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I apologise for the lack of furriness in this illustration... Unfortunately this is just one of those chapters where almost all my human crew are clumped together.

Thank you to all readers, please do feel free to leave feedback

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The Foxwood Chronicles
Chapter 6

By the end of the second day at Fort Fortitude, talks were not going any smoother than they had on the first. Tarwin seemed every bit as determined to implicate Maximilian in the destruction of Freelands towns as Maximilian was to prove himself innocent. Unfortunately neither of them had any firm evidence either way, so matters swiftly degenerated to a shouting match of epic proportions, with several delegates from both sides declaring they needed to go and lie down because of headaches.

Troyston, anxious to reign in his father’s temper, frequently found himself in the firing line between the heads of state, but held his ground valiantly until one guard from each side of the argument removed him from his place in the middle of the negotiating table, and ejected him from the room. Tiernach, making calm assessment of the situation, earned a number of chuckles from his sire with remarks that were as logical as they were insulting. Aleana looked up from the courtyard to the window where she could hear the battle of words raging, and sighed. Tonight was party night, or so Maximilian had announced, on his adopted-daughter’s advice, and everyone from the council meetings was invited. Aleana hoped it wasn’t going to end up like the meetings themselves.



“Well, of course I always saw this coming,” the brightly clad sciurel said, gesturing across the punch bowl with a spoon. “Ineffective military, you see.”

The lutrani opposite frowned, adjusting the sash that marked him as from the Freelands’ naval high command.

“I mean,” Lord Undertree continued, taking a swig of the fruity liquor and making a flamboyant gesture with his free hand. “No offence, but it takes you lot weeks to decide to mobilise an army! One good look and it’s obvious you’re easy pickings, so it’s hardly any surprise that you’ve got troubles, now is it?”

“Our troubles,” the lutrani growled. “Are no concern of yours.”

“Oh, come now, come now,” the sciurel wandered around the table, his large leonin bodyguard following closely. The lutrani eyed the tall feline. “Don’t take it like that. We are, after all, allies, and if the king decides it is my duty to assist, then I shall naturally obey, whatever my personal feelings on the matter.”

“Assist?” the lutrani’s eyes narrowed.

“Well, that is what allies do, isn’t it? And we are allies, aren’t we?”

“I suppose...”

“There now,” Undertree nodded enthusiastically. “King Maximilian is very generous, after all. I imagine all it needs is for your council to ask, and perhaps offer a few concessions.”

“Concessions for what?” black eyebrows drew together.

“Well, my dear fellow,” the sciurel looked rather surprised. “You can’t expect something for nothing, now can you? No, no, no, that’s never how life works at all. See, if I were you, I’d be asking for assistance in exchange for, say, Northwood Forest.”

“That’s three hundred square miles!” the lutrani exclaimed.

“Of excellent hunting territory,” Undertree pointed out. “And you know, his Majesty does have a fondness for venison. And that quaint little village in the middle of it – what was it called...?”

“Leafwell,” the officer stated flatly.

“Exactly! That would make an excellent hunting lodge. Of course, we’d have to move the villagers out, but that’s not so bad, eh now? They’re only poor people, after all, what are they going to do, throw mud at us?” he laughed at his own humour. “Oh come on,” he said, looking at the lutrani’s expression. “Don’t be like that, it makes sense, don’t you think?”

“What I think,” the lutrani growled. “Is that you are a snivelling little rat who’s trying to milk the situation for all it’s worth!”

The leonin bodyguard behind the sciurel stepped forward, pressing his massive knuckles together.

“That’s not very friendly,” Lord Undertree’s tone changed abruptly. “I’m only trying to help, after all!”

Scowling, but deciding not to take the argument any further, the lutrani turned on his heel, disappearing into the crowd of party goers.

Undertree nodded, satisfied. Looking around for the next person to annoy, he spotted a slim lupari woman by the buffet table. Terrible hat, he decided. Better go tell her about it.



The third day at Fortitude was quiet – mostly because only the leonin delegates were awake before lunchtime. It turned out there was a reason for the legends surrounding the sort of refreshments available at leonin parties, and apparently it required years of training as a leonin to quite understand how to handle them.

The afternoon saw only a few hardy souls enter the council chamber, and even Tarwin and Maximilian were forced to accept that nothing would be resolved by further argument today, and eventually each retreated to his own castle to stare at the other across the dividing water.

The fourth day started early with a dawn hunt in nearby Northwood Forest. Guided by the best huntsmen from Fort Fortitude, Maximilian and Tarwin sat on white horses that seemed to be competing with each other for which could shine the brightest in the early sunlight.

