Eyrmin whistled several commands. A score of elves using magic known only to their people rapidly scaled the boles of the trees, their hands and feet clinging to the bark as if invisible steps had suddenly appeared. They hid themselves in the leaf-shrouded limbs. Several others, Belrinien included, disappeared into the thick trunks as if the trees had absorbed them. The others melted back into the forest, slowly retreating in plain sight of the enemy.
As usual, Eyrmin had taken to himself the most hazardous position, climbing into the tree beneath which the robed leader would pass as he entered the forest. Cald slipped behind the cluster of partially burned bushes, and using the elf magic he had been taught, blended into the bole of the same tree.
The elves called it Accepting the Embrace of Sielwode.
Cald had practiced this spell often, and Eyrmin had pronounced him adept at it, but the young human was still unsure whether he developed an invisibility as he pressed his body against the bark, or whether he actually entered the tree itself. Around him, the forest seemed dim and foggy. His arms and legs seemed under restraint. He could move neither right nor left nor back, but at will he could step forward, out of the Embrace.
The defenders of the forest were a well-disciplined group of fighters, and in fewer than twenty seconds, the ambush was set. Half the elves had climbed the trees or disappeared into the tree boles, and the others, playing lure for the trap, had shown themselves fleetingly as they retreated.
The invaders took heart and charged beneath the eaves of the forest, their blades and spears in their hands. A few had bows and arrows, and they sent shafts into the forest ahead, aiming at every elf they saw. Flamarier, a little too slow to jump behind a tree, took a shaft in his left forearm. He would have yet another cause to dislike humans.
The invading fighters accepted the retreat at face value. All humans knew elves could not cope with human magic, and they charged forward. The robed leader was not so sure.
“Halt,” he roared, but his minions ignored him. They advanced with the battle light of Czrak in their eyes, their faces bestial as they anticipated the slaughter.
Eyrmin’s plan was sound, but being an elven warrior, accustomed to immediate and exact obedience to his orders, he could not have anticipated the lack of discipline in the attacking force. The human fighters charged into the wood and would soon be out of sight, leaving the warriors in the trees without targets. The number of fleeing elves who acted as lures were too few to stop them. The prince had no choice but to give the signal to attack while beneath the trees the three unarmed magic-users stood watching.
Taking the greatest danger to himself, Eyrmin fired the first arrow as he whistled the attack command. Directly below him, the robed leader looked up, raised his hand, and muttered an incantation.
“No!” Cald shouted, and he launched himself from the security of the Embrace of Sielwode. He leapt toward the magic-user. The tallest of the other two saw him and gave a foul oath that seemed to blacken the shade of the forest. He, too, raised a hand and prepared to throw a spell, but Cald was on the leader, grabbing his right arm, forcing it down. Cald had spoiled the aim of the spell, which was flung out across the clearing. A huge tree split apart in a shower of sparks and a deafening roar.
Cald jerked the man off his feet and they rolled on the ground. The boy’s attention was on his adversary, but he was aware of the other magic-users moving about, muttering their spells, waiting for their companion to get clear of the young human defender of Sielwode.
Up in the tree he heard Eyrmin’s shout. A spear with the silver markings of the prince came hurtling down, narrowly missing the tallest of the mages. While his companion continued to circle Cald and his opponent, the intended target of the spear looked up, trying to locate Eyrmin, who was descending the tree, snapping twigs in his rush.
“Yi-i-i-i!” came a shout from another tree, and Belrinien showed himself briefly as he shot an arrow at the mage who searched for the prince.
The arrow veered away, but the mage redirected his spell, and Belrinien screamed and collapsed. By the time the elf’s body hit the ground, it was nothing but a misshapen cinder.
Cald kept a desperate grip on the magic-user leader as Eyrmin dropped from the tree. His fall was broken by the tallest of the mages. They, too, rolled on the ground, tripping the third mage. He fell on the feathered end of the last arrow Belrinien had shot. The mage screamed and jerked. The arrow, its head caked with soil, pulled free of the ground, but eight inches of the feathered shaft had penetrated the mage’s chest. He gave one gurgling gasp and died. Belrinien had revenge on his killer.
Cald struggled and gasped as he felt himself touched by a powerful evil in the mage’s left hand. Hatred, bloodlust, and voracious appetite surged through him. His blood felt as if it boiled in his veins. He could feel the heat as it coursed through him. He glared into the mage’s eyes and seemed to see not a human but some nightmare creature that was part spider, part slug.
He snarled in a rage he had never experienced, while a part of his mind tried to shrink from the unaccustomed feelings. Nearby, he heard a second snarl, one that had the faint overtones of Eyrmin’s voice, but it sounded more beast than elf. Cald heard a muffled cry and then the sickening sound of cracking bones.
The mage gave a mighty heave and rolled over Cald, pinning him to the ground. Cald was losing his hold when, just above the man’s head, he saw the face of a goblin. A friend—Stognad. Only a part of Cald’s raging mind recognized an ally, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Eyrmin, rising from the ground, glaring at the humanoid as if he had not recognized him. The goblin ignored the elf and swung his axe. Cald felt the weight of the blow as the blade dug into the mage’s back and the heavy body pressed down on him. Stognad frowned at Cald as he rolled the dead body away.
“Plenty much danger in fighting with mages,” he grumbled at Cald. “Better hunting deer and gnolls.”
Cald struggled to his feet as Eyrmin pulled his sword and hacked the necks of the three mages, beheading the bodies and kicking the heads away.
“They won’t be destroying more of Sielwode,” he said, his voice still a snarl.
Stognad’s gaze shifted from Eyrmin to Cald and back, his expression worried. He kept the rest of his opinions to himself as they hurried west, toward the dying sounds of battle.
Cald was filled with the need to kill. He leapt over fallen limbs and bushes in his desire to reach the enemy before the elves killed them all.
He had to have his share of death and blood.
Eyrmin caught up with him just before he reached a group of five intruders taking shelter behind three large trees. The invaders were watching the wood ahead and had not heard the elf and the young human approaching.
When Cald took his first swing at an unsuspecting warrior, he felt the resistance of the magic protecting the man, but it did not stand against his determination. His first blow was only partially successful. He struck the large quiver of arrows that was slung down the man’s back.
His enemy turned and met him blade for blade. Cald jumped back to avoid the larger slashing sword. He parried three blows before he found an opening and stepped in with a thrust through the man’s heart.
Shouts and cries indicated Eyrmin had been busy, and by the time Cald had killed his foe, two lay dead at the feet of the prince and another had fallen to Stognad’s axe. The fifth had lost his will to fight and raced through the forest the way he had come.
Cald and Eyrmin stood panting and staring at each other. The savagery that had invaded the boy ebbed. He slowly regained control of his emotions. The prince was drawing deep breaths, as if trying to pull fresh, clean air into his lungs to dispel the foulness that had invaded his body.