Elfling

Erendel lounged on top of the rocky hill that formed the protective wall on the southern side of a small dell. Large boulders sat in a rough ring around this indent in the hilly landscape save in one spot where a path passed into the valley. All around this dell lay a vast forest that stretched for hundreds of miles in all directions. The wood was thick and tall trees stretched their branches protectively over the lush ground. Animals of all sorts took up residence within the foliage of the canopy, and many more were the denizens of the undergrowth. This was the forest of Lianiia.

This was Erendel’s home.

The small elf (barely five feet in height) leaned back on his hands, his legs dangling over the edge of an especially large rock, and gazed out at the sun as it dipped into the western horizon, making way for the night and the two moons. Erendel considered his life while his eyes watched the golden glow of evening. He considered the lessons he had learned within the past five years of his life. He remembered the day his friend Orrel taught him a lesson in humility and he smiled. It seemed as though a thousand years had passed since that day, when, in fact, it had been only four. He could hardly believe that he had once hated the elves—his own people. He shook his head incredulously at the thought that he had once been overcome by pride, selfishness, and unbridled hatred all at once. How different he was now!

Erendel suddenly felt a surge of longing. Ever since he had learned to love his kin, a desire to travel to other places had entered his thoughts. He had finally learned to appreciate Liianiia’s Forest for its beauty, but his eyes had been opened to the fact that Cellestiem was much bigger than the wood. There were millions of people and hundreds of different races that lived elsewhere. Erendel wanted to see these people. He wanted to learn of the other cultures and societies that colored the phlesa (elfish for earth).

And now, as the sun set, Erendel decided that he would see the fulfillment of his dream: he would leave Lianiia’s Forest.

The last rays of light dissolved in the darkness, and Erendel finally aroused himself from his contemplation. He nimbly skipped down the rocky terrain and landed softly on the grassy lawn in the valley. Then, he trotted to a nearby cottage that sat huddled in the southeastern corner of the valley, completely under the shadow of the rocks around it. He smiled when he placed his hand on the door’s latch, remembering the ramshackle hut that had once been the sole protection in the valley. It had taken four long years, but Erendel, with the help of the hermit Orrel, had transformed that old hut had into a solid, multi-roomed cottage.

Orrel was thoroughly engrossed in the distribution of a savory-smelling stew into two wooden bowls when Erendel entered the cottage. The elven hermit had just burned his finger in the boiling liquid and was trying to nurse the injury while simultaneously dishing out the stew with a ladle. Needless to say, the endeavor wasn’t being met with much success.

“May I assist, Orrel?” Erendel inquired jovially as he approached the muttering elf.

Orrel’s frail body started and he turned on the elfling in feigned anger.

“Do I need help?” he cried with feeling. “Does it look like I need your help? I was doing perfectly well until you had to barge in and startle me like that!”

Erendel laughed, not in the least bit perturbed by the other elf’s outburst, an occurrence that was becoming increasingly common with latter’s old age. Without comment, Erendel took the dripping ladel from Orrel’s hand and filled the bowls with the stew, allowing Orrel time to pout over his injured forefinger. The two then sat down at a low table in the center of the cozy room and commenced with the evening meal.

“You really should come down from the rocks earlier, Erendel,” Orrel remarked as he stirred his vegetable stew pensively, “I should have liked your assistance with an experiment I was conducting.”

“I apologize,” Erendel said after he swallowed another spoonful of the soup, “I was just meditating.”

“Ha! Somehow I can’t see you meditating. You really have never been much for religion, you know.”

Erendel shook his head in agreement. He wanted to tell Orrel about his plans to leave the forest, but felt uncomfortable being the bearer of bad news.

Orrel paused and looked meaningfully up at the elfling. “So where is it you want to go, Erendel?” he asked, a small smile creasing his bearded face.

“What do you mean?” Erendel stuttered, startled by the fact that Orrel had yet again seemed to read his thoughts. No matter how long he stayed here, he would never get used to that.

“You know exactly what I mean, lad! And don’t bother playing stupid, either!”

“Well…I don’t really know. I just want to see what’s beyond the borders of Liianiia’s wood; I didn’t have any specific destination in mind.”

“Oh? Then you are open to suggestions, yes?”

“Wait a moment! Are you implying that you want me to go?” Erendel asked, more than a little annoyed.

“Why, of course!” Orrel cried, much to the elfling’s dismay. “I believe it’s high time you left your old friend and experienced the world as the gods intended!”

Stunned by Orrel’s reaction, Erendel remained silent. He had expected the antiquated elf to respond with at least a small degree of displeasure. Instead, Orrel was encouraging him to leave!

“Well, if you don’t have any plans, then I’ll grant you my suggestions,” Orrel laughed, as though he was doing something quite noble. “Go west. Start by crossing the Lianiia Sea. And don’t forget to stop by Nellscalon while you’re about it!”

The next morning saw the two friends standing under the morning shadows cast by the rocks. Erendel, completely overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events, had accepted Orrel’s proposal without question, and had even agreed to leave the next day. Now he stood there, map in hand, and tearfully bid farewell to his old friend, mentor, and guardian.

Orrel took the farewells rather well, Erendel thought with a bit of contempt, considering the tears that were welling up in his own eyes.

It was all Erendel could do to extricate himself from the whole affair. But when all good-byes had finally been exchanged, the elfling turned and headed up the dirt footpath. Before leaving Orrel’s dell, however, he looked back to his friend and promised to return one day.

Erendel then faced Lianiia’s Wood, took a deep breath, and took the first steps of a journey that would become the elfling’s hardest trial.

Cold Flames

The first two days of travel were uneventful. The spring air was clear and warm, the sun standing unmolested in the cloudless skies. Nights were cool, but not cold, and even the smallest breeze was absent from beneath the trees. It was perfect weather for traveling.

      Besides the main road from Sheeliana, the capital city of the elves, there were no real roads to speak of in the forest. The elves believed in the preservation of nature, and so much of Lianiia’s Wood remained untouched, allowing the shrubs and vines to grow freely. Even so, Erendel was not hindered in his westward travel. His lithe form and nimble legs carried him quickly and silently through the woods.

      The third day, Erendel awoke to a surprisingly dark sky. Even though little sunlight pervaded the forest, Erendel was able to feel the change in the weather. The wind whistled menacingly through the canopy, the leaves crackling in a futile protest.

      The sky grew darker as the day wore on; the clouds changed from a dull gray to a murky green. The wind picked up and rushed through the forest’s defenses. Erendel was forced to pull his hood over his head as a light rain began to fall. The rain became a torrent very quickly, and thunder boomed angrily over the howling winds. The squall soon became utterly unbearable. Erendel grudgingly took what little shelter a fallen log provided, cursing the storm. As if in response, a streak of lightening shot from the sky, illuminating the entire forest, and split a nearby tree. The deafening noise that ensued caused Erendel to slap his hands over his pointed ears and grimace. This is no way to travel, he thought miserably. And night had not even arrived yet.