“Something up ahead, sirs!” one of the trackers announced quietly. “See, just under the bush, in the shadows?”

“I see it,” Maximilian lifted his bow, then paused. “After you,” he said gruffly, glancing briefly at Tarwin.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Aleana had told her adoptive father firmly the previous night. “Remember how you would feel in his place. Keep your temper, make him realise you don’t want to fight him.”

That was all very well, Maximilian thought, but it wasn’t easy to not want to fight the man! He had been rude, abusive, and ill tempered since the start of the talks. In any other situation, Maximilian would have called Tarwin out onto the field to settle the matter, but now he was trapped. The peace between their nations hung on an amicable resolution to the Fortitude talks, and he had little choice but to put personal feelings and stung pride aside for the good of his people.

Tarwin eyed Maximilian suspiciously – leonin pride in their hunting ability was not easily set aside for another. Why was he being so polite?

“All right...” Tarwin took aim at the patch of brown fur visible through the leafy foliage. It must be an animal of some size. The bowstring twanged, the arrow found its mark with a dull thud, but those were the only noises. One of the trackers frowned, and hurried forwards. They heard him exclaim in dismay and nudged their horses into motion.

Flies buzzed around the carcass, crawling over the cold blood that had congealed around its leg where the trap held it fast. It seemed to have been dead for several days.



The morning’s hunt became a topic of some popularity in the small talk around the meeting halls. Although Maximilian had protested innocence, Tarwin had felt certain he had been set up to make a fool of himself. With an oath fit to make the recipient’s ears bleed, he had spurred his horse into motion and left the hunting party, swiftly followed by his escort and, more hesitantly, by Troyston. As he left, he had found his gaze meeting that of Maximilian’s adopted, human daughter, and just for a moment, saw his own misgivings reflected in her green eyes. Then she shook her head slightly, seeming to let out a small sigh as she turned her face away.

Tarwin refused to appear that afternoon, something for which many of those with smaller disputes were grateful, for many of them reached successful resolutions without the distraction from the centre dais.

The fifth day proceeded with a degree of d&eacute;j&agrave; vu from all participants, though instead of a voluble shouting match, the argument between the heads of state seemed to have fallen to an exchange of icy words in deadly calm tones. For the second time, Troyston found himself removed from the meeting hall, this time for offering sandwiches to both sides of the dispute. Deciding that matters were clearly beyond his control, he did the only thing left open to him, and went for a walk.



“Bloody fools!” Troyston cursed aloud as he paced along the riverbank, the setting sun glittering on the water, turning it a deep orange. “Bloody, stupid, ignorant fools!” He slapped at a low hanging willow branch, sending it whipping out of his way at considerable pace, whacking into the bark of the tree’s trunk with a satisfying smack. Increasing the length of his stride, he continued his monologue with increasing ferocity, causing the two young lutrani heading the other way down the path to scamper out of his way after one look at his expression, peeping out of the bushes only after he was long past.

Troyston viciously kicked a stone, watching as it bounced along the path, finally thudding to a halt some twenty yards ahead of him, only to be propelled along again as he caught it up. On the third kick, the stone took off at a considerable angle, impacting the branch of a pine tree whose sturdy limbs overhung the path. Displaying the immaculate timing which only nature can provide, a large pinecone detached itself, landing dead centre on Troyston’s head as he strode underneath the branch. With a roar of anger, he grabbed the pinecone from where it lay on the path, throwing it with all his might at the parent tree.

It bounced back, hitting him squarely in the face.

“Damn tree!” Troyston fumed, striding forward and kicking it, and being promptly reminded that wood is harder than flesh as his foot complained bitterly. He drew back his fist, aiming for the centre of the broad trunk.

“I wouldn’t,” a voice warned, a slight chuckle underlying the words.

Whack! “And why not?” the young man asked, gritting his teeth, his knuckles throbbing as they pressed tight against the bark.

“That tree will not move for you,” the voice continued, and Troyston turned to look to see who was talking. “Trees really have little care for our affairs,” the white haired old man went on, tapping his somewhat bent staff lightly on the ground as he spoke. “Their lives are long, their patience great.”

Troyston glared at the tree one more time, then returned to the path, his eyes scanning the far bank of the river for a moment, studiously ignoring the elder man. He turned to continue on his way, and nearly fell over him. “Out of my way, old man,” he growled, looking down from a height advantage of several inches.

