Luminous mushrooms, previously just common frills of brown that had grown along fissures in the mossy bark, glowed with a fierce, green light. Above, blue shone out from the undersides of the branches – glow-worms with incandescent strands of silk dangling like blue gossamer. Even as he marvelled, the fireflies ascended from the wood floor below, a drifting cloud of orange sparks that swirled around them. It was a kaleidoscope of colours, which cast the entire network of branches in an eerily shifting light.
‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ the king said. ‘Edmund wrote about it to me, years back. He was often in the Great Forest then, negotiating a trade agreement with the elven clans. Bows, leather, furs and medicines – all were much-needed commodities in Hominum. He dreamed of a society where elves and men could walk each other’s lands, with free trade and movement for all. Of course, it all fell apart when he died.’
Fletcher listened closely, eating up every morsel of information he could about his parents. He wished he knew what they looked like. With a twinge, he realised that, in a way, he already did. Had he seen Zacharias’s wife in the crowd during the Tournament and the trial? It was hazy in his memory, but he could just about picture a blond lady, sitting close beside Lord Faversham. He supposed he had inherited his dark hair from his father.
‘Can you tell me more … about my parents?’ Fletcher asked timidly.
Harold gave a deep sigh, leading Fletcher on to a bridge to another branch.
‘Edmund was my closest friend and Alice … well … if things had gone another way, she might have been my wife. But, I could never get in the way of their happiness. You’re all that’s left of the two people I loved the most.’
Fletcher looked into Harold’s face and saw sorrow there. Perhaps a sadness that he had kept hidden for a long time, even from the nobles he considered friends. It would not do for a king to show his emotions.
Fletcher had always imagined the king to be a calculating, indomitable figure. Instead, he found a kindhearted man with a deep sense of morality, but who was utterly alone and powerless to make the changes he dreamed of.
‘I wish I could help you,’ Fletcher said. ‘I can fight them in the open, while you work against them in the shadows. But I am just one boy. There’s not much I can do.’
‘You’re a Raleigh now – there’s plenty you can do,’ Harold disagreed, as the branch they walked upon ended at a large hollow in the centre of a particularly thick tree trunk. ‘The first of which is casting your vote as a member of the council, a right you earned when you won the Tournament. The elven clan chiefs and the dwarven elders will be in attendance too. It’s the first time this has happened in the history of our peoples. It’s time to solidify the alliance of men, dwarves and elves, once and for all.’
Fletcher gulped as they walked into the shadowed entrance of the trunk.
‘When will that be?’ he asked.
‘Right now.’
15
Just inside the entrance, two elves stood against the walls, barring the way with their swords, each as long as a spear.
Fletcher recognised them from his blacksmithing days as falx swords, made up of an unusually long handle that could be gripped with two hands and an even longer meandering blade, shaped like the end of a bow.
The curved edge gave them an axe-like quality, with the long handle giving the sword extra leverage for swinging and parrying. They were fearsome blades, and if he remembered correctly, they were the chosen weapons of the elven people.
‘It’s OK, let them through.’ Sylva’s voice came from the darkness beyond.
She stepped out of the shadows. Fletcher was surprised to see that she had her own falx strapped to her back, as well as a supple bow and loaded quiver. Her hair, usually loose and flowing, was now knotted into an oiled, single braid that fell over her shoulder and down to her navel, with a jade stone set on the end to weigh it down.
But what drew Fletcher’s eye most was not her weapons, but the lamellar armour she wore. It was made up of hundreds of rectangular pieces of leather, each one pierced in four corners and laced to those around it. It hugged her body closely, flexing and loosening with each step she took towards them. Her limbs were protected by thigh, shin, shoulder and wrist guards, and the entire ensemble had been lacquered to shine dark green.
‘Well, we are here for a war council.’ She blushed with a rueful smile, seeing Fletcher’s admiration.
Harold gave her a respectful nod and walked on, through the darkness of the passageway and into a room lit by flickering torches. Sylva followed behind without a backwards glance.