiers on horseback, spears lowering as they moved to surround him. Wary lest they spy his sword or bow, Brandyé slowly raised his hands above his head, and waited for their words.

“Who are you?” the soldier before him spoke.

“My name is Brandyé.”

“Are you a healer?” the soldier asked gruffly.

Uncertain what difference this would make, Brandyé thought truth would serve him best. “No, though I know one.”

“What allowance do you have, then, to travel this road?”

Brandyé frowned, uncertain. “None, I suppose—I have come from the south—”

“Have you papers?” the soldier interrupted.

Brandyé shook his head. “I do not.”

The soldier then dismounted, swinging his leg over the horse, and Brandyé wondered what was coming until he removed a pair of shackles from his riding pack. He brought these to Brandyé, and standing before him, said, “Then you are under arrest. Resist and you will be killed.”

With a sigh, Brandyé held out his hands: there was no point in fighting this. “May I ask my crime?” he asked as his wrists were bound.

“None may travel, save by leave of the king,” the soldier replied. “The Sleeping Death is upon us, and its spread must be contained.”

In a way, Brandyé was almost relieved to hear this. “I think,” he said, “that the king would gladly grant me passage, if he were to learn of my presence here.”

But the soldier appeared unfazed by this. “My riders will return you to Courerà, and you’ll find yourself tried like any other. The law is the law.”

“I’ll go with you gladly,” Brandyé replied, “if you’ll do me but one favor: send word to the king, and tell him Brandyé is here.”

“You’re hardly in a position to make demands,” the soldier said roughly.

“I can promise you,” Brandyé said, “that if you don’t, and the king later learns of my imprisonment, you will regret it.”

The soldier eyed him keenly for a moment, and Brandyé kept his face passive: he knew his fate here depended on the soldier believing his every word. Finally, the soldier nodded to his companion: “We’ll do him this one favor—once he is safely in the dungeons, you can notify his lordship. It’ll be in his hands, then.”

So Brandyé allowed himself to be led away, and they took from him Fahnat-om and the crossbow, and kept him on a rope that was made fast to the soldier’s saddle. For all their precautions, however, Brandyé did not resist or struggle, for he knew that once Elven learned of his imprisonment, he would be released at once. For that matter, he was better fed in the presence of the soldiers than he had been in all his time alone, and he gladly ate the bread and meat he was provided each day.

Two further days passed in this way, and on the third Brandyé was finally, after so long, granted the sight of Courerà, and he thought his friend had found himself a wondrous place to settle: the town on the hill, the great Life Tree rising high above all, was to his eyes a beautiful sight, and he was almost able to forget the dull and frightened eyes that lingered on him as they passed into and through the streets of the city. Before long he was behind bars, and he settled on his mat, willing to wait for Elven to come to him.

But as time wore on and several days passed, he began to worry, for it seemed the soldier had reneged on his promise: surely Elven would not have left him here had he known. This began to frighten him, for he had allowed himself willingly to be led to this prison, and now it seemed he might pass a great while longer here than he had intended.

He was fed meagerly twice a day, and water was provided, but other than this he was left in solitude in a stone box, and for three further days he remained alone until, finally, a guard came to inform him he had a visitor. Brandyé had hardly slept, and a great sigh of relief escaped him at the thought that Elven had finally discovered him.

But to his astonishment, the figure that moved through the shadows and stopped before his bars was not his friend: despite the gloom and flicking torches he saw this person was both slimmer and taller, and he approached the bars in confusion. The figure then swept the hood from her head, and he found himself face to face with a person he had not seen or thought of in years. “Talya?”

Talya stood before him, an oddly sad expression on her face, and Brandyé was bewildered. “It really is ye,” she said softly. “I can hardly believe it.”

Peering down the length of the dungeon corridor, Brandyé stuttered, “Where—where’s Elven?”

For a long while Talya said nothing, her lips a thin line. “Where’ve ye been?” she asked finally. “It’s been so many years …”

“Where’s Elven?” Brandyé repeated, more vehemently this time.

Pain and grief crossed Talya’s face. “Brandyé … I’m sorry for your treatment. Ye’ll be released, of course; we’ll make certain ye’re set up well and fed. Brandyé … it’s good to see ye after so long. It truly is.”

“Where is Elven,” Brandyé said once more—a demand, rather than a question.

And then, to Brandyé’s astonishment, a tear slipped down Talya’s cheek. “I’m so sorry—he won’t see you.”

Brandyé grasped the bars tightly, his knuckles white. “What are you talking about? Let me speak to him!”

Talya sniffed, wiping her eye. “Did you know we had a son?” she asked softly.

Brandyé stared into her eyes, hardly comprehending. “I—yes, I did. Far … Farthyn, no?”

“And you know he is with us no more?”

Brandyé closed his eyes for a moment, remembering Elven’s letter to his family. “I’m sorry, Talya,” he said, more gently this time. “I had heard. But please—why won’t Elven see me?”

Talya took a deep breath. “When our son … when Farthyn died, Elven was mad with grief. We all were—but he wanted someone to blame. He said he was visited by Death that night. He said … he said that he would never again speak to any race of power, nor any who allied themselves with them. He’s afraid that ye’re still … that ye’re with the Illuèn. With Elỳn.”