The white robed man tilted his head, seemed to consider for a moment, then shook his head. “No,” he said.

“Do you have any idea whose way you are getting in?” Troyston glowered.

“Yes,” the old man nodded.

“Then get out of it,” Troyston growled.

“No,” the old man said again, sounding half amused.

Exasperated, Troyston reached out a hand, intending to push the old man out of the way. In a blur of motion, the man’s staff whirled, hitting him on his left shoulder, the impact sending him staggering sideways off the path, his feet slipping in the mud. With a shout of dismay he toppled over as the river rushed up to meet him.

He coughed as he surfaced, sputtering as water ran off him, dripping into his mouth.

“Any more aggression you’d like to blow off?” the old man enquired mildly, looking as if this were a perfectly normal occurrence and might be followed by tea and crumpets.

“I... What... Who the hell are you?” Troyston spluttered, shaking the water out of his eyes.

“Fellirion Forester, Council of Magi,” the elderly man beamed, looking as cheerful as if he was giving out free cakes.

Troyston paused in wringing out his sodden tunic. “Just my luck,” he said, apparently to the water. He sat down again where he was in the shallows, the water coming up to his shoulders. “Just my bloody luck to pick a fight with a wizard,” he sighed ruefully.

“Picking fights does seem to run in your family.”

“What do you mean by that?” Troyston asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowing.

“Only what you yourself were already thinking. That your father’s determination to end the Irontooth rule of Lordenor is going to lead to trouble.”

“It isn’t him that’s starting trouble,” Troyston growled, standing up again. “It’s Irontooth,” he sloshed towards the bank.

“You believe that?” the old man asked quietly, watching Troyston shrewdly.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “No,” he said a moment later. “I don’t know,” he finished, flinging his arms out in exasperation.

“I see,” the old man held out his staff. “Grab this.”

Troyston did so, and was hauled out of the water with unexpected strength. He eyed Fellirion warily as he pulled his tunic off over his head, wringing it out in a cascade of water.

“The thing to learn about politics,” Fellirion said conversationally as the young man watched the water drain from his clothing. “Is that everyone has their own agenda. Their own plan of how things should work. The problem arises when people become so set on those plans that they become as a tree: immovable, and uncaring to the world around them. All it takes is one person with an axe to bring them crashing down in ruin.”

“You’re saying you think my father isn’t caring about what’s happening? That he’s so determined to bring down Irontooth that he’s not looking for the truth? That it’s going to lead him to...” he trailed off.

“No,” the old man shook his head. “I don’t really know him well enough that I can judge. The question is, do you think that?”

Troyston took a breath, let it out slowly. He put his tunic flat out on the grass and ran his hands down his arms, flinging droplets to the ground. He looked at the old man. “Yes, I do,” he said sadly, squeezing water out of his blonde hair.

“Then we have a problem,” Fellirion nodded, his suspicion confirmed.

“My father is a good man,” Troyston said, as if trying to push the matter aside.

“I have no doubt about that,” Fellirion said softly. “Were he otherwise, he would not be chairman of the Freelands Council. But even the best of us may sometimes be... mistaken. Unfortunately, it is those of us in power who can least afford mistakes, for they tend to be rather larger than those of the common populace, and have significantly further reaching repercussions.”

Hanging his head, Troyston looked at the ground, shivering as the breeze blew across him. “I just don’t know what to do,” he said in a small voice, sounding suddenly very vulnerable.

“First of all, do not panic,” Fellirion said firmly. “And second, do not get angry,” his face broke into a smile as Troyston’s expression became sheepish.

“Are Lordenor and the Freelands still talking?” Fellirion asked.

“Barely,” Troyston’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“When is the next meeting planned?”

“King Irontooth has invited everyone to another state dinner tonight. I don’t know how many will attend though, my father has made it very clear that he will not... not after the last fiasco.”

“You will.”

“I will?” Troyston’s eyebrows went up another notch.

“Yes. I suspect you will find two things at this dinner. One will be troublemakers. You have already discovered this, I believe. How many people were taken to the infirmary after the last one? Well, never mind... The other thing you will find will be people like yourself who want to see relations patched up before they degenerate further.”

“I see,” Troyston frowned. “I think I understand you. You want me to find and talk to like minded people from Lordenor, and see if we can keep things going long enough to sort out who the real aggressor is.”

“Precisely. Do not underestimate the importance of this. If these talks go badly, the Freelands and Lordenor are likely to sever all ties and break into open hostility, which will not be good for anyone.”

Troyston nodded, swallowing.