      Erendel ate a small loaf of bread before rising from the log’s belly and again faced the storm. He was eager to find somewhere to ride it out, but there were few caves in the whole of Lianiia’s Wood to speak of, and he was nowhere near any elvish communities. Bracing himself against the pressing wind, Erendel trudged off aimlessly, hoping that he might get lucky.

      It seemed light hours, but the storm only increased in ferocity. Suddenly, Erendel glimpsed a speck of light through a particularly thick patch of trees. Thinking it to be a campfire, Erendel lurched forward against the wind to reach the source of the light. The glowing was slow, but he at last reached the light source, but it was most decidedly not a campfire. How could it be? Erendel berated himself as he beheld a strange altar. The ornately carve block of stone supported a large brass bowl, in which an unearthly fire flared defiantly against the storm. Curious, Erendel reached out to touch the flame, drawing his hand back in shock. The fire was as cold as ice.

      What devilry is this?

      “Devilry or magic?” A voice answered unexpectedly from behind the elfling.

      Erendel whirled around, his dagger leaping into his hands and faced the speaker. It was an elf that stood before him. The tall creature stood, arms akimbo, and a deeply purple cloak waving wildly in the wind. The elf’s face was concealed in darkness by a hood, and a staff was slung across his back.

      A bit taken aback, Erendel said nothing, but glared at the other elf.

      “And what do we have here?” The elf asked after a long silence. His voice was elven, but there was a darker rasp to it that made Erendel uncomfortable.  ”A small elf? Your master should be more careful with his potions.” Erendel could feel a cold smile appearing on the hooded elf’s invisible features. Again, the elfling remained silent, but he was hard pressed to keep the anger that was boiling up inside him from coming out.

      “Or perhaps you are not an elf…” the other said, placing a forefinger on his veiled chin in mock consideration. “Perhaps you are a gnome, a halfling.”

      Erendel rotated the short blade in his hand meaningfully, but still said nothing. Something about this strange elf was not right, and Erendel was not about to let down his defenses.

      “Have you no tongue?” The hooded elf asked coldly. Erendel could tell his patience was wearing thin. “Or are you merely terrified by my presence. Come now, we can’t have a one-sided conversation forever, you know.”

      Erendel straightened up, his muscles tightening, and he did not put his dagger back into his sheath-not yet. “What are you?” he said tersely.

      “The short thing speaks at last!” The other elf laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh. “And yet it has no manners…. But why should it? Perhaps I should not have been so hopeful.”

      “Why do you insist on these insults, elf?” Erendel snapped, his anger almost boiling over. “I, for one, would have assumed that one of your stature should not have to stoop so low.”

      The other elf crossed his arms. “Let us not converse in this horrid weather!” he said shortly. Then, with a whispered word, the elf spread his arms out, palms up. As his hands rose, the forest around Erendel flickered, as though heat were rising from the forest floor, and suddenly they were in a large square room. The sounds of the raging storm immediately ceased; the sudden silence almost took Erendel’s breath away.

      The elfling was shocked by this sudden turn of events, and spun around, his gray eyes searching for some escape route. There was none; only the solid stone walls. Besides the altar and the cold flame, the room was utterly devoid of any furnishings. With a surge of rage rushing through him, Erendel turned back on the hooded elf, only to find that he was no longer there! With an angry cry, Erendel rushed at the wall that was behind where the hooded elf had once been, and laid into it with his fists. It was no illusion, for the walls succeeded in bruising Erendel’s knuckles.

      And so the deer enters the noose, a voice-the hooded elf’s voice-whispered in Erendel’s head with a cruel laugh.

      It was a trap.

Phantoms

Erendel didn’t know how long he had paced the square chamber in mindless rage before he decided that such action was useless. The hooded elf had said nothing more; the voice had receded from the elfling’s mind as suddenly as it had entered, and the eerie silence made Erendel uncomfortable.

      In frustration, the elfling sat down with his back against the white stone altar and cursed his stupidity for allowing himself to be lured into the obvious trap. He should have gone with his instinct, he knew, and sliced the hooded elf’s throat on sight. But somehow, it seemed as though it wouldn’t have made any difference. There was something about that elf that had not seemed quite right. Was it the fact that he concealed his face beneath the cowl of his cloak (an uncommon thing for an elf)? Perhaps it was the fact that the elf had effortlessly created a stone structure from nothing, and then disappeared.

      Erendel shook his head incredulously. That was it, of course. No living elf had the natural power to create something from nothing. It defied the laws of magic that governed Cellestiem. Everything that lived on the phlesa, whether elven or otherwise, had to extract the power to do magic from a parallel universe, known in elvish as the Sepheirias or Spirit World. The demons that inhabited this non-material realm would release some amount of their power to whatever magic user called on them, but required that the magician relinquish an equal amount of their physical energy. And as far as Erendel knew, no one had learned how to take the power from the demons without having to pay for it.

      The elf was not of this world….

      The thought struck Erendel so suddenly that he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before.

      What is it? A voice, again speaking in Erendel’s mind, asked curiously. This voice was not the hooded elf’s voice.

      At first, the hooded elf’s voice replied, I thought it was an elf. But that can’t be right, can it?

      It is rather unique, the other voice replied contemplatively. If Malstaag was not in such a hurry, I would have liked to have studied it further.

      I agree, the hooded elf’s voice said. But that is impossible under the circumstances. I say we kill it and be done with it.

      Nay, friend. I should not like to lose such an interesting specimen. Let us possess it instead, so that it may remain alive.

      “I can hear you, you know!” Erendel shouted aloud. Possession didn’t seem like a pleasant end for the elfling, and he decided it best to take some action.

      The voices stopped abruptly. It seemed that they didn’t think him capable of telepathy, Erendel thought, insulted. He felt a barrier appear somewhere in his mind, and realized that the two voices were shielding the rest of their conversation.

      Some moments passed, and then a rustling as of leaves being blown across stone blew through the chamber. Two forms wavered into existence before Erendel’s eyes. He recognized the first as the hooded elf that had trapped him, but the second, also hooded, was quite a bit taller than the first. Erendel jumped to his feet, his hand at his side, and stood facing the two figures contemptuously.

      “You exhibit the powers of an elf, but you do not bear the appearance of one,” the hooded elf said shortly. “Can you explain to us why this is?”

      “You will get nothing from me, demon!” Erendel snapped back.

      The tall elf looked uncomfortably down at the shorter one for an explanation. “It is uncooperative, Kroakh.”

      Kroakh, the hooded elf, straightened up menacingly. “Then we shall make it so.”

      Kroakh raised his hands and threw back his hood, revealing a grossly disproportional face. The bulbous head was bald and bluish black in color. The large, hooked nose looked broken, bent oddly to the side. Two horns protruded from the rear of the demon’s head, and one sat squarely in the middle of its forehead. The eyes were blank and animal-like: blood red and pupil-less.

