He bade Glisinda a peaceful watch and had just turned to leave when Eyrmin arrived. The prince had been off on a tour of the new defenses set up well within the depths of the forest, and Cald had not known of his return. The prince quickened his steps, turning in Cald’s direction, but suddenly he paused, stopping by two of the replacement elves, Iswiel and Farmain.
“You are healed of your injuries?” He asked pleasantly.
“Indeed, Prince, and ready to take our places to protect the spirits of the dead heroes,” Farmain replied.
“We are honored to be able to do so,” Iswiel added.
“I once heard the people of Eisermerien are farsighted,” Eyrmin said. “I deem your talents could be best used on the high platforms of the Grove Father. I release you from your duties here.”
Cald had joined Eyrmin while he was giving his orders and saw the looks of dismay on the faces of the two elves from the southern village. They seemed ready to object, but the prince’s mouth had drawn into a thin line and his eyes had darkened with determination. They knew better than to argue. Cald and Eyrmin watched as the elves reluctantly headed for the village.
“If you hurry, you’ll be in time for the change of watch,” Eyrmin called after them. His gaze followed the two elves as they quickened their pace and broke into a trot.
“Mayhap they will not wound themselves on guard duty,” Eyrmin said when they were out of sight. Cald remembered the sham limping of the two southern elves and knew the prince did not trust their courage.
Eyrmin watched them until they disappeared through the trees, then turned to speak to Malala and Ursrien. Cald had been watching the goblins, who pointedly stayed away from Iswiel and Farmain.
Stognad and Bersmog, who had arrived with Glisinda, had apparently decided to join the prince and Cald. Though the two goblins had lived in Sielwode for years and had proved themselves good fighters, when they went into battle, they were never asked to stand watch. The new arrivals distrusted them; the others appreciated their fighting prowess but put no dependence in their discipline.
“Them elves plenty good fighters, but not good watchers,” Bersmog said. “Best send them away. Them not good elves.”
“Why do you dislike them?” Cald asked the goblins.
“They stink,” Stognad replied.
“I wouldn’t let Eyrmin hear you make remarks like that,” Cald warned, irritated with the goblins.
“Not elf stin—smell,” Bersmog said, his narrow forehead wrinkling in worry. “Same as mages that came from underground.”
“Then, you said you felt the Gorgon’s influence,” Cald reminded them. “Elves don’t serve him.”
“You smell that wrongness, you don’t forget,” Stognad said.
“Elves don’t serve the awnsheghlien,” Cald said. “I wouldn’t say that to anyone else, or you may find yourselves banished from the forest.” He turned away from the goblins. Life had been quiet around Reilmirid for a month, and the warriors had been bored and restless. During those rare times, the goblins often suffered from the contempt of the idle warriors. They were probably looking for a way to increase their status with the prince. Accusing elves of serving the Gorgon was not the way to do it, but Cald decided not to report them to Eyrmin.
The prince spent more than half an hour walking among the elven warriors, speaking to each, before he was ready to return to the village. Cald followed him a few paces along the trail to Reilmirid and paused, glancing back at the clearing.
“Something frets your mind?” Eyrmin asked.
“I don’t trust Klasmonde Volkir,” Cald said; his concern blinded him to the absurdity of this complaint. “I’ve waited there for a month, barely taking time to sleep, and it would be just like him to come through the portal while I’m in the village.” Cald read the laughter in Eyrmin’s eyes and frowned. “I’ve stood by that tree for a month, a boring month with nothing to do but wait. If the portal opens, and he comes through while I’m gone …” He noticed more laughter in Eyrmin’s eyes. “Well, it wouldn’t be fair,” he said, thinking he sounded like a complaining four-year-old.
“And it could be years before he comes through,” Eyrmin said. “Humans lack patience.”
“Don’t like patience plenty much,” Stognad announced. “Waiting don’t be getting.”
“It’s not the waiting. It’s missing the fight,” Cald said as Eyrmin led the way south.
They had not taken thirty steps when a sense of eerie foreboding descended over the grove. They had felt it before and recognized it as the atmospheric forerunner of the opening of the portal. The elves and goblins exchanged glances and turned, cautiously retracing their steps to the Muirien Grove.
“I knew it would happen,” Cald said, feeling vindicated.
“Don’t need patience,” Bersmog surmised as he took a good grip on his spear.
“Not missing battle.” Stognad grinned at Cald as he trotted at the human’s side.
“There may not be one,” Cald reminded the goblins. Through the years, the portal had opened several times, but only one group of escaping halflings had been followed.
“Didn’t come to pick flowers,” Stognad growled, as if Cald owed them a fight and would be held accountable if the goblins were disappointed.
The prince, Cald, and the goblins arrived at the edge of the sunlit clearing. The sky was cloudless, but the sunlight dimmed as if a dark storm-front had moved across the sky. The air lost its freshness; it became stale and fetid. As a deep twilight descended, the trees developed shadowy duplicates that first appeared like a light haze, then took on form and substance. As the number of trees around the clearing doubled, some areas, already crowded with large tress, became impassable.
The elves who had never experienced the opening of the portal cried out in astonishment and dodged the developing wood. Cald watched, so mesmerized by the duplication as the two planes met, that he nearly lost his grip on his bow.
Movement to his right caught his attention, and he saw Flamarier taking shelter behind one of the shadowy trees. Cald remembered the goblin who had disappeared when the portal closed.
“Get away from the new trees,” he called to the elf, but he had no time to make sure the warrior took his advice.
Ten halflings appeared between the trees, their short legs pumping as fast as they could go. They threw terrified glances over their shoulders at more than fifty mounted warriors who chased them at a distance of fewer than ten yards.
Leading the pursuers, but flanked by two warriors on each side, was a shadowy form. Darkness rode with him and emanated from the crown he wore. His horse looked as black as his spiked armor, but inside that shadow, the defenders could not be certain of the color. They knew only that Klasmonde Volkir had chanced on the portal, or he had discovered how to use the halflings to open it.
The halflings entered the clearing and dashed about frantically, seeking escape. The doubling of the trees blocked them at almost every turn, and where they found an opening, they saw a fierce elf, standing with a bow drawn.
Cald watched their faces and realized the difference between desperation and a complete loss of hope. In desperation, they had been diligently seeking; but now, believing death to be inevitable, they made a collective decision to fight with their last breath. One raised his short sword, one of the few demihumans to carry an actual weapon, and advanced on Cald.
“Get out of my way!” the human snarled at the halfling and raised his bow. He sighted on the lich who rode beneath that blackness. As the arrow fled from his bow and disappeared without noticeable effect, Cald growled. He should have known better than to waste a perfectly good arrow, but one without magic.