“Your Highness?”

Aleana suppressed a groan. All she had wanted was a few moments alone to clear her head, couldn’t they leave her alone just for a little while? “Yes?” she turned, her best smile settling into place, no trace of her thoughts in her expression. She found herself looking up at a tall young man, slim and handsome, wearing a neat green tunic.

He bowed from the waist. “Troyston Goldwood of the Freelands, your highness.”

Aleana smiled. “Then you have no need to call me highness,” she said.

Troyston dipped his head. “May I talk to you, miss Irontooth?”

“You already are doing, mister Goldwood. Can I assume that your father is...”

“Tarwin Goldwood, miss. Head of the Freelands Council.”

“Ah, I had wondered if you were related when I saw you at the last meeting.”

“People say I have my father’s eyes,” Troyston smiled. “But fortunately the rest I take from my mother.”

Aleana smiled back, finding herself mildly amused by this well spoken young man.

“Do I recall rightly in seeing you overseeing several disputes in the last few days?” he asked.

“You do,” Aleana nodded. “Several for trade, one for fishing rights.”

“I am curious, miss Irontooth. Why do you take a part in such things?”

“Quite simple really, only one delegate and one aide may represent a Province of Lordenor, or a County of the Freelands. Since the king chooses to use my brother as his aide, and the nobles are free to choose their own, I volunteered to assist where I could.”

“And nobody has a problem with you assisting in negotiations between Provinces and Freelands, despite your status?”

Aleana blinked. “It is my duty to remain impartial in all such negotiations.”

“I see...” Troyston paused. “I have spoken to the Freelands representatives whose negotiations you have assisted, and they agree that you are indeed fair and impartial, even though you could give favour to your own people. I respect that, miss Irontooth, I respect that a lot. It makes me believe that I can trust you.”

Aleana nodded politely.

“Forgive my next question, I mean no offence by it, but it must be asked. As one who remains impartial and does not take sides, who do you believe is responsible for the attacks against the Freelands?”

Aleana straightened her back, looking for a moment taller than she was. “Not my father,” she said with conviction.

“I have your word on that?”

“You do,” she nodded, and he bowed his head.

“Miss Irontooth, if I may I would like to be frank with you, because I do not know what else to do,” Troyston said quietly. “I would like to talk to you honestly, and off the record, because I think it will help us both. I will tell you the truth as I know it. Will you do the same with me?”

Aleana paused, brushed her hair back, then nodded. “Yes.”

Troyston took a breath. “I do not know who is behind the attacks on Freelands towns. I do not believe you know either. Am I correct?”

“You are,” Aleana nodded again.

“My father believes that your father ordered the attacks. He is also not fond, if you will pardon my honesty, of your method of rule. He does not believe a monarchy is fair to the people.”

Aleana looked as if she was about to speak, but Troyston cut her off. “I do not speak for myself here, nor will it serve us to debate that particular argument. I have made visits to your towns near the border in the past, and your people seem as contented as those of my home county. I am quite willing to believe that your father’s rule is just, and fair. It does not seem likely to me that a ruler with aggressive tendencies would suffer towns in his kingdom which are as peaceful as those I have seen, which had negligible military presence. Nor do I think it likely that your father would destroy the decades of peace that has existed between our lands merely on a whim.

“I am left, therefore, with the challenge of finding out who is behind the attacks on our people. It has occurred to me that it could be a renegade faction within the Freelands. This does however seem unlikely. Anyone seeking to gain power within the Freelands could, in all honesty, take over a county, and send representatives to council meetings when required. For the most part the Freelands Council would be unaware of this unless someone actually bothered to visit the old representative,” he ran a hand across his left ear, looking rueful.

“But they would have nothing to gain from seemingly random attacks on small towns and shipping lanes. All that this would achieve would be to make it obvious that they are there. We do not, I must point out, approve of any of the counties in the Freelands falling under a dictatorship, and it is one of the few reasons the Freelands Council will authorise the mobilisation of the army.

“So I am left looking outside the Freelands. Barbarians? Perhaps, it has happened in the past, but never on this scale, and never so spread out. Then too, these attacks bear none of the classic signs of barbarian raids. No prisoners were taken. Nor, I feel, are the highland barbarians capable or motivated to raze every target to the ground.”

Aleana blinked, an expression of puzzlement slowly changing into one of comprehension as Troyston paused.

“Yes, I wondered if that was common knowledge. Miss Irontooth, I am not sure what we are dealing with here, but these are not ordinary raids, nor pirate attacks, and if you will forgive me, your reaction just now tells me that you truly knew nothing of this, for which I am glad.”