      Erendel’s dagger flew to his hand and he crouched low, prepared to spring on the demon if necessary. The Kroakh interpreted the sudden movement as an attack, and his hands lurched out, releasing a bolt of turquoise flames. The flaming projectile rocketed through the small chamber narrowly missing the elfling as he dodged nimbly to his right.

      “You’ll have to do better than that, demon!” Erendel taunted, though he knew full well that there was no way he would be able to defeat both of the demons.

      Kroakh growled angrily and shot two more bolts from his hand in quick succession. The taller demon had, in the meantime, maneuvered to the far corner of the room and squatted down, watching the battle with seeming disinterest. Erendel ducked the first shot and rolled away from the second, placing the flaming altar between him and Kroakh. He glanced quickly at the other demon and was shocked to see that it sitting in the corner, detached from the battle.

      Without thinking, Erendel launched his dagger at the sitting demon. Just as he had suspected, the dagger whistled right through the demon’s body as though it had never been there. But even more surprising was the fact that the phantom didn’t react to the missile; it was apparent that he knew the futility of the throw. Now, without a weapon, the hopelessness of his predicament suddenly washed over Erendel. He dodged another blue bolt, but without much enthusiasm this time.

      “You are something!” Kroakh laughed evilly as he circled the altar, giving it an unusually wide berth. “You know you have no way to escape, yet you still try to avoid the inevitable. Why not make it easier on yourself and surrender now? That way, demon possession will be your only fate.”

      “I’d rather die!” Erendel growled back.

      “Then so be it.” Kroakh shrugged, launching yet another bolt. “But think of the unlimited power that we could give you, if we possessed your body!”

      Erendel spat at the spectral demon. He knew that either way, he’d end up possessed. The only thing that he could do, then, to escape would be to kill himself. This thought passed through Erendel’s mind only fleetingly. The elfling had such a strong desire to live that it outweighed any realistic thoughts that might penetrate his anger.

      Erendel’s eyes found their way to the cold blue flames in the center of the prison. An idea found its way into the elfling’s mind and, ducking two bolts, he lunged for the bowl that held the flames. He grasped it with both hands and heaved it up.

      “What are you doing?” Kroakh cried out, suddenly fearful. This response only confirmed Erendel’s suspicions.

All at once, the tall demon was at Erendel’s back. It reached out to grabbed Erendel’s arm, but its ghostly form swept right through the elfling without effect. With an irritated grunt, it backed away and prepared to launch a flaming bolt.

But Erendel was already moving. The small elf dropped to his knees, the fiery bolt flying over his head, and rolled on his back, at the same time bringing the bowl of fire up and propelling it toward the tall demon with his feet as they tumbled over his head. The action was so fast that the demon hardly had time to dodge the bowl as it slammed into his chest. The demon cried out in agony as it burst into flames and was knocked back toward the wall. Erendel came out of the roll on his hands and knees, leapt to his feet in an instant, and jumped toward the burning demon.

As the tall demon, now fully consumed by the cold blue flames, reached the wall, it began to pass through it. The flames, though, created a disturbance in the solidity of the magic, opening a kind of gap only where the tall demon was going through. It was literally as though the gap was the demon’s body.

Erendel agilely jumped through the air and landed within the flames of the specter as it fell through the wall. As Erendel hit the blue flames, a burst of unearthly cold shocked his breath away. The gap that the magical flames created remained open just long enough for the elfling to pass through before the burning demon collapsed outside the wall and the recession of the flames restored the wall’s form.

The two rolled together into the rain of the storm for many feet as though they were one being. When they finally stopped, Erendel scrambled to his feet and raced into the trees, leaving the burning demon writhing in agony on the ground.

Daermia Soliio

Erendel didn’t stop running. He heard the anguished cries of the tall demon as the magical flames ate away his ghostly body, and he heard the curses of Kroakh, but he didn’t stop. He ran on through the raging storm and rain, his feet pounding on the ground rhythmically. Any ordinary human would have quickly tired, but Erendel’s elvish body was able to run long distances without growing weary. Erendel took full advantage of this fact as he endeavored to escape his captors.

Four hours later, Erendel skidded to a halt in a grove of low, bent trees with red leaves and dropped to the ground in exhaustion. He looked up through the crimson canopy and saw that the gray dawn was beginning to break. The storm, he also noticed, had died away and the clouds had dissipated. Now only a light breeze remained, and in the shade of that grove, Erendel fell asleep.

The elfling awoke a few hours later, the brief respite having completely restored his energy. The sky was a deep blue, and white fluffy clouds replaced the heavy gray ones. Erendel stood slowly, his joints crying in protest, and looked around him. The grove he was in was in an area of Lianiia’s Wood that looked completely unfamiliar. The trees, for one, were smaller and branched out more haphazardly than those of Erendel’s home. They often bore leaves of bright green or red, and the ground was nearly devoid of undergrowth. The mossy grass that clothed the earth was lush and healthy. Erendel looked back the way he had come the night before and saw that he had been climbing upward; the ground was more sloped and he could see over the tops of the trees, beholding the vast wonder that was Lianiia’s Wood.

With such beauty surrounding him, Erendel found it hard to believe that the events of the previous night had ever really happened.

After a brief breakfast of berries and some elvish bread, Erendel set off in what he hoped was the westerly direction. He was utterly lost now and without any weapon, and he readily admitted that fact despite his prideful spirit.

The elfling traveled quickly, but more carefully now. He was not sure what to expect in this serene, but alien landscape, and he wasn’t going to take any more chances. Travel here was much easier than it had been for the past few days: the land sloped gently and there was an absence of inhibitory vines and shrubs. It wasn’t long until Erendel found that he was quite enjoying himself. As the day wore on and nothing unusual happened, Erendel began to let down his guard.

Suddenly, he spotted a figure far in the distance before him. Instinctively, he dropped down to the ground and grabbed at his sheath for the dagger that was not there. With a quiet curse, Erendel started to make his way toward the figure. He decided very firmly that he was not going to let anyone surprise him. He reached a small creek that flowed between him and a small clearing in which the figure, who turned out to be an elf, was calmly building a pile of rocks, humming a tune all the while.

Erendel couldn’t keep the smirk from escaping his lips as his thought how childish the elf looked, dressed in a flowing red robe and happily building that pile. But when the elfling saw the stone pile, his smirk transformed into an expression of awe. The rock pile was composed of many large pebbles of varying shapes stacked directly atop one another, creating a tower that stood perfectly balanced on the uneven ground.

“Magic,” the elfling breathed, and was immediately sorry he had. The other elf’s head snapped up, revealing a beautifully refined female face, that bore a sharp, aquiline nose and piercing green eyes. The pile that she had been working on collapsed.

