But it would not be difficult to hide in Sielwode for short stretches of time, even from the sharp eyes of the elves. Sielwode had a far smaller population for its size than most of the elven territories. The Aelvinnwode covered much of the southwestern quarter of the continent, reaching into the mountains and the area called Tuarhievel. To the east, the great forest Coulladaraight blanketed the land, covering the mountains and the level lands to the south. The huge forests were divided into elven territories, each ruled by an elven lord who reported to the king.
Only Sielwode stood alone, a small forest in comparison to the others, bounded by plains, mountains, and a swamp to the south. To many, it was not a friendly forest; its bogs and traps were as dangerous to the elves as its invaders were.
These trespassers had managed to avoid the traps, but Drien determined they would not remain. He rejoined his people and gave the order.
“Death to the destroyers of our forest,” he decreed, and led the attack himself.
He ordered his warriors to surround the village, and at his call, their arrows flew. With his first arrow, Drien caught a huge creature, as much forest cat as humanoid, in the chest.
Thirty beast-men died in the first second of the battle, but the survivors were canny and intelligent. They took cover and produced bows of their own, though the elves, dressed to blend with the forest, did not make easy targets. After the invaders dived for cover, more than three minutes of stillness prevailed. Then, not far from Drien, one of the younger warriors, too impatient to wait, left his shelter to dash to another tree, closer to the eaves of the new clearing. When a boar-man stood to aim a spear at the elf, Drien found his second target. His arrow pierced the beast-man’s left eye and penetrated deep into the brain.
The moans of the wounded creatures and their harsh, guttural muttering were the only sounds in the forest as the elves watched for targets. But the next attack was against them, and not from the trespassers in the village.
To Drien’s right, an elf screamed as a bolt of lightning struck the tree that sheltered him. The tree and the elf burned fiercely. More lightning fell from the sky. A second and a third elf died, along with the trees where they sheltered.
The rest of the Sidhelien retreated rapidly, their eyes wide, their faces pinched with the fear of a foe they could not fight. Bolts of lighting followed them as they fled. A mile from the camp of the intruders, they paused, but the lightning had not pursued them more than a quarter mile beyond the ramshackle village.
When they stopped, Eiresmone, a small slender elf, was close to Drien. He gazed at his leader with fear-filled eyes and tried to smile to hide his recent terror.
“What power can direct lightning?” he asked. “No song I remember speaks of it.”
“No lore I know can answer you,” Drien said, looking back toward the settlement. He stepped out into a small clearing and looked up at the cloudless sky. “I cannot believe it was an act of nature.”
The elves huddled together in groups, asking questions of each other. For the first time in their long lives, they were afraid of the trees.
Drien, shocked, angry, and thoroughly confused by what they had faced, paced between two large trees. He was reluctant to return to the Crystal Palace while the intruders remained in the forest, but how did he fight lighting?
He was still considering when he realized the soft sound of elven voices had changed from questioning to wonder and then fear. He turned to see a misty wall moving through the forest, traveling faster than an elf could run.
“Away! Scatter!” he shouted to his people, and took his own advice, but the mist swirled around him, and he felt himself held by a great power. Reluctant and fearing what he might see, he turned.
Within the mist, he saw three deeper concentrations that could have been clouds that descended from the sky. They roiled, and then cleared slightly, and within them, he saw three beings, human shaped, though they stood twice as tall as an elf.
The first shrouding mist to clear sufficiently for him to see within it held a female whose skin was the color of the sun on the sea, her hair as black as a raven’s wing, and her robes made of wide leaves of seaweed. The second was a male whose skin and hair were as white as the snowy robes he wore. His garments were trimmed with runes that radiated power.
The third could almost have been an elf. His clothing was wood-hued, and he was slender as a Sidhelien.
Drien had no knowledge of their kind, but he sensed them to be immortals, with powers the elves had never imagined. He knew he was helpless in the grip of their power, but not even the fear of death could hold back his anger.
“Why did you bring your monsters to our forest?” he demanded. “Why did you kill my people?”
The pure white figure grew brighter with anger.
“It is not for you to question powers you do not understand!” Vorynn boomed at Drien, nearly knocking the elf off his feet with the tremendous sound. “Be grateful that we stopped the bolts before they set the entire forest ablaze.”
“How should he not question?” Reynir, dressed in woodland clothing, countered in a softer voice. “He is not one of our followers, and I cannot fault him for wishing to protect his land.”
“And while we are not guilty of his accusations, we did drive the Shadow here,” said the female, Masela. “So in a sense we are at fault.”
The volume of sound roared around Drien’s head. Those words he could make out were strange to his ears, but the meaning entered his mind and somehow soothed him. He was forming new questions when a crack of thunder directly overhead startled him. He jumped, but before he could retreat to the protection of the nearby trees, Vorynn flicked his fingers. By the change in the air, Drien knew himself to be enclosed by some magic he did not understand.
The three immortals who had addressed him rose rapidly into the sky. Thunder rumbled and lightning crackled, but as far as Drien could tell, no bolts had been aimed at the forest. Many fell among the trees, but they struck the ground without causing harm.
Drien tried to escape the force that held him, but on every side he met a resistance he could not overcome. He could see nothing holding him, but he was unable to move more than four feet in any direction.
An hour later, he was pacing the area of his imprisonment when one of the gray clouds descended, and as it thinned he saw the tall white figure inside. By this time, Drien was too angry to care that the being within the cloud could probably kill him with the blink of an eye.
“By what right do you hold me?” he demanded. “What have you done with my people? They would have returned for me if they could.”
“Your people follow an image of you, and will continue to do so until you return to them,” Vorynn said. “I hold you by my power and your desire.”
“My desire? What do you know about what I want? Who are you?” Drien had learned the boundaries of his prison, and he walked forward, prepared to push against the invisible wall, but it had disappeared. Free, he perversely decided to stay and confront the tall white figure within the shroud of mist.
“To you I will remain nameless, since this is not my dominion,” Vorynn said. “Neither is it the realm of my adversary.” The god sighed. “By a miscalculation on our part, we drove him here, and we will attempt to rid your land of him and his beast-men, but this can be done only if you assist.”
“I want them gone from Sielwode,” Drien said slowly.
“That is what I meant by your desire. If we each succeed in our respective chores, you will have your forest in peace again.”