“This is madness!” Brandyé cried in anguish. He rattled the bars, and Talya took a surprised step backward. He leaned forward, pressing his face against the cold steel. “Talya—you must tell him to see me. He must know Elỳn had nothing to do with your son’s death—you must tell him. Please—tell him!”

“He will listen to no one!” Talya replied through tears. “Not me, nor Gwendolyn—he hardly speaks even to Meredith!”

Brandyé scarce paid heed to these names with which he was unfamiliar. “Talya: take me now,” he said forcefully. “Take me to him. I don’t care that he won’t see me—I will see him!”

Talya shuddered. “I—I can’t!”

“Why? What are you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid for him! I’m afraid what seeing ye will do to him! He’s been fever-minded for a year now!”

Brandyé took a deep breath, forcing himself to be calm. “Take me to him,” he said one last time. “Let me talk to him. Let me remind him of the good in this world. Let me put his mind at ease.”

For a long moment, Talya was silent. Finally, she took a deep breath and said, “I will take ye to him, but be forewarned: he hasn’t seen ye in almost nine years. He isn’t the same Elven that ye remember.”

“Let me decide that for myself,” Brandyé said, but inside he was worried: what had happened to his friend? What awaited him, in the halls above? He would have to wait and see, he thought: for better or for worse, he would see his friend.

Chapter 23: The Dotterys

Brandyé and Elỳn did not stop until they had passed the wall of Vira Weitor, crossed the river, and were far into the hills beyond. Only then, with night approaching, did they dismount, allowing their steed rest, while Brandyé tended to Elỳn’s wound. He was surprised to find that, when he removed the cloth, it bled little, and seemed already less deep than it had only hours before. He bandaged it again, this time with cleaner cloth from Elỳn’s own cloak, and then they sat back to pass the night. It would imprudent to light a fire, she said, so close to Vira Weitor, and so he sat in the dismal blackness, Elỳn’s faint glow his only source of light through the night.

Come the morning they remounted the horse and set off south, this time at a lighter pace. Brandyé was reminded of his flight from Reuel’s home, now so many years ago, where the soldiers of the Fortunaé had chased him into the wilderness, and he wondered if the infinitely more dangerous soldiers and knights of Erârün would be on their own trail. He spoke to Elỳn of his concern, who replied, “I think they will send riders to warn the villages of our escape, perhaps, but they will not outright chase us. The further we go the harder we will be to find, and Tharom will have more pressing business if he is to take leadership of the kingdom of Erârün.”

With this concern alleviated, Brandyé’s next thought was that they would therefore be unable to approach any town of Erârün in their flight, and would be left to the wilderness. In a way, he did not mind this, for he had reckoning of the wilds, and felt safe with Elỳn by his side, even injured as she was. In any case, the villages were likely to be set upon by the Sleeping Death, and he had no desire to see more of its toll on the country than he must.

So they traveled south, passing by town after town without pause, stopping only when their horse needed rest.  But the fifth day, Elỳn’s wound seemed almost entirely healed, but for a small scar, and Brandyé was astonished at the apparent resilience of the Illuèn; here was yet another thing that, after all this time, he did not know about them. He had thought he would have to tend to her daily until they arrived in Paräwo, but it seemed she grew stronger with each day that passed, and soon he began to wish for a second horse, for it was becoming uncomfortable with the two of them astride the same beast.

There soon came a time when they could no longer ride, however, so rough was the ground, and so one would walk while the other rested on horseback, and thus they passed into the southern fringes of Erârün, bordering the Trestaé. Here, said Elỳn, they might risk entering one of the border villages for provisions before setting out into the Trestaé proper, for it was unlikely that news of their escape would have traveled so far so fast.

So they began to cut through the dense forests westward, to where Elỳn said a road should lie, and indeed within a few days they were upon a dirt track, poorly tended but worn nonetheless, and began to follow it onward. Before long they came upon the first barns and houses, and come one evening they saw in the distance a lighted home, and brought themselves to its door.

The door was opened when they knocked by a farmer with a great beard, and to their surprise and relief he welcomed into his home, where his wife and son were preparing supper. “Please,” he said, “we get no company out here; have a meal with us afore ye’re on your way.”

So they settled at their dining table, and though Brandyé could tell they had little to offer, their kindness was most welcome after the hostility of Vira Weitor, and he found himself engaged in conversation for much of the evening with Hobrèth, the farmer. “Do you know of the Sleeping Death?” he asked as they settled by the fire, a brandy each in their hand.

Hobrèth nodded. “Aye, word’s reached us, for certain. But we’ve not come across any who’ve suffered—even in Roéthan, yonder. As a matter of fact, we aren’t even certain it’s a real thing.”

“It is real, I can assure you,” Brandyé said. “The great city of Vira Weitor has succumbed. The Greatlord Farathé is dead.”

“Farathé, eh?” said Hobrèth. “He must’ve been Darâthìn’s son, I suppose—that’s the last greatlord I’d heard spoke of.”

Brandyé took a moment to consider the farmer’s words; so far from the seat of power, it seemed, the nobility had little to do with the outlying towns and villages. “Are you not ever visited by nobles, or lords?” he asked.

Hobrèth waved a hand dismissively. “They don’t care for us, and we don’t care for them. We can tend to our own out here, thank ye very much.”

“This town, Roéthan—is it far?” Brandyé asked.

“No, less than a day, even on foot.”

“And the Trestaé—how far from Roéthan to the great southern forests?”