“Who approaches?” The elf inquired of the woods. Her crystalline voice seemed to sing rather than speak.

Erendel considered staying hidden, but he realized how useless it was. He stepped out from behind a white-bloomed maple tree and skipped stood facing the female elf on the opposite side of the river. Much to his anger, the elf raised an eyebrow when she saw the short, slender elfling that stood, arms crossed defiantly, on the far side of the babbling creek.

There was a moment of silence between the two before Erendel spoke up impatiently. “Well?”

“Well, what?” the other elf asked, an almost imperceptible smile playing about her lips which Erendel did not miss.

“You find my size amusing?” He snapped crossly.

“Forgive me,” The elf arose and bowed to Erendel, “but I have not seen one of such stature before. I was merely wondering at the fact that one with the body of a young child could carry the voice of a fully mature male. You must admit that it is not a sight common among my—our—people.

“My name is Aeriena,” the elf continued, taking a cautious, but friendly step toward Erendel.

“I am Erendel,” the elfling replied a bit gruffly, inclining his head loftily. The sight brought a surprising amount of amusement to the other elf, who laughed merrily and returned the bow. Erendel felt his cheeks redden.

“Welcome, Selva Erendel, to the Daermia Saliìo.” Aeriena said. “You look weary; perhaps I can accompany you to our village and give you sustenance and rest.”

“It would please me to accept your offer, Elva Aeriena.” Erendel skipped lightly across the creek and joined Aeriena as she turned away in the direction of her village.

They walked in silence for a short while, and Erendel used the time to study the various flora that decorated the nearly mountainous terrain. A path—a rarity, Erendel noted with a bit of surprise—snaked through the woods, lightly dusted with red and green leaves.

“From where do you hail, Selva Erendel?” Aeriena inquired.

Erendel found it embarrassing for him to look up at the female in order to respond. “From the Daermia Scythen. I would tell you where exactly.” Here Erendel paused and looked down. “But I don’t know where I am. I lost my map a day ago.”

“I am well acquainted with the counties of our Lady’s woods, Selva; you need not apologize,” Aeriena laughed. “What, if I may inquire, caused you to lose your map? Certainly it was no small matter.”

All of a sudden, the events of the previous evening rushed back into Erendel’s mind. “It is something of which I can only speak to your ruling body.”

Aeriena’s face registered surprise for a moment. “Ruling body?” she asked. “The gods are our only masters here at Daermia Saliìo.”

“Then who is your protector?”

“We need no protector, Selva; the gods have long looked after our every need.” Aeriena’s voice sound confused, as if she never thought that anyone knew differently. “Perhaps my brother can direct you to whomever you speak of, but as for myself, I am unable to offer assistance.”

An awkward silence ensued, just long enough for Erendel to remember the stone pile he had seen Aeriena building. “If I may,” he asked haltingly, “would you mind explaining what it was you were attempting back near the creek.”

The beautiful face of the female elf resumed its laughing countenance and she replied, “I was meditating, Selva. It takes much concentration to maintain balance in even a small stack of pebbles. I do it when I feel as though I lose my appreciation for the god’s constant care of the harmony and order in Cellestiem.

“Ah! Here we are!” Aeriena sang out and skipped forward through a dense patch of trees.

Erendel drew his gaze away from the female elf and suddenly beheld the village of Daermia Saliìo. The village was situated on a level area of the forest. The houses were made of wooden panels, each composed of blackened frames with centers that was made of a thin sheet of something that allowed a small amount of light to penetrate it. Also, each building was built around a large tree as though the tree was the central post that held the whole building together. The ring of a blacksmith’s hammer resonated evenly through the golden tinted air and elves were everywhere.

Erendel turned his attention to the crowd of elves that filled the long center street and saw that hardly any of them were working. Instead, they were absorbed in meditation or conversation.

Not absorbed enough, however, to miss the approach of the elfling.

Erendel felt his ears redden when he saw the other elves look up from whatever they were doing and give him a brief, but disparaging stare. Unconsciously, the short elf drew closer to Aeriena as they walked briskly down the road. The walk seemed unbearably long for Erendel, who seemed to meet stares wherever he turned. He felt his old anger boiling up inside of him, but remembered Orrel’s warning that not all elves would accept him immediately, and the only way to prove that he was no different from them would be to react without anger.

At last, the two reached the Aeriena’s home. There was no door to speak of; merely an opening in the panels that made up the walls of the house. Even so, there was a marked change in the temperature when Erendel stepped inside. The air was cooler here than it had been outside, a change that took the elfling by surprise.

“Wait here, Selva Erendel, while I find my brother,” Aeriena told Erendel before gliding away.

Erendel took the opportunity to take stock of his surroundings. The room was sparsely decorated. The walls were brightly lit from the sunshine that streamed through the panels, and the stone floor glittered with the rays of light. The few chairs that were set against the far left wall were so ornately carved that Erendel didn’t believe that they could have been wrought by human hands. In the center of the room, a small bamboo fountain babbled away pleasantly, reminding the elfling of the creak at which he had discovered Aeriena.

Just then Aeriena returned, a tall male elf at her heels.

“Cedriel,” Aeriena said, “This is Selva Erendel. He is to be our guest for some time.”

The male elf stared rather rudely at the elfling before realizing that he had forgotten his manners. With a slight inclination of the head, Cedriel remarked, “It is our pleasure to bring one such as yourself into our home.”

Erendel didn’t miss the subtle implications and returned sharply, “Your generosity is greatly appreciated; not many would find the presence of an elfling an honor.”

“Then let us endeavor to rectify such…insensitivity.”

“Erendel here has a matter of great importance, Cedriel,” Aeriena broke in, attempting to relieve the tension. “But for now, I would have him accompanied to his room while I prepare our meal.”

Cedriel shot Aeriena a severe glance, but conceded with a nod and turned again to Erendel. “Please, follow me, Erendel.”

They passed through a few chambers of similar size and shape, all the time circling the tree that Erendel knew stood at the center of the complex. It didn’t take long for them to come to a room that was blocked by a sliding panel. Cedriel pushed the panel aside and waved the elfling in icily. “I will bring you clothes and water so that you may cleanse yourself,” he said and turned away, leaving Erendel alone.

Why, he wondered, was it so difficult for an elf to accept those different from him? With a shrug, Erendel pushed away the thoughts and prepared himself for the evening meal. It would be an interesting night.

A Game at Dinner

The sun had dipped low in the horizon by the time Erendel was called into the dining area. He entered the room decked out in a flourishing blue robe fully two times his size, drawing a laughed from the ever-merry Aeriena, and a smirk from Cedriel.

The two elves sat reclining at a low table that sat in the center of the open, well lit room. There was no roof, and the sun’s waning rays were free to reflect off the various silver ornaments that aligned the paneled walls. Erendel glanced up through the opening and saw the stretching branches filled with green leaves and new pink blossoms that were occasionally detached from their perches by a light breeze. An evening bird chirped out its exultation, completing the serenity of the scene.

