Stars of Pale Fire

IV. A Solid Trail.

  They leave town before dawn the next day, which is quite possibly the worst decision anyone has ever made in their entire life. Silver rides alongside Clover in a miserable state of exhaustion. He didn't get much sleep, past his random midnight awakening and Eithulf's obnoxious snoring. Clover is a good riding companion: she doesn't talk. Ever.

  About an hour onto the road, which is directly towards the sun and a terror on Silver's eyes, Elyon stops everyone, leaping off his horse and sprinting into the tall grass nearby. Silver stares at him, baffled, and Clover heaves a sigh.

  "This better not be another false alarm," Eithulf calls grumpily from somewhere near the front. "I've had enough false alarms for a lifetime."

  "Shut your trap," Elyon calls back, and Silver cranes his neck to see him. He can't really see around the line of horses and people, but he can just make out the top of Elyon's head as he bends down into the grass. "Gwyn. Come here, I need your eyes." Silver thinks that's a disturbing turn of phrase, picturing Elyon holding Gwynestri's golden eyes in one hand.

  Gwynestri dismounts and crosses to Elyon, her expression intent.. Clover begins to braid her hair almost absentmindedly. Silver lifts his gaze, staring intently at the clouds. When he was young, he could make shapes of the clouds. Nowadays they just look like clouds. He stares at one, trying to conjure a shape from it. It looks like a legless, tailless, headless sheepâ€"a cloud, in other words. Silver rubs his eyes wearily.

  "YES!" Elyon cries, popping up from the grass. Gwynestri goes and remounts her horse, unconcerned. Elyon sprints and all but leaps into his, positively glowing with exultation. "Finally! Let us ride with haste, now that we've got a good enough reason!"

  "Do you have a solid enough trail?" Gwynestri asks.

  "Gwyn, I could pick this idiot out of a crowd right now. He's a needle in a haystack, and I just found a magnet." Elyon acts as though these words make sense. "Come on!"

  They start up again, Elyon taking the lead. Halberd falls in beside Clover and Silver. "You think he knows what he's doing?" He asks out of the corner of his mouth.

  "No," Silver says, just as Clover says, "Yes." They both exchange a glance.

  "Elyon is a smart man," Clover says, "and he's got more power than we can comprehend."

  "I can comprehend it just fine," Halberd says blandly. "He's a moron."

  "No," Silver says, and Halberd and Clover both look at him. Silver gazes at nothing intently, recalling with sudden clarity a pair of shimmering silver eyes. "He's reckless and overconfident, but he's no moron."

  "You talk for a lot of authority for a fourteen year old kid," Halberd asserts.

  "Have you ever talked to a fourteen year old?" Clover asks him wearily, her expression speaking volumes.

  "What does that have to do with anything?" Halberd demands archly.

  Clover regards Halberd for a moment, and he grins, raising a brow. Clover sighs, and shakes her hair loose from her braid, using it as a barrier between her and Halberd. "You're such an infurâ€"infuriâ€"you're such an annoying conversationalist."

  "I think the word you're looking for is infuriating, sweetheart." Halberd grins like he isn't going to die from saying this. Silver wonders if he has clothing for a funeral. Probably not. He wonders what Halberd would want people to wear at his funeral.

  Clover inhales deeply, and then she snaps her reins and drives ahead. Halberd laughs.

  "Don't tease her." Silver whips around in his saddle. Glaive gazes at them. When did she get there? She's like a ghost sometimes. "Clover can't help it," she says, giving Glaive a disapproving glare.

  "I can't, either." Halberd assumes a tragic expression. "It's a condition."

  Somehow, Glaive doesn't seem to believe him. Silver doesn't believe him, either. That's the tragedy of being Halberd, he supposes. No one trusts you. Probably because you're untrustworthy.

  "In any case," Halberd says, straightening up in his saddle, "Clover could probably fold me like a towel, so I'm not all that concerâ€""

  Silver hears a strange sort of whistling through the air, and one of his hands snaps up without his meaning it to do any such thing. He catches an arrow straight from the air. Momentum carries it a bit farther, scraping up his hand. Silver stares at it. Halberd and Glaive stare at it, too, before they all come to the same conclusion: if there's an arrow, there must be an archer.

  Halberd says, "Silver, duck," and Glaive pulls a knife from within her sleeve. Reaper snarls, raising his hackles.

  "I said," a voice yells, carrying on the wind, "sneak up and capture them! What part of that means shoot, you fool?!"

  Elyon yells down the line, "Stand down!" and Halberd and Glaive shoot him identical annoyed looks.

  A man appears over the crest of the hill, covered in gleaming silver armor, and Silver feels like he's been shot in the eye, the arrow falling from his hand.

  "Traitor!"
 
  Silver blocks the punch aimed at his face, and knocks Poppy back several paces with a blow to her collarbone. She glares at him, eyes afire, and bares her teeth. They are, Silver notes, unusually sharp.

  "I hope you rot!" She yells as two guards seize her by the arms and drag her backwards. "I hope your grandmother spits on your grave! I hope your mother only remembers you as the vaguest, worst memory!"

  "Feisty," Silver says dryly, removing his helmet. He sets it down, idly ruffling his hair. He looks at the king, who gazes at Poppy listlessly. "Shall we hold a trial, Your Majesty?"

  "No point." The king sighs, throwing a leg over the leg and raking his hair back. Silver grits his teeth. The insolence of a teenager. "After all, we know what she is, right, Crimson? One of those… things." He says it like he's identifying a mildly disgusting insect. "No sense in holding a trial for proof we already have."

  Silver replies, "As you wish, Your Majesty," and reaches for his sword.

  "Silver! Up and at 'em!"

  Silver lifts his head, and looks at Halberd. Halberd gestures with his jaw, and Silver realizes sharply that they're surrounded. Soldiers on every side, armored in gleaming steel and holding sharp lances. Silver reaches instinctively and pulls his hood up, his heartbeat quickening. His past experiences with soldiers are… unpleasant, suffice to say. He resists the urge to leap off of Knife and make a run for itâ€"after all, where would he go?

  "Well, Elyon, Gwynestri," the leader of the soldiers says, pulling his helmet off to reveal a mop of curly black hair. "I'm afraid you're under arrest."

  "For what?" Elyon snaps. Reaper is with him, Silver realizes, and he looks mad.

  "That's for the king to decide."