The elves traded glances, their eyes full of questions. Even Cald felt the prince had shied away from a full explanation of his experience. His excuse for their sudden exit from the grove was unconvincing and left everyone wondering.
They had not gone far when they heard a strange birdsong among the trees, and light footsteps following. Half a score of demihumans appeared from between the trees. More joined them, and soon fifty trudged along in the wake of the five elves and the human boy.
When the first halflings had begun to arrive, Eyrmin had looked back, his eyes flickering with thought. Then he turned to continue the trek to the village.
“Send them on their way. They shouldn’t be here,” Relcan demanded.
Eyrmin shook his head. “I will speak with them first.”
“They’re too weary to be sent on their way today,” Malala said. She walked with a slight limp, and her shoulders slumped, a sign of her own fatigue.
Relcan nearly stumbled over a tree root as he glared at her. He hitched his sword belt higher with a series of short jerks and slapped the scabbard repeatedly in his irritation.
“Will you fill Sielwode with every race that would enter it until there’s no longer room for your own people?” he asked the female elf. He was using his criticism of her to voice his objections to the prince’s tolerance of the halflings.
“We will not fault these halflings for entering Sielwode. They were only trying to flee the evils of the Shadow World,” Eyrmin said, biting off each word until it stood out with crisp clarity. “You fought the creatures that followed them; would you send them back rather than allow them to cross our land? Are we that poor, that we cannot give temporary shelter to those who mean us no harm?”
“How do we know they mean us no harm?” Relcan asked, glancing back over his shoulder as if he expected a diminutive spear in the back at any moment.
“I’ve had enough battle for one day,” Eyrmin said. “Leave it for now.”
The elves led the way to the Star Mirror Stream and crossed by the stepping-stones that rose just inches out of the swirling water. Behind them, several of the following halflings slipped from the widely spaced stones and fell in. They were in no danger, because the fast-moving stream was only a foot deep. The others, nearly hysterical with the relief of having escaped the Shadow World and happy to leave behind the oppressive atmosphere of the Muirien Grove, laughed with delight.
Cald turned to watch the small people and frowned. He had heard tales of the ones who lived in Sielwode. They were always described as stout and dressed in bright clothing. These halflings were nearly as thin as elves and were clothed in well-worn garments. The bottoms of the males’ trousers and the hems of the females’ skirts were black with the soil of travel. Dirt spotted the rest of their clothing, too, but they were not filthy. Red, yellow, blue, and green showed through the soil of travel and time, but the shades were dull, as if the dyes had been impure.
While he watched, a female plucked a leaf from a plant on the edge of the stream and held it against her dull green skirt. In seconds, she was surrounded by other female halflings, who exclaimed over the brightness of the leaf.
“They seem happy enough,” Eyrmin remarked.
“So have many humans while they were cutting trees at the edge of the forest,” Relcan retorted. Though he seemed ready to make another remark, Eyrmin frowned at him, and he closed his mouth with a snap.
They were entering the trees again when from behind them they heard a large splash and a growl.
“Need more stones, Bersmog,” a goblin said shortly.
“Make bigger jump, Stognad,” his companion replied.
“Now you say.”
The elves stopped and looked back. The goblins had given up on the ford and were wading through the water. They had brought along the carcasses of the slain deer.
When the elves halted, the halflings who followed bunched up behind them. The goblins waded through the little people and stopped in front of Eyrmin.
“Bersmog say is shame to let good food rot,” Stognad said, willing to let his friend carry the blame was well as his share of the load.
“Are they going to smell up the village cooking flesh?” Malala demanded. She had been the first to admit an obligation to the goblins, but their habit of eating flesh disgusted her.
“If they cook it, they’ll do it in the forest,” Eyrmin said. He gazed at the demihumans, who were eyeing the carcasses hopefully. “And they can share with the halflings.” He looked back at the goblins.
“Later I’ll have questions for you, so you are to remain in the forest tonight. You will not be harmed.”
“Then can cook meat,” Stognad grinned.
Since the elves allowed no wood to be burned, they reluctantly supplied woven grass logs for fuel, and the goblins took the venison into the forest. Eyrmin ordered two of the elves to lead some of the halfling men to the plain of Markazor to cut more grass for weaving into logs. Meanwhile, the halfling women butchered the meat and set it to cooking.
That night, the woods around the elven village rang with happy, lilting voices. As was the way with their resilient race, the halflings put aside their experience of the afternoon and enjoyed their new freedom from fear.
Cald, not sure what he thought about these little people, slipped from tree to tree and watched them. He also watched the two goblins, who sat together under a tree and oversaw the preparation of their kill. From the stories Cald had heard of goblins, the silence and meek attitude of these two seemed totally out of character.
The battle at the portal had begun just after midday, and so much had happened it seemed strange to Cald that the sun was still high in the sky. The day darkened, and as he looked up, he saw gray clouds rolling in, obscuring the sun.
Watching the goblins and the halflings was more interesting than remaining in the elven village. Word of the portal and the battle with the people from the Shadow World had flashed through the village. Like those who had been in the grove, the other villagers needed to absorb this new happening. Every elf mind was turned in on itself.
Usually, important elven councils were held at night, under the lights of Tallamai. But when the visitors to Sielwode had filled their stomachs, Eyrmin called for a council to meet. The folk gathered in a pleasant, flower-dotted meadow, open to the sky and as bright as the gathering clouds would allow.
To the halflings, after the darkness of the Shadow World, even an overcast day on Aebrynis was glorious. They ran about picking the bright wildflowers until their leader shouted for them to cease lest the elves drive them out of the forest. They were so excited over the color and the light, he was unable to subdue their enthusiasm. In the end, it was not the halfling leader, but the arrival of Prince Eyrmin and Glisinda that brought the demihumans to order.
To Cald, the prince was a constant delight of changing moods, with a full-blown personality to fit every occasion. Eyrmin could be as lively and merry as a young elf, then suddenly serious and wise, and then ruthlessly fierce. But he was most impressive of all when he acted as direct descendent of his line of kings, which stretched into historical obscurity.
The importance of the council had brought out Eyrmin’s royal heritage. He stood no taller and still wore the battle-stained clothing in which he had fought. Still, the set of his face, his regal bearing, and the look of authority in his eyes brought silence to everyone in the clearing. A sense of honor, justice, and clarity of thinking robbed his expression of all petty concerns. His eyes held unfathomable depths of wisdom, and his brow was smooth and unlined.
Cald swelled with pride to think this glorious person was his foster father.
Still it was Glisinda who awed the halflings. An elf of surpassing beauty, her love of finery was legend among the elves. When she was in the village, she wore bright clothing, lavishly trimmed. She was a gleam of brightness among the greens and browns of the forest elves, like a bright bird flitting through the dark forest.