Only Cedriel seemed to mar the general beauty.

Aeriena arose from the table, extended a hand toward the elfling, and beckoned him to join them with a word of greeting. Only when Erendel sat down and leaned comfortably on his elbow did he notice the meatless array of delectable food.  He looked to Aeriena questioningly, purposely avoided Cedriel’s steely gaze.

“We respect life, Selva,” Aeriena explained simply, reaching for a bright green grape and delicately biting into it. After she swallowed, Cedriel began to select some of the greenery and down it slowly. Erendel quickly understood that it was the female’s part to begin the meal. Even so, he wished to confirm this assumption, and so did not take anything immediately.

“You do not like the selection?” Cedriel asked, a judgemental edge to his tone.

“Have I done something that suggested such?” Erendel replied without hestitation. As if to emphasize his point, the elfling reached for an orange slice and popped it into his mouth.

Cedriel shrugged, obviously disappointed at having been robbed of the pleasure of the last word. He sipped a chalice of crystalline water contemplatively, then said: “My sister mentioned the pressing business concerning which you seem to feel is suited only for a ‘ruling power.’” Cedriel spoke the words with distaste.

“Indeed, I must relate it only to one is capable of taking appropriate action.” Here Erendel gave the other elf a poignant stare. He guiltily admitted to enjoying the frustrated expression that fleetingly crossed Cedriel’s face.

“I shall be the judge of the…value of the information,” Cedriel said.

“Only the gods can judge, Selva,” Erendel almost snapped, then repressed his emotion upon seeing the uneasy look in Aeriena’s eyes. “Besides, I would rather learn more of your society here. It is quite removed from those other communities of which I have had the privilege of residing in.”

“I would be delighted, Selva,” Aeriena cut in before Cedriel could speak. “It is a beautiful place, this realm. We live solely to meditate upon and obey the divine Maennol, Algon, and Alucia here at Daermia Soliio. We seek to understand their ways through the study of balance and nature. That is why I retreat to the solitude of the creek and build a pebble tower. And that is why our homes surround the trees. In fact, each tree represents a quality of the family that lives under its shade. Our tree represents sanctity…”

Erendel allowed Aeriena to continue speaking, occasionally nodding and smiling at her words, but his thoughts were elsewhere. In truth, he was impatient; he wanted to understand the events of the previous evening. Who was Kroakh, and why had this demon entered the material world? Why had the cold flames been able to destroy the tall demon’s seemingly impervious form? And most of all: why him? The elfling had been thrust into an adventure that involved magic-something he knew little about. Orrel had taught him of the magical properties in the abundant flora of Lianiia’s, but little else. He never learned how to call upon his natural abilities to use magic, nor had he been trained in the subject itself.

It wasn’t until Cedriel repeated his question for the third time that Erendel heard him.

“What troubles you, small elf?” Cedriel reiterated irately.

“Nothing, Selva, save that I wish to know if there is anyone to whom I can speak about this matter which plagues me.”

“Is not any elf as good as another? Surely what you speak of cannot be of importance that transcends our understanding.”

Erendel did not miss the insult. “Is there no one who has a unique understanding of magic, then? What I have seen requires someone with the knowledge of Sepheirias.”

“The Spirit World? But all elves-”

“There is someone who can help,” Aeriena broke in, obviously embarrassed and distressed by other two’s contest of repartees. “He lives not far from here in a castle of his own construction. His entire life has been devoted to the study of demonic forces. Perhaps he will have the answers you seek.”

Cedriel shot his sister an infuriated look, but remained silent. He had obviously wanted to draw the secret out of Erendel himself. The elfling was glad to see Cedriel’s endeavor thwarted even though he had not had the pleasure of the last word. Moreover, he was anxious to leave the two elves’ home. He rather enjoyed Aeriena’s company, but Cedriel’s constant pompousness was already growing oppressive.

The following morning, after a delicious but tense breakfast and an hour of meditation (Erendel was not the religious sort, however, and spent the time contrasting Aeriena and her brother), the elfling set off on the path that ran away from the community of Daermia Soliio. Aeriena had volunteered to lead Erendel, but Cedriel’s obvious dislike of the man to whom Erendel was going had deterred her. After a brief and controlled argument, Cedriel convinced his sister to stay behind.

And so Erendel set out to the castle, garbed in a tunic that Aeriena had tailored for him, and carrying a scimitar presented to him by the female elf.

As time wore on, Erendel began to grow uneasy. Perhaps it was the gradual change of scenery-the trees grew closer together, and the underbrush became thorny-or perhaps it was the chilling wind that had suddenly picked up. A few times, the elfling wanted to turn back, but the power of curiosity kept pushing him forward.

Then, all of a sudden, Erendel found himself standing before a towering castle.

The large vine encrusted edifice of black stone proved to be much larger than the elfling had anticipated. Tall, often bent, towers sprang up into the sky, while the battlements ran jaggedly around the outer perimeter. From some unseen source, a cloud of reddish-black smoke drifted lazily heavenward.

When he saw the crumbling walls, the warped glass windows, and the looming gate that stood defiantly before him, he felt a pang of nervousness enter his stomach. The building was markedly different, more Romanesque, than the buildings of the elves. Erendel almost decided to turn away from the blackened and threatening palace, but he knew that he couldn’t turn away from his quest so early on. And without the knowledge to fight the demons, who by now were probably hot on his trail, Erendel was vulnerable.

With a shaky intake of breath, Erendel placed his hand on his scimitar, stepped warily up to the ironclad gate, and knocked.

Dryn

I apologize for the long wait for this chapter. I’ve had a busy weekend, and wasn’t able to get to my writing. Please read and review! Hopefully this will begin to answer some questions.

Nothing happened at first. This only made Erendel more anxious, and he knocked again a bit more tentatively. There was a heavy metallic groan from the iron gates and, with a loud report, they swung slowly and painfully open. Smoke, a deep dirty black in color, came rolling out from between the two doors, and only darkness was revealed past the gaping maw.

Instinctively, Erendel took a cautious step back, watching carefully for whoever might come out from the shadows within the gate.

But no one came.

Erendel’s heart suddenly fluttered. There was sorcery in this place, he knew. He felt a terror welling up within him, and he took another step back. After all, his panic-stricken mind thought, there is no real reason for him to be here. It would not matter if he turned and walked away right now.

Suddenly, a bright white light illuminated the interior of the castle accompanied by a crackle as of lightning. It glowed almost blindingly for about two seconds then flickered out. More smoke tumbled out at Erendel’s shaking feet. The elfling’s eyes were wide with fright, but he obdurately held his ground. Then, from within the shadows, a voice cackled an enraged curse, and then began to hack and cough heavily.