“Bless me if I know!” exclaimed Hobrèth. “Why’d ye want to go there anyhow? Nought but beasts in those parts, I tell ye.”

“My friend,” Brandyé said. “She is from there. Her kind—they live in the forests.”

He was prepared for a lengthy explanation of the Illuèn and their island home, but to his surprise Hobrèth merely shook his head and said, “Crazy folk, these days. Can’t say as I think ye’re better off, but ye must do what ye must, of course.”

They passed the night with Hobrèth and his family, and set out to find Roéthan the following morning. Hobrèth gave them some scraps of smoked pork and bread, with the apology, “I’d give more, but harvests’ve been poor lately. Stop by next year, we’ll give ye a proper feast!” Brandyé and Elỳn thanked him anyway (Brandyé more than Elỳn, as he knew she would not eat the meat), and soon were on their way.

It was indeed a day’s journey to Roéthan, the outskirts of which they approached as dusk was falling. The country was growing ever wilder here, Brandyé noted, and he was glad for the town: the further into the wilderness they traveled, the more likely they were to be set upon by wolves, or crows—or worse beasts.

Unlike Hansel’s Foil, where Brandyé, Elven and Elỳn had arrived when they first came into Erârün from the Trestaé (Brandyé still had trouble remembering that nearly ten years had passed), Roéthan was not a walled town, and they soon found themselves amidst homes and workplaces, and were welcomed to the town’s inn, the Lazy Pony. Here they supped before the fire, and passed the night, and indeed not one person called them out as fugitives, or had any knowledge of such things from Vira Weitor at all.

Brandyé found a strange relief at this, and it was more than just the sense of safety of not being pursued; there was a comfort, a familiarity, in such small towns, and he knew it reminded him of Consolation, and Burrowdown, which he had now not seen in over fifteen years. As he dozed by the hearth his mind drifted, and he thought of the Burrow Wayde, and Reuel, and old tales. Those tales, he now knew, were only too real, though they had seemed delightful fantasy as a child; the world was larger, and darker, than he had ever supposed in his youth.

He was returning, he knew, to an extent; the Illuèn’s island home was deep in the Trestaé, and only a bit further would place him at the Dottery’s cabin in the woods—and he would be painfully close to home. Yet he knew he could not return, for Consolation, the land of his birth, was no longer the light and welcoming place it had once been. Darkness had covered it also, as it had so much of the world, and under the rule of Danâr there was no safe place there. Even after so long, he suspected Danâr would not have forgotten him, and he had no desire to ever see that man again.

Come the morning they departed, filling their packs with bread and victuals before leaving the town. If they kept along the road south, they were told, they would eventually come to the path’s end, and from there there was nothing but great fields and mountains.

They left the horse in Roéthan, for Elỳn said it would be too difficult a road for the poor beast, and Brandyé felt more comfortable walking beside Elỳn rather than sharing time riding. Her wound seemed utterly healed by now, and she shouldered her own pack as easily as he did his. She said that it would likely be only a week or two to arrive in Paräwo, if they stayed true to their course. He wondered how she knew which way to go, but she said that once they entered the Trestaé proper there would be no doubt.

Brandyé accepted that he had little choice but to trust her, and indeed had little difficulty in doing so, for there was no other path he knew of. A memory of ten years past would not serve him, he knew, and so he willingly followed her along the road and, when the time came, off of it.

Within a day or two they arrived at the road’s end, having crossed over several other paths along the way, and it ended unceremoniously in an empty field with no gate or wall. It simply ran narrower and narrower until he realized there truly was no path at all, and they were merely walking through tall grass. He could see a line of trees not far off, and as they made their way toward it, an odd thing caught his eye.

In the distance, only just peeking above the curve of the hill, was what seemed to a great, tall rock. It seemed strangely out of place, for there were no mountains or cliffs from which it could have fallen, and as they drew nearer he saw that it was balanced on its end, so that it towered some thirty feet above the grassy plain surrounding it. It had no companions, but stood solitary and alone, an odd lost monument that was disturbingly familiar. He asked Elỳn if she recognized it herself, but she was oddly silent, saying nothing more than, “I have never seen this stone before.”

In the end they passed it by, but not before Brandyé had stopped to lay a hand against the cold stone, and commit its image to memory. He knew it from somewhere, if only he could recollect it; yet for all he could wrack his brain, he could not bring the memory back.

They soon plunged into the forest, and here was the true wilderness he had been dreading, for it was dark under the canopy, and many of the trees had a twisted and unnatural look about them. Just before they disappeared into the forest entirely he caught a hazy glimpse of mountains in the far distance, and knew they were soon to be among them.

For some days then they continued through the dark forests, Elỳn picking a path that led them around bogs and along streams, keeping them dry and safe all the while. Nonetheless, Brandyé frequently passed a hand to Fahnat-om, for an unease was settling over him that no conversation with Elỳn could quiet. He kept close his crossbow, too, and when the food ran out and he grew tired of Elỳn’s meatless diet he would use it to catch himself the odd hare here and there, roasting their poor meat over their evening fires.

All the while he kept a constant vigilance for beasts of a Darker nature, but only saw sparrows and owls watching them as they passed. Every so often he thought he heard a faint howl in the distance, but Elỳn never spoke of it, and he wondered if it was merely his imagination.

