The evening was too far advanced for Cald to see the patterns. He usually enjoyed this time, watching the flickering lights from the oddly shaped windows throw out patterns of half-ovals, triangles, and diamonds. The windows took on life from the flickering torches inside the buildings and provided opportunities to spot the prince.
Then he saw the three elves walking slowly around a bole bridge, talking with Asteriela, one of the warriors who had been on perimeter patrol that day. Cald hunched his shoulders against the cold rising wind and curbed his impatience. They had somehow been delayed, so Cald would be in time to hear what had happened to distract Eyrmin. They would not speak of it until they were alone.
Five minutes later, the three elves had entered the prince’s house. Below Cald’s perch, Eyrmin paced back and forth across a floor mat woven of dyed grass.
“I’ll worry about the goblins later,” he was saying to Relcan. He sounded cross.
“Something else happened in Muirien Grove,” Glisinda said, raising the issue that had brought her to the prince’s quarters. “A song you are not ready to sing?” She gazed calmly at Eyrmin, who dipped his head, acknowledging her ability to see beyond the obvious.
“One I have not yet set to a tune,” Eyrmin said. “Until I have thought on its measure, I will share it with none but the two of you.”
He took a flask from a hook on the wall and filled three goblets with wine. The other elves sat patiently, knowing he was gathering his thoughts.
After he had handed around the goblets, he took a seat on one of the floor cushions and gazed at Glisinda.
“It was you, I think, who suggested that anger drew anger, and fear drew fear. Could it be true also that the spirits of the dead attract other spirits, be they ghouls and skeletons or bodiless souls?”
Relcan choked on his wine and set the goblet aside with an awkward clatter unusual for an elf. Glisinda sat stone still, as if moving would destroy tenuous thoughts. When she spoke, her voice was tinged with caution.
“It is possible, but what spirits could be in the Muirien Grove?”
“Elven spirits,” Eyrmin said. “Nameless warriors with faces full of longing and deep regret. Faces unknown to me, and a style of dress unlike any I know. I saw them after the closing of the portal.”
“Spirits from the Shadow World,” Relcan said with unaccustomed slowness, as if he were having to tug new thoughts from a mind only accustomed to age-old tradition. “Our tune will be one of woe if those creatures invade our world….” He paused, his ideas dwindling to nothing as Eyrmin shook his head.
“I saw elves among the warriors of the Shadow World,” Eyrmin said. “They were pathetic, twisted creatures, only a mockery of what they had once been. The ones I saw after the closing of the portal were different. They stood upright and had fair faces that could come only from pure thoughts. They held weapons, and I thought they meant to attack, but the two I confronted backed away from me. I spoke, but they gave no sign they heard me.”
“You think these are the spirits of dead warriors?” Glisinda murmured. “And they are possibly the reason the portal opened, the pull of the dead on the undead?”
“Something created that opening between the two worlds,” Eyrmin replied. “I’d gladly have it proved otherwise. It would be a relief.”
“Why a relief?” Relcan asked. By his expression, he was exerting patience in listening to the tale of the prince, but the last statement seemed to worry him.
“At the council we discussed the sightings of halflings leaving Sielwode, halflings who were never seen entering. Suppose they came through the portal in the Muirien Grove?”
“I see. It would mean the portal has opened before,” Glisinda said, her face paling with the implications. She took another sip of her wine. Her eyes lost focus as she searched her memories.
“The portals between worlds aren’t doors, framed and stationary,” Relcan objected, his darting looks seeking confirmation from Glisinda. As a Speaker, she should know all about the portals. “No tale we’ve heard speaks of the danger occurring time after time in the same spot.”
Glisinda spoke with the same patience Relcan had used earlier, though hers sounded genuine.
“The prince is suggesting these spirits not only create but anchor that door you mentioned. If the ghost warriors remain in the grove, a place no one would chose, then they must be somehow trapped. What a terrible condition.”
“Judging by the sadness in their faces, it is terrible,” Eyrmin said. “And for us as well if we’re right about the permanence of that entry into the Shadow World.”
“And none of the others saw them?” Glisinda asked.
“I saw nothing, save the prince raising his blade when there was nothing within ten or more paces,” Relcan snapped. His expression suggested he did not believe there had been anything to see. “The others seemed as confused by his actions as I was. They saw no spirit warriors either.”
“I saw them,” Eyrmin snapped, but his irritation gave way to worry. “Why could I see them and no one else?” He ran his hand through his hair, touched the lump on the back of his head, and paused, his expression wondering. The room was still as death.
“A pain dream? Could it have been no more than that?” He shook his head in denial. “It seemed so real.”
“You were wise not to speak of it in the presence of others,” Relcan said. “A sennight from now, when the wound to your head is healed, you can walk in the grove again in peace. You will see nothing.”
“Be sure I will,” Eyrmin said. “I will rejoice in knowing I was wrong.”
Certain the conversation was over, Relcan rose, jerked at his sword belt, bid the others a fair night, and left. Glisinda allowed his light footsteps to fade with distance before draining her goblet.
“You don’t believe it was a pain image,” Glisinda said quietly. “I’d advise you to wait the sennight. Walk in the grove again. If you see them a second time, I will seek the answer to the puzzle.”
Cald understood. Glisinda could not call on the magic twice in one day. Even once was a drain on her strength and spirit.
She rose, went to the door, and turned. “The halflings are staying yet another night?”
Eyrmin sighed. “They are too fatigued to go on. We will let them stay two more days.”
She nodded, sadly it seemed to the boy watching.
Cald was glad when Glisinda left and he could climb down from his hiding place. To protect his secret spy hole, he would have to climb up to the next large limb, cross to another tree, and go down and around by three sets of limb stairs. He was hurrying on his way when Feilin and Kilrinis, two merry young warriors, caught up with him, gave a laugh, and tweaked his hair.
Kilrinis was a great jokester and talker, and Feilin loved to be the first with any news. Suddenly Cald had a brilliant idea.
“Hurry along, or you’ll be wet through,” Kilrinis said.
“So will the halflings and the spirit elves in the Muirien Grove,” Cald said. “I wouldn’t want to stay out all night in a—”
“What spirit elves?” Kilrinis asked, just as Cald had hoped.
“The ones in the Muirien Grove, the ones you can’t always see,” Cald said. Understanding the subtlety of the Sidhelien, he pretended to have more interest in the refugees from the Shadow World. “Are the halflings used to rain? Maybe there was no rain in their world, and they might be afraid when water starts dropping out of the sky….”
The two elves ignored the human boy’s chatter about the halflings; judging by their traded looks, they had latched onto what Cald wanted them to hear.