A shadowy figure materialized within the thick smoke that filled the castle’s veiled interior. It was tall and gaunt though rather bent, and Erendel couldn’t help but think that everyone seemed to be taller than he was. The silhouette approached through the smoke, becoming clearer as the distance between it and the elfling decreased. Then Erendel saw the figure clearly. It was a human.

The old man was tall and slender, with arms and legs that still looked as if there was muscle left in them. His hair was grey-not white-and closely cropped. The man’s goatee was almost a shadow rather than facial hair, making his long face seem dark and brooding. The bushy eyebrows atop his blue eyes seemed to be wings for the long, beaked nose that was a rather prominent aspect of the old man’s countenance.

“Who rang?” The voice cackled in a high toned, cracking voice-a voice much higher than Orrel’s had ever been. The pale old man looked curiously around, not seeming to realize that Erendel was standing only a few feet in front of him. The elfling cleared his parched throat, more to mask his relief than to get the old man’s attention. With a start, the old man looked down and apparently noticed his visitor for the first time. “Well, who have we got here? A short elf?”

Erendel scowled menacingly.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the old man apologized quickly, “would you prefer ‘vertically challenged elf’?”

“My name is Erendel,” Erendel stated tersely. He was not amused by the old man’s dry sense of humor.

“Erendel, eh?” the old man replied. “That’s a good name, I suppose.” Then his face turned dark. “Would you, then, mind telling me how you found me?”

Erendel was quite taken aback by this rude inquiry. “I was given directions…” he stuttered, at a loss.

“Were you, now?” the old man’s features lightened considerably. “And by whom?”

“Aeriena-”

“Ah, that rascal!” the old man laughed suddenly, though it was more of a wheeze than a laugh. “I should have guessed it! Well then, if she saw fit to tell you where I live, then who am I to deny you entrance? Come in!”

The old man whirled around and spread his arms out, crying out an indecipherable word. The smoke that had hitherto pervaded every corner of the dark room suddenly burst into action. It all moved toward the man, as though it was being sucked inward. As it flew toward the old man’s hand, it was compressed into a tight gray orb that hung suspended between the man’s outstretched hands. Once all the smoke had congregated within the two-foot wide ball, the room lightened, revealing a rather empty vestibule. Erendel ducked as the old man turned and made as if to toss the smoking ball at him. But instead of flying toward him as he expected, the ball lazily left the man’s hand and floated upward out the door. The elfling stared after it, dumbfounded, until the old man cleared his throat meaningfully.

The room just inside the gates was very high, and a huge chandelier hung from the arched ceiling. The gray stone walls were bland and featureless, with only the occasional torch burning dimly on mounted braziers to brighten the scenery. There was a fireplace on the left wall, but it was not burning. The floor was of polished granite, and a peculiar sooty-looking mark lay outstretched in the center of the room, as though there had recently been an explosion of some sort.

“Don’t mind that,” the old man said, waving his hand. “A failed experiment-a very recent one, in fact.” Erendel permitted a small smile to cross his face knowingly. So that was where the smoke had come from, he thought.

The two crossed the empty chamber to another door directly opposite the front gate, and the old man opened it, revealing a long corridor with wooden doors aligning the stone walls. At the end, there was a spiral staircase, and it was to this that the old man led the elfling. They climbed the stairs, and walked down more corridors.

“So it was Aeriena who told you where I could be found, was it?” The old man asked as they walked.

“It was,” Erendel answered shortly.

“She’s a beautiful elf, that’s for sure. Shrewd judge of character, but easily the most joyous creature I’ve ever known. Not like her brother. You ever meet Cedriel?”

Erendel nodded distastefully.

“Aye,” the old man laughed. “That one’s a bit too prideful for my taste. And I get the feeling he doesn’t like me-”

“You know these two well?” Erendel interrupted.

“Of course!” the old man sounded shocked. “They’re the only elves I’ve really ever truly known, you know.” The old man’s voice drifted into wistfulness; he seemed to be recalling days long past as he spoke. “It was quite by accident that we met, actually. I came to these woods searching for a secluded place in which to conduct my experiments. Unfortunately, Lianiia’s Wood is teeming with elves, and I didn’t want to be found and run out. So, I constructed this castle-called it Dryn’s Manor-using magic and-”

“But you’re human,” Erendel couldn’t help blurting out.

“Eh?” The old man turned on the elfling, looking hurt. “You think that makes me less powerful than you and your kind?”

“But…your powers are not innate…” Erendel replied haltingly.

“What’s innate got to do with it?  Surely, you of all people should know the science of magic. Or are you hindered from such knowledge by your shortness?”

Erendel took the old man’s point in silence.

“Anyway,” the old man continued, picking up the story again as though he had never been interrupted, “I built Dryn’s Manor and cast a spell on it that made it invisible to all except those who sought me out. I was pretty proud of myself, I’ll admit…until I discovered a young female elf watching me. I’ll tell you, I was shocked! Here, I had gone through all this trouble to hide my castle from the elves only to have one find me out!

“Well, she didn’t tell anyone else about me (except her brother of course) and we became good friends. More of a father-daughter, relationship though….Ah! Here we are,” the old man concluded, and the two stopped at a low door at the end of a particularly long hallway. He pushed open the door without preamble and ushered the elfling inside.

“My study,” the old man explained.

This room, unlike the vestibule, was filled with furniture. Across from the door on the far wall was a large stained glass window that colored the afternoon light, giving the room a mysterious atmosphere. There was a desk just under the window that was piled high with papers, books, and scrolls. The left wall was comprised of bookcases jammed with books of all sizes, shapes, and colors. The right side contained a fireplace, burning merrily, and two cushiony armchairs of a dark green hue. The old man availed himself of the comfort of one of these chairs, gesturing for the elfling to follow suit.

With a prolonged sigh of relaxation, the old man at last introduced himself. “My name is Dryn… I don’t know if I told you yet. And since I have the rare privilege of being in the company of a vertically challenged elf-”

“Don’t call me that!” Erendel snapped.

“I’m sorry, but what do you honestly want me to call your unique attribute?” Dryn’s voice was annoyingly unperturbed.

“Please, don’t bother with the adjectives, then,” Erendel answered, trying with difficulty to keep his voice under control.

“Elf, it is then.”

“My name is Erendel. I’ve already told you that!”

“My apologies. This old body isn’t what it used to be, you know. Now, I would like to here your whole story, and why you should want to seek the expertise of an old man like me.”

And so Erendel slowly began to unfold his life’s story. He found himself, much to his surprise, telling Dryn of his childhood within an elven community, how he ran away, how Orrel found him and raised him, and finally his decision to explore the world. All through the narrative, Dryn listened with rapt attention, making faces and remarks occasionally. Erendel then told of his encounter with the demons, to which Dryn’s face paled.

“This is ill news…” Dryn muttered when Erendel had finished.