She shook her head. “All I have been told is that some of your towns were raided, the population killed. The townships were destroyed completely?”

“The buildings were smashed, and gutted by fires,” Troyston said grimly. “The towns whose destruction has been recorded are now nothing but rubble and ash. We know of no survivors.

“But if it is not a member of the Freelands committing these acts, and it is not the Barbarians, then who? Someone in Lordenor?” He went on quickly before Aleana could speak. “Not with your father’s knowledge. I have been present at a number of meetings with my father and yours, I do not believe that he would begin a war.

“What I am left with, miss Irontooth, is the likelihood that someone is playing us off against each other. Freelands fighting Lordenor, Lordenor fighting Freelands, and both our lands get weaker and weaker as time goes on. I need to find that person, miss Irontooth, and so do you, because sooner or later, they are going to decide that we are both weak enough and something will occur which I do not believe either of us will enjoy.”

Aleana looked up at him. “I can only agree with you, mister Goldwood. I know that my father would not threaten the peace, and I do not believe the Freelands would choose to do so either. But I do not know where to look for the person or people you believe are trying to start a war between our lands.”

“I can only suggest that we begin at home,” Troyston said, rubbing his temples.

“You think it is more likely that the trouble is being caused by someone in the Freelands or Lordenor? From inside?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “All I do know is that it will be considerably easier to check that first before we start investigating external sources. You are by your father's decree, a princess of Lordenor, and you have the power to investigate anything and anyone in your kingdom. How many of your nobles do you really trust? How many are you uncertain about? Someone somewhere knows what is going on, miss Irontooth, and the people close to them will know too.”

“I will see what I can do,” Aleana said softly. “Though it will be time consuming. I may have to personally investigate the estates of some of the nobles...”

“Use the ones you can trust,” Troyston pressed. “If you have to then send them into the estates of the others bearing your seal and demanding entry. Those loyal to you will take no offence because they will understand what you are doing. Those who object, those who deny entry...”

Aleana nodded. “I understand. You will do the same?”

“Yes,” Troyston nodded, his jaw set. “I will investigate all counties who sent new representatives this year, and those who sent none. If we have a rogue county, I believe I can find it quickly. If however, we have someone operating out of the Freelands, but who has not taken control of any part of them...”

“Let us hope that that is not the case,” she said grimly. “Else by the time we find them there will be nothing left of Lordenor or the Freelands ...”

Troyston was about to reply when there came the sound of raised voices through the door at the back of the balcony. A moment later a lupari appeared in the doorway.

“Mister Goldwood,” he panted. “Your father says you’re to return immediately, as are all other Freelands representatives.”

“What? That’s mad. Why?”

“News from Deepsby, sir. It’s been captured. They say the invaders were flying the banner of Lordenor.”

Troyston looked at Aleana, who shook her head, looking as alarmed as the he felt.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said quickly. “Remember what we said.” Aleana nodded. “Dammit,” he cursed as he strode through the doorway. “Dammit all to hell!”



“Father, I don’t think...”

“Don’t think what? That we should be hasty?” Tarwin glared at his son.

“Yes, I...”

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but Deepsby has fallen to Lordenor!”

“There’s no proof of that.”

“The army was flying their banner!” Tarwin thundered. “What more proof can you need?”

“Anyone can fly a banner,” Troyston protested.

“Oh yes, and ‘anyone’ can muster an army, right?”

The younger man hesitated, and his father continued. “You’re problem is you’re too afraid of a fight,” he growled. “We cannot sit idly by and watch as Lordenor walks all over us, the line must be drawn! It has been drawn. We will fight, we will take back what is ours, and we will make them regret every last soldier they landed on our beaches!”

“But...”

“Silence! Either you will help me do what must be done, or you will get out of my sight. Choose. Now.”

Troyston closed his eyes. What could he do? If he left, he would lose all contacts that he needed, if he stayed he had to try to convince his father he was supporting a war with Lordenor. An idea hit him. “I will help you, father,” he said, opening his eyes. “With your permission, I will travel to those counties who did not attend this year's meetings. I will take the news, and I will tell them to assemble troops.”

Tarwin smiled. “That’s my boy,” he patted the younger man on the shoulder. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, son.”



“So we’re just leaving?” Aleana protested as Maximilian glared out of the window.

“What else can we do?” the leonin growled. “Goldwood has made up his mind that he wants a war.”

“No, that’s...”