After perhaps a week he found the ground beginning to rise beneath them, and soon they were walking along the base of cliffs and crags that were slowly becoming increasingly familiar. When they stopped for the evening by the edge of a clear lake high in the mountains, looking down over a great valley of trees, he knew they were not far now, for this was the very same place they had stopped on their journey from Paräwo, when he had learned of Athalya and Elỳn’s familial relationship. As he cast his gaze into the distance he saw the great lake, and knew they were nearly at their destination.

Not two days later they were rowing across the lake itself in a boat Elỳn had found safe in a secluded bay, and Brandyé felt a mounting excitement to be once more among the Illuèn at large. He had a fond recollection of his time here, marred as it was by Athalya’s tragic death, and he was anxious to speak once again with Kayla, and Rylan, and the others whom he remembered so fondly. But as they approached the island shore, Elỳn cautioned him: “Things may be different to when you were here last; some of those you undoubtedly remember are with us no longer.”

“You mean they were killed?”

Elỳn shook her head. “No violence has set itself upon us since you left; nonetheless, many that you once knew are gone. They have faded, and passed beyond this world.”

Despite this sad knowledge, Brandyé could not help smiling at the sight of the Illuèn village when they finally arrived, for the odd, bell-shaped homes and buildings of the Illuèn were a comfortingly familiar sight. Elỳn, too, seemed more than happy, and fell into the welcoming embrace of her kin, who swiftly turned to Brandyé to welcome him, as well. That night they dined under the comforting glow of the Illuèn’s orbs, which he now recognized as those same flameless lanterns he had seen among the people of Viura Râ, and their talk was lively and engaging, and they conversed together long into the night.

“You must tell us of what you have done, and where you have been, since last we spoke,” said an Illuèn by the name of Wyrlèn, who was now the eldest Illuèn among them. Brandyé had known him in passing as an aide and confidant to Athalya, and was glad to know he was still among them.

“I’ve been to many places, and seen many things,” Brandyé said, “and I’m certain Elỳn has told you some of it. In truth, I am still not entirely certain what of my recollection is true and what is false, for it seems that some of what I’ve experienced can’t quite be possible. I passed through snow and fire, and when I awoke I was in a world utterly different to this one. Tell me—have you ever heard of a place where people can travel the breadth of the world in mere weeks, or great towers look down upon the very edge of the world? Do you know of a place called Viura Râ?”

Wyrlèn nodded. “I have. It was once the brightest light in all of Erâth, the Eternal City. But it was destroyed many ages ago, during the greatest of all wars.”

“I was there. I witnessed its destruction. I saw the creation of Paräth!”

Wyrlèn raised his eyebrows, clearly taken aback. “If what you say is true, then you have spent the last ten years not only in another place, but another time. You speak of a time that has not been for untold thousands of years: the time of the Ancients.”

“I can only speak of what I know,” Brandyé said. “And while I have had dreams of far-off times and places before, I always woke the next morning. How could I pass so great a time in a dream?”

Wyrlèn shook his head. “I cannot say. Perhaps the Sarâthen would be more knowledgeable of such things, but there are none left to ask. I will say this, however: wherever and whenever you have been, we are glad to have you once more among us. You may, of course, stay here as long as you desire. But tell me: have you given thought to where you might go from here? Do you have any plan in mind, now that you are escaped from Vira Weitor?”

Brandyé had in fact given much thought to this during their long treks through the Trestaé, and knew that, so close as he was to his home, there was one thing he must do. “I would stay here for a few days, if it’s no trouble,” he said, “and then … I have a great desire to see Elven’s family. I would return to the Dotterys, if I can.”

“Winter will be upon us soon,” another of the Illuèn said, “and while travel through the Trestaé in the snow is not impossible, it will be easier without. Would you stay here through the winter, or there? If the latter, you would be best served by leaving soon.”

Brandyé took this into consideration for a moment, but it was not a difficult decision; he had spent the winter with the Dotterys in the Trestaé once before—his first reunion with them since being banished from Consolation. He was certain they would welcome him once again … and then there was Ermèn.

He was becoming anxious to see his old mentor once again. The old man in the woods had taught him much about himself and the world, and there was much on his mind that he wished to speak with him about. If anyone, he thought, Ermèn could shed light on his mysterious disappearance for so long, and the places he had seen while he was gone. Even if he spoke mostly in questions and rarely answered one, he knew there was much he could learn from him again.

In the end, there was only one concern for Brandyé, and it was whether he would depart by himself or with company. He was saddened to learn that Kayla, the Illuèn who had bequeathed her bow to Elven, had passed on, and Rylan the healer was faded such that Brandyé hardly noticed him unless he was speaking with him directly. As Elỳn had spoken, many of those he remembered from his last time here were gone, and the population of the Illuèn in general seemed fewer than ever.

So he spoke to Elỳn, and asked her what he should do. “You have traveled far and wide, Brandyé,” she said, “and often alone. You have survived thus far—I suspect you will survive much longer.”

“It isn’t for my survival that I’m concerned,” Brandyé said. “Since the last time I wandered the Trestaé I’ve learned to fight, and to defend myself. Rather, it’s for my peace of mind. I’m afraid, Elỳn.”

“Of what are you afraid?” she asked.

“That alone, I’ll succumb once more to Darkness. That in the Darkness of the Trestaé, I’ll lose myself for good.”

