[narrative] he knew human folly like the back of his hand

[apostatised]

Winter is a miserable time to go to war - in particular due to winter being a miserable time to tramp down from the mountains - but the frost should have broken at least by the time they're passing Maghu, and between then and now Martel ought to have plenty of time to regret agreeing to this. It's a profitable thing, though, and God knows it's worthwhile to establish his contacts in the flatlands sooner rather than later. He treats it like an idle stroll in the countryside, the way he and Kalten used to look at each other and shrug instead of bothering to consider that the sometimes chillingly casual attitude of Pandions toward their violence wasn't normal or appropriate; where they knew what lay beneath that, he wonders where the differences lie between himself and the nearest and dearest of worlds he still doesn't understand and doesn't care to find out this way. All things in Martel's life come down to perception, sooner or later; Candice knows better, sees through him, and then he feels the most secure in his decisions.

Having learned a long time ago that shrugging off any battle is tantamount to suicide, regardless of skill or experience, he ignores the cheerful fiction that he's along to do nothing more than grease wheels and prevent Koleika from finding himself in the position of threatening another Treborean nobleman - he would've ignored it even if it were true, because a diplomat bleeds just the same as anyone else. Easier, usually, in Martel's long and storied history.

Despite what will be weeks, maybe months, of his absence - he chooses not to mention what he's doing to more than a few people, and none of them outside his home are informed of anything like 'when' or 'where' or 'why'. Sparhawk and Martel are alike in some ways more than others, and their habitual secret-keeping is nothing especially new. He thinks of his brother in a detached sort of a way, and occupies some evenings penning the first [eight] drafts of a letter that he will send. He finally does early one morning before they break camp, twisting enchantment around a pathway into the nexus instead of bothering with a messenger that almost certainly wouldn't be able to find him.

S.

Come to your senses yet?

I've attached directions to the portal I found. It's safe either side, near as I can tell, but for what I assume are painfully obvious reasons I haven't had the occasion to go through and be utterly sure that it's going to the right world. You'll come out on a beach opposite Thalesia's strait, if I'm any judge, so I suggest finding yourself a horse in the interim. Faran will find it somewhere in his black and volatile heart to forgive you the infidelity, I'm sure. Every means I can devise to test it indicates it's the right world. There's only one way left to find out, and my brother, better you than me.

If you haven't come to your senses - marvelous. As much as I could go a hundred years (and well might; evidently the physiology of a resurrected soul isn't entirely unlike that of a troll) without seeing Elenia again, happily, my wife is interested in visiting. Discreetly. Apparently I have myself a sentimentalist; she also thinks this is a good idea. There are many, many things that you and I need to talk about before we do any such damn thing - and they'll have to wait, I'm doing a friend of mine a favour with his little war - but as I can't be sure you remember how our conversation turned out (was it very good wine, old boy?) I felt obliged to properly indicate my willingness to be reasonable.

You'll find instructions on the spell I use to send letters through the nexus with this, too, and I feel confident that you can master something simple enough for even Kalten's understanding of sorcery. If you hurry home, mother might help you with the tricky parts.

Your brother,
M.

There have probably been warmer invitations to reconciliation, and there have almost certainly been kinder ways of helping a brother; he doubts Sparhawk would trust his aid if it came gently, and rightly so. The best way of determining an Elene's sincerity in his concern for you is judging how annoyed he seems to be about the inconvenience.

(He has no intention of riding into a battle with these worries still hanging over his head. Sparhawk has the means of getting back to his child-bride now, and he can do with it what he will.)