Gylvain had left them for a few moments to confer with the other elves, who had finished stripping the bodies of the goblins they had slain. Michael watched with interest. He had never seen elves before. Neither, for that matter, had Aedan. They were certainly getting more than their share of new experiences. They were dressed unlike the wizard. Gylvain wore a voluminous, ankle-length, dark cloak, with several unusual-looking amulets hanging on silver chains over an indigo-blue tunic, which was belted at the waist with a wide, black leather belt studded with silver ornaments. He had on black hose and short, ankle-high, black shoes made from leather with the rough side out. The other elves, like Gylvain, all wore their hair extremely long, but they were dressed in green and brown, with rough-out leather doublets and short cloaks. They all wore soft, rough-out leather knee-high boots fastened with crisscrossing rawhide thongs and fringed at the tops. It was perfect dress for woodsmen, Aedan thought. They would blend in easily with the forest all around them.
Aedan closed his eyes and concentrated, drawing on his blood ability of healing to restore himself. There had been no time before, and he had no energy, in any case. Now, he used what little energy remained to heal his wound and make his leg muscles relax. Unfortunately, it left him in an even more weakened condition, and he had no idea if there would be enough time to recuperate.
“I don’t see any horses,” Michael said after a moment. “Do you suppose they were all traveling on foot?”
“Except for Gylvain, perhaps,” Aedan replied. “I wonder what it’s like, being able to travel on the wind.” And then the significance of Michael’s observation struck home. They would have to walk all the way to Tuarhievel.
He estimated that they were probably somewhere near the southern border of the Five Peaks region. On foot, it would be at least a three- or four-day journey to Tuarhievel, probably more, depending on the terrain. The thick, old-growth forest of the Aelvinnwode was not conducive to easy travel.
“It is said that elves have great powers of endurance,” Michael said, “and that they can run like deer.”
“I do earnestly hope they have brought horses,” Aedan said anxiously. “I have done quite enough running. I have healed my wounds, but it has left me with almost no strength at all. I am not sure I could walk another twenty yards, much less all the way to Tuarhievel.”
“There are still a few hours left till dawn, I think,” said Michael. “Maybe they will camp awhile and you can rest up for the journey.”
Aedan sighed wearily. “A week’s rest would not be enough for me, at this point. I am absolutely exhausted.”
“I am tired, myself,” said Michael, “and I have not suffered nearly as much as you have. I shall tell the wizard we must rest here awhile before we can go on.”
“Perhaps it would be better if you asked him,” Aedan said. “He has been most respectful, but remember he is still an elf and owes you no allegiance.”
“True,” said Michael. “Thank you for reminding me. I must learn how not to take such things for granted.”
Aedan glanced at him curiously. The boy was full of surprises. When it came to Michael, Aedan himself had taken much for granted. He had always considered Michael a spoiled child, which he certainly was in many ways—arrogant, willful, petulant, and stubborn. Yet whatever Michael’s shortcomings were, cowardice was apparently not among them. He had proved himself brave, steady, and resourceful. In the face of adversity, he had comported himself more ably than Aedan had, despite being six years younger. He truly did have the makings of a king. The fate of Imperial Anuire was in good hands—provided they ever got back.
The wizard finished speaking to the others and returned to them. Michael looked up at him curiously, and though Aedan tried to keep the concern he felt from showing on his features, judging from Gylvain’s expression, he was not entirely successful.
“Allow me to reassure you that there is no need for concern,” the wizard said. “I have said you shall be my guests at the court of Tuarhievel, and guests you shall be, treated with all due respect and courtesy. And as soon as possible, you shall be returned to your own land, and under proper escort.”
“I thank you, Sir Wizard,” Michael said, “both for your offer of hospitality and again for saving us from our captors. Rest assured, we shall not forget.”
“I am pleased to hear that, Your Highness,” Gylvain replied. “And I would be pleased if you addressed me simply by my name, rather than ‘Sir Wizard.’ I am neither titled, nor a knight. And we elves do not stand on such formality.”
“Very well, Gylvain,” said Michael. “Then you must call me Michael.”
The elf smiled at that.
“And as I am in no position to presume upon your allegiance,” Michael continued, “I would humbly request a favor of you.”
“Ask, and I shall grant it, if it is within my power,” Gylvain replied.
“We are both tired, but Aedan is utterly exhausted. The goblins forced him to run after their wolves for the better part of the day. His legs are cramping and causing him pain, and he is weary from healing a wound he sustained. You may be anxious to return to Tuarhievel, but for my friend’s sake, I would plead with you to allow us time to rest.”
“That was well spoken,” Gylvain replied, nodding with approval. “Never fear, however, I shall not trouble you to walk all the way to Tuarhievel.”
“You have horses, then?” said Aedan, brightening.
“Elves can move more quickly through the forest on foot than they can on horseback,” Gylvain replied. “However, there is no need for us to travel through the forest when we can go above it.”
“Above it?” Aedan said.
Gylvain smiled. “Observe,” he said. He lifted up his cloak and spoke a phrase in Elvish. As he did so, he stepped close to them and wrapped the cloak around them both, embracing them within its folds.
Unable to see within the dark folds of the cloak, Aedan suddenly felt his feet leave the ground. He grew light-headed and dizzy as he felt himself turning around and around in midair, faster and faster, until he was whirling like a child’s top and, at the same time, rising higher and higher. He wanted to cry out in alarm, but his breath caught in his throat.
As they spun within the vortex, he heard the whistling sound of wind, rising rapidly in pitch, like a storm blowing through the treetops, then lost all sense of his body. It wasn’t as if he had gone completely numb; it was as if his body had somehow simply ceased to exist. He tried to bring his hands up to his face, to feel if he still had a face, for there was absolutely no sensation of the wind upon his skin, or the chill of the night air. However, when he tried to move his arms, he realized with an abrupt stab of panic that he had no arms to move, nor legs, for that matter. He couldn’t feel anything because there was nothing there to feel. And then, abruptly, the blackness faded and he could see. It would have taken his breath away if he’d had lungs to breathe with.
They were high above the forest clearing where they’d stood a moment earlier, and the treetops were falling away rapidly beneath them. He heard the rush of wind, though he was not sure how, since he was not aware of having ears. Nor was he sure how he could see, with no eyes to squint against the swirling wind.
It was still dark, and yet, below him, he could clearly make out the elves moving through the forest, appearing and disappearing once again as they ran through the open spaces between the trees and then were once again obscured from view by the forest canopy. At first, he thought there were more of them than the dozen or so he had first seen, but then he realized he was seeing the same ones, only they were moving with astonishing speed. He could not believe how quickly they were darting through the trees. It was, indeed, true what they said about elves’ being able to run like deer. If he were on the ground with them, even if he were fully rested, he knew he could never have hoped to keep pace. No human could ever run that fast.