“How so?”

“Demons do not walk the earth in their ethereal forms. It has never happened before-it should never happen.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course not! And neither do I!” At this, Dryn jumped up and began pacing the floor in front of the fireplace. “You don’t understand the danger this presents. For thousands of years there has been a barrier between our world and the spiritual world. The only link to that world came when man used magic, drawing from the demon’s powers and giving up their own energy in return.  Only through that and possession could demons come into contact with the corporeal world. Something has gone completely wrong…are you sure that you couldn’t have stabbed them with your dagger?”

Erendel crossed his arms and looked irritated.

“No, of course you couldn’t.” Dryn’s voice was breathless with fear, and his pacing was unusually fast. “This is not good at all. They have made a portal to our world. What did you say the one demon’s name was?”

“Kroakh…”

“An arch demon! Things are getting worse already.” Dryn stopped pacing and raced for his desk, grabbing papers and books and throwing them aside in a frantic search. “I don’t have any books on demonology!” He cried with despair.

“Then what are we going to do?” Erendel asked worriedly. He didn’t quite understand the whole of the matter, but it was apparently serious.

“We’ll go to Nellscalon! And we have to go now!” With shaking hands, Dryn began to hastily gather up his necessities and toss them into a suitcase that had been leaning against the side of the desk.

Suddenly, there was a sound in the corridor.

“Shh!” Erendel hissed, his elven ears being the first to pick up the noise. The two of them froze.

It was the sound of footsteps, falling fast and heavily on the wood floor of the corridor. The footsteps grew louder as they approached the door to the study. Erendel didn’t dare breathe as he heard the footsteps stop abruptly in front of the study door. The latch was turned with a sharp click, and the door flew open.

 

A World Now Blemished

Aeriena burst into the study, rushed to Dryn, and clung to him in a tight embrace.

“They’re gone, Dryn! Gone!” she wept, tears streaming openly down her beautiful face. Dryn patted her comfortingly, if a bit awkwardly.

“What happened, my girl?” He asked soothingly.

For a while Aeriena couldn’t answer through her sobs of grief.

“Where’s Cedriel?” Erendel asked eventually. He couldn’t bear to see Aeriena crying.

“I’m here,” a voice said, and Cedriel stepped into the room. Erendel whirled around to face him and saw fear and shock in his eyes, though his face remained stoic. The tall elf walked over to Dryn and Aeriena and placed a protective hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Demons, Dryn,” he said, struggling to keep his voice level. “They’ve destroyed Daermia Soliio. And this elfling,” he turned on Erendel menacingly, “led them to us!”

“I did not do so knowingly!” Erendel shot back defensively.

“But nevertheless they have come!” Cedriel returned, his voice broken with rage.

“What happened, Cedriel?” Dryn asked sharply as he sat Aeriena down in one of the armchairs.

“What more need you know?” Cedriel cried angrily, “The demons have come and now Daermia Soliio is no more!”

“That is not enough. I need to know exactly what happened!”

“It was a massacre! All of the people are dead…our home has been dest-”

“Stop whimpering, fool!” Dryn boomed suddenly, making all three of the elves jump. The old man bounded over to Cedriel, grabbed him by the shoulders, and shook him roughly. “Tell me exactly-in small words, please-what happened at Daermia Soliio!”

Cedriel pushed Dryn’s hands away, but obeyed, speaking in broken words. “Soon after Erendel left the village, a cloaked man came to our community and asked if we had seen a rather short elf recently. Every one of the villagers knew immediately that this man was not who he seemed to be, and so we told him that no one had come recently. He accused us of lying and began shooting balls of fire at us. The act took us by surprise, and many were killed before we could raise defenses. But it wouldn’t have mattered. After we began to defend ourselves, the demon called upon his forces, and they utterly wiped us out. Aeriena and I escaped only because I saw the danger early enough and left before the fighting became dangerous.”

Dryn nodded and stepped back from Cedriel.

“Coward,” Erendel muttered under his breath. Cedriel shot him a venomous look.

“We cannot afford to argue, you two,” Dryn admonished the elves. “We must leave this place now.”

“But where would we go?” Cedriel protested.

“To Nellscalon. I know someone there who has studied the Spirit World for years. Perhaps she can aid us. And besides, the demons will inevitably find Erendel here if he stays.”

“I thought you said that your castle was invisible to all eyes,” Erendel protested.

“All elven eyes,” Dryn corrected as he hastily filled a rucksack with books and scrolls, “And these demons aren’t from this world, are they?”

Only ten minutes later, the small group, consisting of Erendel, Dryn, Aeriena, and Cedriel, vacated the invisible castle and set off west and slightly north toward Nellscalon. As they entered the forest, now dark with the oncoming evening, Erendel looked back one last time to look at Dryn’s Manor, but he wasn’t able to see it through the trees. He told himself that it was merely the darkness, though he knew that it was more than that that concealed the old man’s home.

“I have the feeling that I won’t be seeing that place again,” Dryn murmured despondently to no one in particular.

They would have run, but Dryn was old and physically unable to keep up with the supple forms of the other three. This impediment drew spates of curses from Cedriel, who was anxious to put as much distance between themselves and the demons that were surely hot on their trail.

It wasn’t until long after midnight that Dryn halted, plopped down on the ground, and declared that he would go no further until they had some rest. Cedriel would have dragged the old man back to his feet, but a word from Aeriena stopped him. The four then proceeded to unroll the mats that they had brought with them, and fell into troubled sleep.

The following morning, the glory of the ever-changing woods was revealed to them. Cedriel, however, was adamant that they should keep going and ignore the changing scenery. Even so, Erendel couldn’t help feeling a sense of wonder as he gazed at the tall deciduous trees, the lush though overgrown forest floor, and the green, red, and white blossoms that heralded the spring. The landscape was slowly becoming steeper as they steadily climbed the mountainous terrain. They did not travel on a path, but Dryn seemed to know precisely where they were going.

At one point in their journey (about early afternoon), they came upon a rushing waterfall. The roar of the high waterfall had long been resounding through the woods, but to see its majesty sent a thrilled rush through Erendel’s veins. They were at the base of the falls, where the water tumbled into a large pond then flowed south in a sparkling river. The greenery-mostly ferns and vines-that climbed the rocky walls around the waterfall gave the woods an exotic look.

“Let us tarry here for a moment of meditation,” Aeriena announced with a voice tremulous with awe. “I must take this sight in.”

“Were we not being pursued, Aeriena, I would agree with you,” Cedriel said, “but there is no time.”

“Let her meditate, Cedriel,” Erendel snapped irately, “We haven’t had a chance to stop all morning.”

“You obviously have no concept of the danger that hunts us!” Cedriel returned with ominous calm.

“Erendel’s right, Cedriel,” Dryn remarked. “Now is as good a time as ever to rest. Besides, your sister needs this serenity, if only to calm her nerves.”

