Eyrmin would not fault him for it, since the prince’s own arrow had suffered the same fate.
Glisinda, Flamarier, and Malala had each found targets among the four mounted warriors that flanked Klasmonde Volkir. Malala’s arrow had found an opening in the armor of a huge, undead, bestial creature that looked half goblin, half human, though larger than both. Her shaft was buried deep in the creature’s chest, and it fell with an oath that seemed to deepen the twilight.
Eyrmin shot another arrow at the lich-lord, but it, too, disappeared. Realizing that his arrows would not stop Klasmonde, the prince dashed out of his shelter, dodging the milling halflings and mounted invaders as he sought to reach Volkir. In his hand was the legendary Starfire, dweomered in the ancient days of elven magic. It gleamed with a power that lessened the influence of the Crown of Darkness.
A new group of mounted warriors surged into the clearing, and Cald lost sight of the prince.
“No—no,” he murmured, some inner wisdom warning him not to shout, though he could not keep silent his fear for Eyrmin. He shot three more arrows into the mass of milling warriors from the Shadow World, but though he heard cries from the wounded, he did not look to see what damage his shafts had done.
More than a dozen elves had left their shelters and were fighting hand to hand with warriors of the Shadow World. Twenty of the invaders had been unhorsed. Stray arrows had struck several mounts. None suffered fatal injuries, but their shrill neighs of pain and fright had caused the rest to rear and plunge.
Glisinda, Malala, and Flamarier had closed with the warriors, and through the melee, Cald caught sight of Eyrmin, in mortal combat with Klasmonde Volkir. The lich had also been unhorsed, and against that tall figure of darkness and terror, Eyrmin’s armor stood out brightly. Starfire glowed like a torch, and the power of the elven sword gave light to the prince’s armor. The magic runes sparkled and glowed. Light fought darkness as the glowing elf matched blows with the ruler from the dark world.
All around the clearing, elven armor that normally blended with the natural forest of Sielwode glowed brightly in the darkness that had invaded their world. Cald, wearing his own battle gear, discovered that every detail of the ground was illuminated by his own armor, and he dared not look at his sword lest it blind him.
Behind Eyrmin, an armored humanoid was jockeying for a position to strike the prince from behind. Cald felt the fear he often felt when the prince so casually risked his life, and shot an arrow in the direction of the humanoid. It struck the bestial creature and distracted it, but the Shadow World armor was too strong for the slender shaft.
Then, whipping his bow over his shoulder, he pulled his sword and started after the monster.
Two halflings, realizing he was fighting their enemies, had taken up a stance directly in front of him. Cald impatiently pushed them aside.
He strode out into the clearing and barely dodged a cantering brute of a horse ridden by a gross parody of a huge goblin. The creature swung at Cald with a morning star—a heavy, spiked metal ball on a chain. Cald ducked, nearly falling beneath the hooves of the horse as he tried to crouch and run at the same time. He tried to swerve to the left, but the halfling with the short sword ran at his side. He tripped over the demihuman and stumbled, falling into a tangle of branches from an old, fallen tree limb.
Thin, dried branches splintered and broke under his weight. One sharp twig narrowly missed his right eye and cut his cheek. He lost his grip on his sword. Cald scrambled under the meager protection of the branches as he searched beneath the leaves for his sword. His seeking fingers slid into the basket and onto hilt, but the cold handle did not belong to his weapon.
Evil surrounded him, left him gasping for air as if he could not breathe. The cause was his proximity to the ruler from the Shadow World, he thought. Eyrmin and Klasmonde Volkir were trading blows on the other side of the clearing.
Some small part of his brain noted the sword in his hand was not his own, but he did not heed it. Nor did he listen when his mind urgently told him he had not felt that terrible evil when the lich-lord had first appeared.
The greater portion of the human youth’s mind was taken up with the bloodlust that rushed into him, and he hacked at the dead branches as he strode out of the tangle. The strange weapon cut through them as if they had been blades of grass.
The huge goblin was waiting for him. The brute had been poking into the heavy, dry foliage but had not wanted to get too close, not wanting to risk a severed limb if Cald struck suddenly from the depths of his shelter. The goblin swung the morning star in defensive sweeps before him. Its small eyes were red with battle lust, and it charged forward, confident its heavy weapon would make short work of the human.
All caution had disappeared from Cald’s mind. He felt as if he were invulnerable. The small portion of his mind that retained its sanity seemed to withdraw, watching with horror as he strode forward and raised the slender blade to ward off the morning star. That same small, sane part of him watched in shock as the blade bit completely through two spikes on the ball and the heavy bar, and then the goblin’s hand.
The humanoid stared in surprise as blood spurted from the stump of its hand, but the pain had not reached its small brain by the time Cald leapt into the air and, with an impossible thrust, drove the blade through its armor and into its heart.
Cald looked around in time to see Flamarier fall to the axe of a mounted and heavily armored warrior. He dashed forward, leaping and swinging the blade, cutting away an armored shoulder as if the bone and heavy metal protection had been so much cheese.
His leap threw him against the rump of the horse, and he bounced off, stumbled on the ground, and fell back into the twisted branches of the fallen limb. As he put out his left hand to keep from crashing to the ground, he felt the smooth familiar guard that belonged to his own sword. He dropped the strange weapon, and the burden of evil fell away like a heavy load put down at the end of a journey. Yet the experience remained like a bruise on the mind.
The small part of his mind that had objected to his sudden power took on more force. He realized the evil he had felt was coining from the sword he had found under the fallen limb.
He stared down at it, feeling his mind shrink away from the malignancy. Even his flesh seemed burned by it. Next to his right foot was a rabbit hole, and he knelt, thrusting the blade into the ground. He kicked dirt onto it and stood, ready to fight again, but this time with a cleaner weapon.
He was just rising when Glisinda took a sharp blow to the shoulder, a gift from a ghoul’s club. She drew back into the shelter of the forest.
Unable to fight, Glisinda suddenly raised her voice in the “Lirimira,” the elven song of strong hearts and good purpose. Around the clearing, the other elves took up the song, and even some of the fighters gave voice to the tune that sustained them in times of darkness and evil.
Despite his furious battle with Klasmonde Volkir, the prince’s voice was one of the strongest, and his armor and sword glowed the brighter. Even elven eyes turned away from the blinding glow.
Beside Cald, another elven warrior without a foe stood watching. He fingered the hilt of his sword, though it remained encased in his scabbard. Judging by his dress, he was no elf of Reilmirid, but his wholesome appearance denied any contact with the Shadow World.
Cald stared at him, wondering if the elf were friend or foe when he heard a rattling sound behind him. He turned to discover a humanoid horror—part skeleton, part rotten flesh—advancing on him. He leapt clear of the fallen limb. He could not afford to be tripped by it when his blade met the axe of his opponent. As quickly as his new foe advanced, it stopped, looked back over its shoulder, and withdrew. A hollow sound like a moan of terror escaped the fleshless mouth, and Cald glanced in the direction it looked, toward the portal.