On this occasion, over a pale yellow gown, she wore the added finery of her official status. As a Speaker of Lore, she wore a deep green cloak trimmed in the pale green of new leaves. Both the colors and the decoration had meaning. The deep green of mature leaves signified the ages of elven history. The light green of the trim was made up of thousands of tiny magic runes that helped her draw on knowledge new to her.
With Glisinda to his right and Relcan, his second-in-command, to his left, Eyrmin indicated the circle for the council.
The speakers numbered ten. Eyrmin, Relcan, and Glisinda represented the elves. Five halflings—three of whom were so alike they had to be triplets, a fourth that was elderly and gray haired on head and toes, and the fifth a young woman with short, shining golden curls—represented the refugees. The two goblins made up the rest of the circle.
Relcan glared at the goblins and objected to their presence, but the prince wanted them there because he had questions for the humanoids.
Every elf, save those patrolling the eaves of the wood, was present, as were all the halflings. Many sat on the ground. Those on the outside of the circle stood to see over the heads of the others.
As prince, Eyrmin had the right to speak first, and he opened the council.
“It is said that to speak of evil in the night is to draw it to the speaker, so we will ask our questions in the light of day.” He waited, giving everyone a chance to absorb his first words. Then he turned his attention to the halflings.
“It is also said that many on Aebrynis refuse to speak of the Shadow World, that by not giving voice to their thoughts, they can deny its existence. Would that we could do the same, but only the foolish deny what their own eyes have seen. We need to know of this world you left and why it is intruding on our world.”
Eyrmin looked to the elder halfling, expecting him to answer. He stood and bowed.
“I am Oles Digdown, elder of our clan. My valued companions”—he pointed first to the triplets—“are Bigtoe, Littletoe, and Fleetfoot Rootfinder, the sons of our hereditary leader, though they arc not yet old enough to take on the burden of leading their people. Beyond them is Tala Hedgeneath. Tala will speak of our history,” he said and sat down again.
Tala rose and took one pace out into the circle. Like the triplets, she seemed young, and her face was childlike as she composed herself and clasped hands behind her back. The hem of her soil-stained skirt swayed as she rocked slightly. Then she began the history of the halflings in a lilting, singsong voice of recitation.
“Remember the golden time of long ago when light sprang bright with the day and flowers grew. Remember laughter and dance and know you will find them again.
“The darkness came, and with it, creatures that are dead and yet walk and destroy all nature. The crops turned rank….” Tala looked around desperately as if she had lost her concentration.
“Everything tasted like straw,” corroborated Bigtoe, filling the gap.
“Terrible,” added Littletoe.
“Made you belch,” volunteered Fleetfoot.
Tala recaptured her memory and went on with her tale as if her chorus did not exist.
“The crops turned rank,” she repeated with more confidence.
“Remember the flight for safety from the hordes, and slavery. Remember the hiding, the hunger, and death. Remember the good, and know the fear. Freedom is at hand.”
Tala stepped back and took her seat with a sigh as if glad her part of the council was over.
Oles Digdown rose again. “The evil came to our world centuries ago, and this is all the history of our land and our trouble that we know. Tala was learning from our loremasters, but they fell in the last battle. This knowledge is all we can offer in gratitude that you opened the portal for us.”
“But we didn’t open it,” Relcan objected. As if he needed reassurance, he snapped his head around to look over his shoulder at Saelvam and Malala.
The elves and halflings stared at each other. Eyrmin glanced at the goblins, who shrugged their shoulders in unison.
“Didn’t do it,” Bersmog said.
A complete stillness descended as the assembled group pondered the mystery. Even the children, sensing the importance of the council, were quiet and still. Minutes dragged by. A rabbit, knowing he had nothing to fear from the elves, hopped into the center of the circle and came to a stop two feet from Bersmog before it sensed a being that was not Sidhelien.
The forest creature panicked and dashed away, jumping first onto Relcan and rebounding off the elf and onto one of the triplet halflings before it found a way through the crowds and out of the circle. A young halfling shrieked in delight and five others followed him as he ran after the rabbit.
The contemplative spell had been broken.
Eyrmin turned his head to look inquiringly at Glisinda. As a Speaker of Lore, she would give them the answer to their questions, if any elf knew the answer.
As if obeying an unspoken command, she stood, slowly raising her arms and placing her fingers on the runes that trimmed the shoulders of her cloak. Her face was serene, her eyes staring into unmeasured distance as she lightly ran her fingers across the magic symbols that trimmed the shoulders, neck, and front of her cloak of office. Around her, the air sparkled with magic, and many of the halflings drew back. Some were fearful, but most seemed to realize there was no evil in the magic. They laughed and clapped, highly entertained.
For more than two minutes Glisinda stood enveloped in a sparkling glow. Then it faded, and she took her seat again.
“The Sidhelien have no magic to open the portals,” she said quietly. “It is believed that some human wizards have the magic to do so, but we know nothing of their skills.”
“Then what happened?” Elder Oles Digdown shook his gray head. “King Mmaadag Cemfrid would not provide us with an escape. If it was not you, or us, or the goblins, then was it only an accidental happening?”
“No, it was not accidental,” Eyrmin said softly. Every eye turned toward him, the halflings with interest and the elves in surprise. Obviously he knew something they did not.
“During the last century, we have had several reports of halflings seen leaving the eaves of Sielwode. We know they could not have entered from the plain without being seen.”
A gust of chill wind blew across the meadow. Even the elves looked up as leaves fluttered and sailed on the freshening breeze. When the gust died, the halfling elder shivered as he offered his opinion.
“The halflings you speak of must have escaped through the portal. Perhaps some can open it at will, but we do not know the secret.”
Many of the elves appeared doubtful, and Oles Digdown saw their lowered brows.
“You avenged many of my people when you slew the dread king Mmaadag Cemfrid,” he said to Eyrmin. “Among the avenged were our mages and loremasters. Those of us who still live are only farmers and workers of wood. We are ignorant of magic.”
“There was fear and rage on both sides of the portal,” Glisinda said. Anger attracts anger, and fear draws evil to it. Similar emotions on both planes might have opened the portal.”
“This is true,” Bigtoe agreed.
“Very true,” Littletoe concurred.
“I’m thirsty,” announced Fleetfoot.
No one paid any attention to the triplets, whose only contribution to the council seemed to be the chorus of agreement on points they found of interest.
The council had made no decisions, it had discovered no useful information, but even Cald knew they were not finished with the Shadow World.
Four
When the council in the meadow ended, the sky was growing darker, though the air had the healthy, natural feel of an approaching storm. Malala suggested the elves invite the halflings into the shelter of the village; Eyrmin, with a natural sensitivity for others, had a different suggestion. He had remembered a place where the burrow dwellers would feel far more at home.