“You desire company,” Elỳn said.

Brandyé nodded. “If only to keep me sane.”

“Do you feel the Duithèn near at hand?”

“I don’t,” Brandyé admitted, “but I don’t know if that means much anymore. There is so much Darkness over Erârün, and the world, that I’m afraid I’m becoming used to it. That I can’t sense there presence any longer. Or that … that the strength I feel, when I feel it, is of their doing.”

Elỳn paused for a moment before speaking. “We are at a dangerous time, Brandyé. The Duithèn will have learned of Farathé’s passing, and will be eager to push their advantage. I do not know what strength Tharom Hulòn has in him, but his kingdom may be greatly weakened against the forces of Darkness now. The Sleeping Death is spreading insidiously, and Kiriün, Elven’s country, is nearly broken. I think it will not be long before we see a concerted assault from the north on the kingdoms of Thaeìn. Who will defend them when this happens?”

Brandyé considered. “The Hochtraë,” he said finally. “They have been fighting back creatures and men of Darkness for some time now, and with great success. Erârün and Kiriün will need them before the end.”

“The Hochtraë have not involved themselves in the affairs of the rest of the world since before the fall of the Second Age,” Elỳn pointed out. “Why would they interfere now?”

“I can convince them,” Brandyé said. “I can speak with their leaders. They will listen to me.”

“You have just traveled a great distance from them,” Elỳn said. “Would you so readily travel back?”

But Brandyé was suddenly lost in thought, thinking furiously. There was indeed a threat from the north, he knew. And, though he was less certain, an even greater one from the west might soon present itself. And he realized that he was in a unique position to influence nearly every kingdom in Erâth: he had befriended the Hochtraë, and his best friend in all the world was, it seemed, king of Kiriün. And, though it was a thing he had not considered for a great long time, he even had ties to the Cosari to the south: there was a chance that, if Khana still lived, he might be able to convince them to unite against the Duithèn, and the forces of Darkness.

That left only Erârün, and although it was now ruled by a man who seemed to hate him bitterly, there was a chance—perhaps not a great one, but still there—that upon seeing the union of the great kingdoms of the world, Erârün would follow suit. And if the world could unite as one, then they might just stand a chance at defeating the Duithèn once and for all.

Unless they found Namrâth before him.

“How much time do you think we have?” Brandyé asked finally.

Elỳn shook her head. “It has been many centuries in coming, she said sadly. “I fear it is only a matter of years before the kingdoms of Thaeìn are overwhelmed. Perhaps months, even.”

“Then I have little time to lose. Allow me to pass the winter with the Dotterys; then I set out to speak with Elven. And after that … I think there will be much travel in my future, Elỳn. I must speak with the Hochtraë, and with the Cosari. I must convince these last kingdoms of Erâth to fight with each other, to unite against a common enemy.”

“This will not be an easy task,” Elỳn said.

Brandyé smiled. “I have suffered worse. I once tried to convince the entire world to forego violence in favor of peace. I failed then, but I have learned much—I will not fail again.”

Elỳn smiled in return. “You have a great hope in you yet, Brandyé. This same hope is what has kept you strong through all your years—you must not lose it. I will help you in your endeavor, but I fear I cannot travel with you now. There is much work to be done here in Paräwo, also. The Illuèn will come to your aid also, though they do not know it yet. Therein lies my duty, which I have neglected for far too long: I must convince my own kind to fight. When you need us, we will be ready.”

“Thank you, my dear friend,” Brandyé said. “There is just one other thing that concerns me.”

“It is the weapon of Darkness, is it not?” Elỳn said.

Brandyé nodded. “It is still somewhere in this world, and I have seen it. It is no longer where it once was, but I know the Duithèn will not rest until it is found. It must not fall into their possession.”

“Perhaps on your travels you will find it,” she replied, “but do not put your hope in it. The union of the world is more important. Even with Namrâth in his hand, Goroth was once defeated. The Duithèn can be defeated again.”

“I certainly hope so.”

Elỳn opened her arms to him then, and in his anxiety, fear and hope, he fell into her embrace.

Brandyé was well prepared when he finally set out from the Illuèn island, for they had provided him with ample food, repaired the many rents in his cloak (he would not trade it for a new one, for it was a memory of Khana), and filled his pockets with quarrels for his crossbow. As best as he could recall, he and Elven had spent some three weeks traveling in the Trestaé before being rescued by the Illuèn, but much of that time Elven had been gravely injured, and he doubted it would take so long to return.

Nonetheless, it would not be a straightforward journey, for then, they had been setting out with no great destination in mind. Now, he had to find a single cabin in the midst of the expansive Trestaé mountains, and he was only certain that it lay somewhere south of the Illuèn island.

Even Elỳn could not help him on this journey, for she had not been with him then. Only Elven might have had some memory of where his family had built their home, and he was many miles away, unaware of Brandyé’s existence at all.

So he set out southward, and once he had passed the ending of the great lake he was entirely on his own, passing through trees that looked all too alike for his comfort. He remembered how he had once spent days in the Trestaé seemingly circling back on himself over and over, and wondered if such a thing might happen to him again. If so, he might find his death in the Trestaé before ever finding the family of his friend.

