Chapter Thirty-Four

When Eliot left Deverell in the early hours, the distinct lack of light made it difficult for him to see Marcelin clearly where she stood by the house, a ghostly silhouette in her pale clothing.

With the cat in a cage secured to the pack horse, Eliot sat, half-turned in the saddle, as he walked Fordel away. His gaze remained fixed on his mother who had her hand raised in farewell and only straightened once he was past the gate. He nodded to Perrin, stood by the gate, as the man quietly wished him a safe journey; unasked, the faithful butler had been there to help as Eliot prepared to leave.

Eliot wondered when Climence would discover he’d gone, along with the cat, harp, and dagger. His heart constricted with worry for his mother and sister even though Marcelin had assured him they’d be fine.

Leighton had received Marcelin’s letter and had sent a delighted, albeit troubled, reply. So, Eliot knew that, on his return, they’d finally be leaving Deverell, and that eased his worry.

Then he remembered Lina’s tearful reaction on being told his mission, and his posture sagged. She’d clung to him, convinced he was riding into danger, and begged him not to go. Marcelin had managed to calm her, but she’d still wept when he’d bid her goodnight the night before. Minette’s assurance that she’d look after Lina did little to alleviate the wretchedness he felt.

He looked at the cat, lying quietly in the cage, being rocked side to side by the horse’s gait. Despite his unease, he had to smile at the cat’s seemingly calm demeanour, at odds with its challenging behaviour earlier when he’d tried to get it in the cage. He considered himself lucky that all he’d suffered was a slash on his left palm. He wondered if it had objected because he’d tried to get it in the cage instead of letting it enter on its own as it usually did.

Eliot had been to Granville the day before to tell Bertran and Renard of Tulash, and Marcelin’s decision. After giving Eliot directions to Cloud Mountain, Bertran had said one of his trusted men would accompany Eliot and would meet him at the crossroads that led to Beckway and Floret.

Turning his attention to his surroundings, he couldn’t decide if he liked the early morning silence, punctuated with intermittent birdcalls and the steady thud of the horses’ hooves. Riding past the neighbour’s orchards with the fragrance of overripened fruit hanging in the air, it seemed strange not hearing the familiar sound of workers’ voices.

The sky began to brighten with streaks of pink and orange as he neared the crossroads. Slowing down, he looked around for Bertran’s man.

“You took your time.”

Startled, Eliot’s eyes bulged as Renard walked Tas out from behind a clump of trees.

“Why are you gawping?” said Renard. “Surely you can’t be surprised that it’s me going with you?”

“But you can’t–”

“Can’t what? Can’t go with you? I’m not asking your permission, my friend, I’m telling you, I’m the trusted man who’s going with you. After you left yesterday, I told Father, and he agreed.”

Eliot opened his mouth to argue then stopped. If their positions were switched, he knew, without a doubt, he’d be by Renard’s side. His smile gradually widened as unexpected relief washed over him.

The sun climbed higher in the ever-lightening sky, pushing back the shadows, and more bird sounds filled the air. As the riders skirted one of the many small pockets of forest, Fordel kicked a stone, sending it clattering through the brush. An unseen animal, clearly startled, went skittering away from them, causing the horses to toss their heads and snort.

Eliot kept glancing at Renard. “You will let me know, won’t you, when you need to rest.”

“I’m fine. I can rest when the horses rest.” He fixed Eliot with a steady stare. “I am fine.”

Eliot returned his attention to the way ahead. He knew long hours in the saddle aggravated the pain in Renard’s leg, the pain he never complained about.

Although the accident that had caused Renard’s injury had been years ago, Eliot couldn’t shake the guilt that still clung to him. In the weeks following Dacey’s death, Eliot had wanted to run from the pain of losing another father. While out riding with Renard, Eliot had suggested they gallop even though neither really knew how. Renard’s horse had slipped, thrown him then landed on his leg. It had been many months before he could walk, and longer still before he could ride. Yet, not once, had Renard or his parents ever blamed Eliot.

“I wonder if he knows where we’re going,” said Eliot as they rested close to a creek with its calming sound of water burbling over rocks.

The cat’s behaviour was proving to be exemplary, considering he’d been confined to a cage for more than a day. No matter which way the cage was placed, he would turn to face the direction of the mountain.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” said Renard. “He’s proved himself more intelligent than an average cat. From his eyes alone, I’m sure it’s safe to assume cats of tall-folk are a different breed to ours.” After a pause, he continued. “He’s been with you now, how long has it been?”

“About a month. I’m glad we’re taking him back to his home, his owners, but I can’t imagine not having him around, I’ve grown rather fond of him,” he said with a sad smile.

“You could always get another tall-folk cat.”

Eliot shook his head. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

They fell silent, Eliot’s gaze still on the cat. “Do you think I should tell his owners about Tulash?”

Renard nodded. “They need to be alert to the possibility there might be another attempt to take the cat, never mind anything else. Living alone on the mountain makes them vulnerable. If they were in Aiqos, I doubt Tulash or Garlon would risk it. I’ve been wondering, ever since you mentioned them, where Tulash and his master come from.”

“I was hoping Uncle Bertran would know when he said he remembered Kashar being at court.”

“I asked him again. He said he kept away from Kashar, something about the man made him uneasy.”

With a sigh, Eliot got to his feet, cup in his bandaged hand, and held his other hand out for Renard’s cup. Steadying himself on the uneven ground, he stepped closer to the creek to fill their cups.

The warm breeze picked up, sending a ripple through the leaves overhead.

“When all this is over,” said Renard, “and before we’re assigned our postings, we could visit Aiqos.”

Straightening, Eliot stared at him.

“Lord Jarek invited both of us, remember, and Master Aridai has already expressed an interest in having you there, no doubt to speak about your tall-folk family. And it will be the perfect chance to meet them,” finished Renard, grinning. The excitement that had overtaken Renard after Eliot had told him of his tall-folk heritage had threatened to outmatch Eliot’s, much to the latter’s amusement.

A lopsided smile on his face, Eliot slowly nodded.

“Also,” continued Renard, “we should make plans to do this whenever the opportunity presents itself.”

Sitting back down, Eliot raised his brows.

“Spend time out in the country. Not simply a few hours riding but days, like this.” He gestured around them with his piece of bread.

“I like the sound of that.” Having camped out for two nights already, Eliot knew nothing could now compare with the forest at dawn; the reassuringly earthy smell of night dampness still lingering in the air and the early light flickering through the branches, softening the shadows.