“Yi-i-i!” Eyrmin gave a call, drawing attention to himself as Cald picked himself up and raced for the nearest cover. Eyrmin shot another arrow, but it went wide as Czrak turned his withering attention toward the prince’s perch. Eyrmin swung away on the rope, arcing up as the spell destroyed the anchor. He went sailing out into the darkness beyond Cald’s sight.
From the area where he disappeared came the roars of a forest cat—two cats—and Cald, fearing for the life of his prince, dashed in that direction. A gnoll popped out from behind a tree, ready to do battle, but the human knocked aside the spear with a swing of his bow and ran the short, squat humanoid through with his sword. He stumbled as the blade caught in the body, and he nearly fell before the momentum of his stride pulled the weapon free.
He raced around two more trees and nearly ran into Eyrmin. The prince grabbed his arm and whirled him around, retracing Cald’s path. When a party of gnolls rose up out of the undergrowth to stop them, Eyrmin suddenly changed direction, sprinting around the bole of a tree.
His sudden and surprising turn came just in time. Cald felt the hot breath of a cat just behind him. The forest hunters had lost their elven prey, but they found five times as much gnoll flesh in front of them. With a roar, they leapt in the midst of the gnolls, tearing with claws and teeth. In their frenzy, they caught two other humanoids that had taken shelter within another bush.
Eyrmin and Cald slipped away, their progress covered by the snarls of the cats and the screams of their victims.
Less than fifty feet from where the cats attacked, Eyrmin gave Cald a sign, and they both found trees, accepting the Embrace of Sielwode. Not knowing what the prince had planned, Cald stayed within the tree until Eyrmin came for him. The waiting was hard, and time dragged with torturous slowness, but when Cald left the tree, he could see, by the course of the moon, that only a few minutes had passed.
The awnshegh had also passed, and with it the main body of the invading force. The unlucky warriors in the rear were having their own problems with the big cats and the carrion crawlers. The blood of the first dead had drawn the forest predators, who were attacking savagely.
“We’ll work our way north and flank them,” Eyrmin said, moving through the forest like a shadow.
No sooner had they passed the northernmost group than they turned west, harrying the fringe of the marchers. The humans had concentrated closer to the stream and had left it to the humanoids to brave the deeper forest. Eyrmin and Cald used their arrows until their quivers were empty. Where they could, they picked up the spears of the fallen gnolls and hurled them, but Eyrmin had no sword, and he insisted they did not have time to engage in hand-to-hand combat.
When their arrows were gone, Eyrmin led the way at a fast trot. Not many minutes passed before they reached Reilmirid. The long stairs, or lemdair, had been raised so the only access to the tree village was by rope or climbing the giant sielwodes. Platforms had been attached to several ropes, and two wounded elves were being hoisted up to the first path. Another platform was being lowered. On it were baskets of arrows.
Hialmair stood waiting with two companions, looking up anxiously as the baskets descended. His face glowed with pleasure as he recognized Eyrmin, approaching through the first of the dawn light.
“My heart sings at the sight of you,” he said. “Glisinda has been pushed back to the fork in the streams. The monster has taken the Moon Stream, as we supposed he would.”
“It will bring the creature closer to the clearing and the portal,” Eyrmin said. “There can be no doubt of its destination.”
“Perhaps it means to pass through the portal to the Shadow World,” Hialmair suggested. “Should we not let it go?”
“If I could believe that was its intention, I would gladly do so,” Eyrmin agreed. “But I cannot count on so much good fortune. From what we hear, even the rulers of the dark plane seek to leave it. He’s here for the elven spirits, or to meet the lich-lord who keeps trying to enter our world.”
“And we must prevent either or both from happening.” Hialmair nodded. “Though how we can is a mystery to me. More than a score of us have serious wounds, and six will be journeying to Tallamai.”
“We will stand,” Eyrmin said, his face full of sadness for his people. “In honor we can do nothing else….”
The air rang with whistled alarms: warnings of a sudden enemy, a description of the awnshegh, and a call to rally to the king.
Cald was not sure he had understood.
“The king?” he asked Eyrmin.
“The king!” the prince cried, grabbing a handful of arrows from the basket that had just reached the ground. He sprinted away before Cald could fill his own quiver.
Twenty-Four
Cald followed Eyrmin, who raced along the Star Mirror Stream. They met Glisinda and her fighters, who were attempting to hold back the gnolls and goblins that pressed toward Reilmirid. She was urging her people across the Star Mirror Stream into the Muirien Grove. Their fording had been slowed by the danger of being in the open as they crossed the wide, normally shallow stream. The elves were retreating. Though cutting into the numbers of invaders, Glisinda and her band were too outnumbered to risk making a stand.
The sounds in the forest indicated that the awnshegh had split his forces at the fork of the water courses, sending some up the Star Mirror Stream while the rest took the Moon Stream.
While five elves took shelter and watched, their shafts ready to bring down the advancing humanoids, Glisinda hurried to Eyrmin, her eyes wide with puzzlement.
“You’re here? I thought the call was to rally on the other side of the Moon Stream.”
“That call was to rally to the king,” Eyrmin said, listening to the sounds of battle in the distance.
“I just thought some young warrior, excited by the battle, had slurred his message,” Glisinda said as she raised her bow and sent a missile in the direction of a gnoll that had moved too close. She barely missed it, and sent it scurrying back for better shelter.
“No, the noise of battle from the east is too loud,” Eyrmin said as he cocked his head, birdlike, to listen. “We have too few people in that area for so much activity. Tallamai has seen to it we have reinforcements, but I doubt they know what they face. We will abandon Reilmirid and join the king.” He whistled a message that was repeated and echoed through the village. He had ordered the elves who cared for the wounded to take them deeper into the forest. If the goblins and gnolls set the Sielwode grove afire, anyone left up in the tree houses would be burned alive.
At Eyrmin’s orders, Cald crossed the stream with six elves who carried the baskets of extra arrows. The halfling triplets went with them, clinging to the sides of the baskets, their short legs pumping as they attempted to find the bottom and propel themselves along. Fleetfoot lost his grip and went spinning off in the current. Luckily, Cald was close enough to grasp his shirt sleeve and pull him to safety.
From the shelter of the trees in the grove, the human and the elves rained arrows on the goblins while the others forded the stream behind them.
Cald’s feet felt weighted with fatigue as he raced behind Eyrmin. They sprinted toward the sounds of battle. They entered the clearing where the portal often opened. At the moment, it seemed the quietest place in the western arm of Sielwode. They crossed it at a run. Two hundred yards farther on, Eyrmin came to a stop, faced by elves unknown to Cald. They numbered about fifty and were all in full battle dress, yet they milled about in confusion.