He was also afraid, despite his preparations when setting out, that he would finally be set upon by the beasts of the wild. Ever since he and Elỳn had entered the Trestaé, there had been a suspicious absence of Dark creatures that he knew all too well lived here among the trees, and he knew it was only a matter of time before they discovered him. He had known this was a danger in setting out himself, and was not certain what he would do against a whole host of fierundé—after all, there were no Illuèn now to protect him.

But for two weeks he remained unassailed by wolf or bird, and soon the forest started to bear certain familiar features: he saw patches of corinthiaë here and there, though he left them well alone, and knew that the plant had grown in the vicinity of the Dotterys’ home. He began to think that every tree he passed was one he had seen before, and when he came across a stream, he wondered if it was that where he had first met Ermèn.

There finally came a day when he felt he had traveled south far enough, and that if he were to continue much further he would have passed his destination by entirely. Yet he was uncertain if he should travel west or east from this point, and the difficulty of finding a single point in such a wilderness began to fully dawn on him. He set a fire that night, and in the darkness contemplated his choices. He knew that if he continued south he would eventually pass through the Trestaé entirely, perhaps even reaching Consolation again. If he went east he would arrive at the coast of Thaeìn, perhaps in the vicinity of Voènarà, where he had been cast ashore with Khana. And west held the black sea that he had little desire to return to.

He dozed through the night, and come the morning he ate a light breakfast before packing to continue. But as he was filling his pack for the day, he suddenly felt a presence near at hand: a feeling that he was being watched, though it was not unpleasant. He stood and looked about him, and there, not more than a dozen feet away, was a wolf.

It was not fierund, though, and it was entirely alone. This in itself was odd, for wolves, he knew, were rarely to be found without a pack. But as he gazed upon the wolf, it returned his stare intently, and he saw the thin black streak of fur beneath its jaw and a smile graced his lips. “Ermèn?” he asked aloud.

The wolf, unsurprisingly, did not answer. However, at his words it approached him, and as he watched in bemusement the creature circled him several times, then set out into the woods. After a few yards it stopped, turned back to look at him, and he knew then it meant for him to follow it. He took a few steps in its direction, and seemingly content, the wolf turned and carried forward.

So Brandyé gained a companion, and without a shadow of doubt in his mind he followed the wolf wherever it might lead him, certain that it would be to better things. For several further nights the wolf stayed by his side, curling beside him at night in the warm glow of the fire, and walking beside him during the day, always a step ahead, leading Brandyé this way and that through the woods.

Soon, Brandyé began to feel a growing familiarity with his surroundings that went beyond just the presence of a plant or two, and a hope began to fill his heart that he was nearing his journey’s end. He knew that this wolf was a herald of Ermèn, for it had preceded the old man’s presence once before, and he felt safe in its presence.

But then, one day as they were making their way through a tangle of brambles, the wolf suddenly stopped, and as Brandyé watched, it began to sniff the air cautiously. Suddenly the creature bared its teeth and growled, a low and dangerous sound, and Brandyé grew concerned for it had never demonstrated this behavior before. As he stripped away the last few brambles from his cloak and stepped into the clearing, the wolf suddenly lowered its haunches, and without warning, bolted into the trees.

“Hey!” Brandyé called, but the wolf had soon vanished from sight. For a moment Brandyé thought of pursing it, but he knew he would only lose himself, and turned, looking about the forest with concern, uncertain what to do next.

As he stood, it occurred to him that the forest was unsettlingly quiet: he could not hear a single bird, nor even a breath of wind, and a chill crept its way down his spine. Had the wolf been scared off by something? And if so, what? For a long moment he stood, waiting, but nothing approached him.

For a long time, then, Brandyé stayed put, peering into the distance, waiting for something dreadful. After a moment he closed his eyes, wondering if he might hear what he could not see, and indeed, as he did the sound of padded paws on the forest floor came to his ears. His heart sank, for he knew all too well what was coming. With hardly a thought he drew forth Fahnat-om, and as he opened his eyes again, his eyes focused first on the silver blade before him, and then into the distance, where the first fierund was appearing amongst the trees.

It was as large and dreadful as he could remember, sleek gray fur that spoke of bristles as hard as nails, long, razor-sharp fangs, and the ever-horrifying eyes that glowed red and spoke of an utter, terrifying Darkness. As it drew near he could smell the death on its breath, and he lifted Fahnat-om between himself and the beast.

But before he could strike—before the fierund could even launch itself upon him—there came a sudden commotion from the trees around them, and in a blur of fury there launched from the woods not one wolf, but a whole pack of wolves, his own companion at their head. With hardly a pause the wolves set themselves upon the fierund, leaping onto its back and snapping their jaws at its throat. The fierund, clearly taken aback by the wolves’ audacity, at first merely let out a howl and pawed at the creatures that were besetting it.

As the creature of Darkness realized, however, that these wolves were more than just a nuisance, it began to snarl, and launched itself into their midst. Brandyé saw it clamp its jaws shut on one of the many wolves, the poor creature howling in agony and despair. A sudden fury took him, and with Fahnat-om at the ready he burst into the fray, driving his sword deep into the fierund’s shoulder.

This was a pain that the fierund had not been expecting, and it released the wolf in its teeth to contend with this new threat. An enormous paw swept across Brandyé, knocking him clear and sending Fahnat-om flying. As Brandyé tried to regain his feet the fierund reared its head, and as he scrambled amongst the dirt and leaves he turned his gaze to see the unnaturally wide jaws mere inches from his face.