“You are quite right, father,” Tiernach said quietly. “We should leave. We will need time to assemble our full army. Defensively, of course,” he added, catching Aleana’s stare.

“But we didn’t...”

“I know we didn’t attack them,” Maximilian shouted before checking himself and lowering his voice. “I know that, but they believe we did, and that’s the end of the matter.”

“How can it be the end of the matter?” the young woman asked bitterly.

“It is difficult to negotiate a truce,” Tiernach stated softly. “When one side will not negotiate at all. If they will not talk, there is nothing we can do except make sure that we protect our own people.”

“So what, we assemble the army, march it down to the border and wait?” Aleana looked at him incredulously.

“Essentially, yes,” Tiernach looked back at her calmly. “What else would you have us do?”

“Talk to them about it!”

“Your words would fall on deaf ears,” the leonin shook his head.

“They already have fallen on deaf ears,” Maximilian growled. “Goldwood never wanted any other outcome from the first day we were here.”

“No, that’s not...” Aleana began.

“Return to your chambers, sister,” Tiernach cut her off. “We will be leaving at noon.”

“But...”

“Go,” Maximilian said firmly.

Aleana left, red cheeked and fuming.

“She means well, father,” Tiernach said, sounding sad, and Maximilian nodded. “I fear she simply does not understand that there are times when action must come before talk.”

“If it is action Goldwood wants, then by thunder I’ll give it to him,” Maximilian growled.



“That’s it, is it?” the voice floated softly out of the shadows.

“Wha...?” Troyston looked up blearily, realising he had fallen asleep at his desk, the first time he had slept in two days.

The white robed old man stepped into the firelight.

“You again,” Troyston muttered, his voice slurred. He put his head back on his desk.

Fellirion looked at the young man, at his haggard expression, the bags under his eyes, his rumpled clothing, and at the pair of wine bottles on the desk. He sighed.

“That won’t help, you know.”

“’S as much help as anyfing else I’ve done today...” Troyston mumbled, not raising his head.

“Not at all,” the old man sat upon a corner of the desk. “You found someone in Lordenor who, like yourself, wants to prevent a war.”

“’S not gonna help... everyone else is followin’ ‘im... ‘ole bleedin’ lot of ‘em... bloody pillocks...” he didn’t think to ask how Fellirion knew.

“They follow your father blindly because they are angry and frightened,” the old man said softly. “And because he offers a way to vent their anger. Soon enough they will realise that they don’t want a war.”

“Too late...” Troyston hiccupped unhappily. “’S too late, they signed ‘im emergency powers to create an army today. An’ I bloody well said I’d ‘elp ‘im sort it out...”

“Will you?”

“I don’t wanna,” Troyston sniffed, raising his head, his blonde hair a messy frame for his tired face. “Gods know I don’t wanna, but I dunno what else to do!”

“You will do what you planned to do,” Fellirion said, patting the younger man’s shoulder. “You search the Freelands, you will look for any sign of the real source of the attacks. All you need is proof, bring that before the council, and they will reconsider.”

Laying his head on his arms, Troyston groaned. “I can’t search all the Freelands... it’s too much...”

“All journeys must start with a single step,” Fellirion said gently. “What you told your father was a good plan, you did well.”

“You think?” the young man seemed to perk up slightly at the praise.

Fellirion nodded. “It gives you reason to travel the Freelands, and keeps you in contact with the council, which you would otherwise not be.”

“Well... I s’pose...”

“And Princess Aleana will be doing the same in Lordenor.”

This time Troyston caught the comment. “’Ow did you know about ‘er?” he asked, hiccupping again.

“Good ears,” the old man smiled. “And I was on the balcony beneath yours,” he winked.

Troyston looked impressed. “Crafty old bugger...”

“Exactly, so you listen to this crafty old bugger when he tells you that your plan was good. All you need is to get over the initial shock and get on with it.”

The young man looked at the bottles. “Sorry...” he mumbled.

Fellirion patted his shoulder again. “Never mind, never mind. Let’s not cry over spilt milk, eh? Oh, speaking of which,” he crossed over to the table in the corner, returning with a glass of white liquid. “Drink this, you’ll feel better.”

The young man looked wearily at the milk, then drank it in one long swallow.

“Now, bed,” the old man muttered, hoisting Troyston out of his chair and negotiating him to the bed at the side of the room. It creaked loudly as he fell on it.

“Dear me,” Fellirion grumbled, looking down as Troyston started snoring softly. “Well, better he start late than never I suppose.”



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