Before the terrible creature could deliver a blow, however, nearly a dozen wolves leapt upon it at once, and the fierund was knocked clean to the forest floor, its jaws snapping shut on air. Hardly daring to breathe, Brandyé raced forward, snatching Fahnat-om from where it had fallen, and turned once more to face the fierund. Under a pile of wolves it was clearly trying to regain its feet, and with a cry of rage and terror Brandyé moved forward upon it once again, and brought Fahnat-om down fiercely upon its head.

The blade bit deep into the creature’s flesh, and it let loose a terrible howl of pain. It leapt to its feet, knocking the many wolves aside, and stood facing Brandyé, who returned its furious gaze with terror and determination. If the wolves would protect him, he thought, he would do no less for them.

But the fierund, it seemed, was second-guessing its attack now, for it did not move against Brandyé again; rather, it looked about it at the circle of wolves, and with a cry of rage burst through the wolves and fled into the forest. Brandyé stood for a moment, heaving breath, and was entirely unbelieving that the fierund was gone for good. Surely, he thought, it would return—perhaps with companions.

But after several minutes, in which the wolves circled around him protectively, there was no sign of further attack, and he began to relax his guard. Not entirely—there were clearly now fierundé about him in the woods—but enough that he felt he could sheathe Fahnat-om, and bend to the wolves that were still about him as dogs. “Thank you,” he uttered to them, and as one they lifted their throats to the sky and split the air with a deafening howl, and Brandyé thought that if the fierundé had thoughts of pursuing him again, they might think twice now.

On the heels of this thought came a voice from behind, and it was so sudden and unexpected that Brandyé whirled, drawing Fahnat-om once again. But even as his body reacted, his mind heard the voice and knew who it was, and as he faced the person now standing in the woods he grinned, sword in hand. “Ermèn?”

“Are you going to cut me down, or follow me home?” the old man said with bemusement, and Brandyé stared at the sword in his hand, and then to the persona he had been hoping desperately to see for over a month now.

“I was just attacked!” he said. “The wolves … they saved me.”

Ermèn raised an eyebrow. “Then where are they now?”

Confused, Brandyé looked back to the circle of wolves … only to find that in the blink of an eye, they had slunk off into the woods and disappeared. Confused, he turned back to Ermèn, and then back to the missing wolves, before saying, “Did you see … are you … Ermèn! It’s so good to see you!”

“Were you expecting perhaps someone else?”

Brandyé laughed aloud to hear the old man’s incessant questioning again. “Only my death. Are we near your home?”

“Have you ever known me to wander far?”

Brandyé shook his head in amusement, despite the recent threat on his life. “Please—will you take me to your home? I have been wandering far, for far too long.”

“Ah! A long-lost traveler!” Ermèn exclaimed. “Are you hungry?”

Brandyé smiled, and followed Ermèn into the woods once more, and felt more at home that he had felt, it seemed, in decades.

Over tea and stew, Brandyé spoke to Ermèn, and Ermèn listened attentively, of all that had transpired since their last meeting. As it had been with Elỳn, it was a long tale, and several times he looked to Ermèn to try and gauge the old man’s reaction, but Ermèn remained oddly quiet throughout, until Brandyé had spoken his last word, drunk his last sip of tea, and sipped the last of the gravy from his bowl. Only then did he speak, and only to say, “You have been through much, it seems. And you have grown in many ways—would you not agree?”

“I have,” Brandyé agreed. “And I feel I have a better understanding of the world, and its destiny. From the very beginning, it seems, the Duithèn have sought to conquer all. And I still believe they can be stopped—but it will be harder than I ever suspected.”

“Was it ever an easy proposition?” Ermèn asked.

“No, but before I thought I could stop Darkness through nothing more than my own resilience, or perhaps by finding Namrâth. But now I see that there are dangerous forces against the people of Erâth regardless. And—Ermèn, I have seen so much of the world now, perhaps more than any other I know—do you think there is a chance—I hope there is—that I could unite the world against Darkness?”

“Such things have been tried before,” Ermèn pointed out, “by the greatest leaders of Erâth. Not all who were asked came.”

“But enough did,” Brandyé persisted. “The Illuèn, Erârün and Kiriün—they fought together.”

“Are they as strong now as they were then?”

Brandyé realized this was a valid point. “They aren’t,” he conceded. “But there are others who might come to our aid—the Hochtraë, the Cosari …”

“What of the Dragon Lords?”

“I thought they were extinct.”

“They have not been seen or heard of in a thousand years,” Ermèn said. “Does that mean they are all dead?”

“Are you trying to say I should seek them out?”

“They lived far to the north, beyond the great mountains where the Hochtraë dwell. It would be a great journey there.”

Brandyé shook his head. “Then I have no time. I must convince Kiriün and Erârün to unite, and then I must send word to the Cosari and the Hochtraë as well. I have so much to do, Ermèn—and I have very little time in which to do it.”

“You need some help, perhaps?”

Brandyé raised his eyebrows. “It would be helpful—but who?”

“Your friend rules an entire kingdom, does he not?” Brandyé was hardly taken aback, though he had not even mentioned that he knew this; after all, Ermèn had always seemed to know things before they were spoken. “Perhaps he has resources you do not?”

“I must see him,” Brandyé acknowledged, “but I would see his family first. Are they well, do you know?”

“What is well?”

Brandyé rolled his eyes at Ermèn’s decidedly typical answer. “Do you know if they are still alive, and here in the Trestaé?”

Ermèn shrugged. “I only speak to them every week; who knows if they are still well since last week?”

But Brandyé was relieved nonetheless. “Would you accompany me?” he asked. “I would see them as soon as I can.”

“In the dark?” Ermèn pointed out.

Brandyé realized he had not kept track of the time, and that in Ermèn’s underground home there was no telling the lightness outside. “Perhaps tomorrow, then.”

Ermèn smiled. “Perhaps tomorrow. For now, let us sleep—it will do you well.”

Brandyé agreed, and allowed Ermèn to lead him to the room in which he had stayed so many years ago. It was just as he remembered it, and he was soon fast asleep.

Come the morning, after a breakfast of toast, jam and tea (Brandyé still did not know where Ermèn got his food from), they set out together through the woods in the misty morning, and though they walked in silence it was pleasant. Brandyé had oddly little fear of fierundé, despite the appearance of one so near where they now tread, because somehow he could not imagine the beasts of Darkness attacking Ermèn.

It was not long before they came upon the little wood cabin that held the Dotterys, and it was a wonderful sight to see for Brandyé, for it looked as cozy and well-tended as he remembered it. He realized only then that he had been afraid they would come upon it abandoned and overgrown, despite Ermèn’s words, and he was relieved to hear voices from within.

Yet as they approached the door, a thing caught his eye that gave him pause: in the distance, almost out of sight, was a flat, upright stone buried partway into the ground. At first he was uncertain what it was, until he realized it for what it was: a tombstone. And then he grew anxious and sad, for he knew their number had been reduced by one, and he was afraid to know who it was.

But Ermèn knocked on the door, and he heard one of the voices—a woman’s, from the sound of it—come closer. Brandyé’s anxiousness grew, and felt a fluttering in his breast that he had not had in years—possibly since the last time he had stood on this doorstep. He heard the unlatching of a lock, and the door swung open, and there standing before him was a slightly grayer, but unmistakably familiar, Arian. He smiled nervously as her eyes widened, and she stuttered, “Brand … Brandyé?”

“May we come in?” asked Ermèn, as though nothing was the matter, and at his unassuming tone Arian stood back and let them enter without a word. Brandyé looked about the cabin with both gladness and nervousness, for each face he saw told him they were not the one under ground, yet it narrowed down the possibilities. Timothaï was there, as was Julia, but there was no sign of Maria or her husband, Erik.

Then, from the back part of the home came bursting a child, and Brandyé was utterly surprised, for it was a youthfulness he had not been expecting amongst the family. The child was perhaps three or four, a girl, and she stopped when she saw Brandyé and Ermèn. “Uncle Ermèn!” she cried, and rushed to embrace the old man, and Brandyé could not help but smile at the thought. When she pulled away she looked to Brandyé quizzically, and said, “Who are you?”

Brandyé knelt down to her level, and said, “I am a very old friend of your family. What is your name?”

“I’m Kyrie,” the little girl said with distinct pride.

“That’s a pretty name,” Brandyé said, and the girl smiled. “Where is your mother?”

“Kyrie? Who are you speaking to?” came a voice from beyond, and Brandyé looked up to see Maria entering the room.

“This is a very old friend, mommy!” she said, “only he doesn’t look very old, like uncle Ermèn.”

“Brandyé?” gasped Maria, and at the word Arian seemed to be brought out of some spell, for she finally seemed able to speak again.

“How are you here? Where have you come from? Does Elven know you’re alive? We all thought …”

“That I was dead,” Brandyé nodded. “I suppose I must have thought so too, for a while at least. But I’m not—at least not yet. Arian—It is wonderful to see you again.”

“And you, son,” said Timothaï, who had approached in the meantime. “I can’t say how glad my heart is to see a familiar face. These have been a difficult past few years.” Instinctively, Brandyé glanced back in the direction of the tombstone, and Timothaï said, “It was Erik, I’m afraid. Two years ago, this winter. Maria still mourns him every day, though Kyrie, thankfully, doesn’t remember.”

“I’m sorry,” Brandyé said.

“Thank you,” Maria said as she, too approached. “But please—can we not dwell on sadness? This should be a glad day!”

“Indeed,” said Ermèn. “How long has it been, my friends?”

“I fear I’ve quite lost count of the seasons,” Timothaï said, “though it has been at least eight.”

“Nearer to ten, as I’ve been told,” Brandyé said. “You look so well!”

“As do you,” Elven’s father replied. “Come—we were just settling in to lunch; will you join us?”

So Brandyé was reunited with the Dotterys after an age, and for a time, at least, he was happy—amongst friends, safe in their cabin, there was little to worry about, it seemed. As they began to eat their bread, he wondered if this was not a better life altogether—away from the trappings of civilization, there was also no concern, no war, no politics; the Dotterys seemed as simple and as happy as ever.

It was sad to him, then, to know that it could not last; that he would, come the ending of the winter, be once more setting out into the wild, in search of those very things that the Dotterys had hitherto managed to avoid. He wished that he could stay with them, but he knew that he could not allow the world to fall—that his destiny was elsewhere. Still, he told himself—he would enjoy their company for as long as he could. For the first time in a long while, Brandyé allowed his mind to drift, to take in the casual conversation, and he smiled.