“What would you know about my sister?” Cedriel grumbled, and sunk into a dismal silence.

Erendel could think of a lot of responses to that question, but instead turned and trotted along the shore of the pond toward the falls to clear his head. By chance, he happened to glance to the east side of the pond, and what he saw made him gasp with shock. Across the river, a huge herd of strange beasts were waddling awkwardly to the south, toward the mouth of the river. They had long beaklike snouts, bulbous eyes that were squinted in pain, and batlike wings that they kept unfurled at their sides in an effort to remain balanced. They were black in color, and stood out sorely from the green woods. Their torsos reminded Erendel of a furry lizard, for tales protruded from their ends. There were about fifty or so of these bird-creatures in the whole group.

All this was enough to arrest anyone’s attention, but what really startled the elfling was the fact that the creatures were literally moving through the trees as though they were not there. With a shudder, Erendel remembered throwing his dagger at one of the demons a few days ago.

Erendel whirled around and raced back to the other three, waving his arms wildly, but saying nothing so that he wouldn’t attract undue attention. When he reached the others, he waved Cedriel and Dryn to him; he didn’t want to disrupt Aeriena, who was looking very happy in her own thoughts.

“Dryn,” he whispered, “There are demons across the pond!”

Dryn’s face paled, and Cedriel’s hand went to the saber that he carried at his side.

“Are they human?” Dryn asked.

“Come and see for yourself,” Erendel answered, and led the two away from Aeriena and up to the waterfall. He pointed to the opposite bank of the pond.

Cedriel’s usually impassive features darkened, and Dryn licked his lips.

“What are they?” The tall elf asked.

“Skrites,” Dryn answered shortly, “They are demonic birds from Sepheirias. They may look pathetic, but they can pack quite a punch if you’re not careful.”

“We must destroy them, then!” Cedriel cried and drew his saber.

“Go ahead, elf,” Dryn said dryly, “I’ll stand here and cheer you on.”

Cedriel seemed as though he would answer that, but instead mumbled something inaudible and sheathed his blade.

“We’ll have to leave here,” Dryn spoke with an air of finality, “We must reach Nellscalon before any demons do…though the site I have just seen fills me with doubt.”

Without further ado, the three returned to Aeriena, and without going into too much detail got her to understand that they must move quickly. Within minutes, they were off again.

Erendel was disappointed that they had to leave so early. It was painful for him to see such beauty as the waterfall stained by the mere presence of the demonic world, and it made him all the more determined to close the gate-whatever that was-between Sepheirias and the phlesa.

Of Mountains and Magic

They traveled at a faster pace now, and Dryn showed remarkable stamina for one so old. It seemed as though the sight of Skrites had spurred him to discover previously untapped energy. In other words, he was now taking the danger more seriously.

Four days passed quickly, and the air become slowly more and more chill as they climbed the steadily upward. At one point, during the evening, Erendel (who was now the rearguard for the group) stopped briefly to look back over his shoulder, having just mounted a particularly steep escarpment. With a sharp intake of breath, he beheld the seemingly limitless expanse that was the canopy of Lianiia’s Wood. The blanket of flowing greenery stretched out until it faded from view in all directions. And in the waning spring light, the woods seemed to be bathed in a golden glow that reflected off the leaves. Erendel had never before seen his home from above; the sight took the breath from his lungs.

“Don’t slow us down, Selva Erendel,” came Cedriel’s voice, jerking the elfling from his reverie. Reluctantly, Erendel turned his back on the glorious view and followed the other three up a steep slope.

The following morning, Dryn surprised the elves with a warm fire and well-cooked breakfast, consisting of vegetable stew (no meat was used, for the old man didn’t want to offend Aeriena or Cedriel) and crisp loaves of bread. Erendel ate the food ravenously without a second thought, but Cedriel was skeptical. “And from where exactly did you obtain this fare?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Does it matter, Cedriel?” Dryn responded, unmoved. “Enjoy it while it is still warm; it will be the last meal you shall eat in the woods.”

“We shall be soon reaching Nellscalon?” Aeriena asked hopefully.

Dryn shook his head and tore off a piece of bread with his teeth. “We will enter the Watchtower mountains in only four or five hours. Then we will turn north toward Nellscalon.”

“Have you never been to the city?” Erendel inquired of the female elf. Sadly, Aeriena shook her head.

“Never,” she replied, “I have heard much about it, but my community has attempted remain detached from the mountain elves. They say that the elves there are…less than loving of the beasts of the earth, which Maennol herself breathed into existence.”

Erendel nodded absently. His mind always began to wander whenever someone began to speak of the gods. He himself did not believe in them-he had never been given any sign of their existence. But it was more than that. Deep inside, Erendel knew that there was a simmering anger against those who claimed that the gods were active and cared deeply about their people. He looked down at his short body and grimaced visibly. If they cared, then why was he this way?

“Those horrid apostates have little care for their brethren, the animals,” Cedriel was remarking hotly when Erendel’s mind returned to the present. “And I have every confidence that they know exactly what they are doing too!”

“What is wrong with eating meat?” Erendel asked, and then bit his lip. Once again he had spoken without thinking.

Cedriel gave him a shocked look. “Do you know what you are saying?” He asked with pious anger. “Do you realize-”

“I hear you grew up in Daermia Scythen,” Dryn cut in quickly. It was an obvious and awkward attempt to change the subject, but Erendel didn’t care. He was grateful to the old man anyway.

“I did,” Erendel answered before Cedriel could say anything, “Though I must admit that the people there were not what you’d call pleased to have a short elf in their midst.”

“Aye,” Dryn laughed. “I also hear that they have a fine school of magic there.”

“Your source was not mistaken,” Erendel agreed. “It is, by all accounts, one of the finest.”

“I should have liked to study under an elf,” Dryn said remorsefully, “it might have been fascinating.”

“That it would…”

“Why did you not avail yourself of the opportunity of having such an esteemed school so close by, then?”

Erendel shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t wish to explain to Dryn the fact that he had run away long before he had even graduated from the school, especially with Cedriel nearby.

“I see no mark of the university on your arm,” Cedriel observed, holding his own forearm out and revealing tattoo of a sun eclipsed by a curved M. Around the top and bottom of the M were written the words “Ordained One” in elvish script. Such a tattoo was only given to graduates of Iceira-magic.

“No, I did not graduate,” Erendel said stiffly. He was not in the mood for another argument.

“You don’t know magic?” Aeriena asked with a shocked voice.

“I know the basic concepts and background, but not much else.”

“No surprise there,” Cedriel smirked, his mouth curving upward slightly. “One cannot graduate with such minimal knowledge.”

“Well, at least we have one expert magician with us,” Dryn put in sardonically.

“You are the magician, Dryn,” Cedriel snapped, his smirk transforming into a glower. “I would not stoop so low as to use potions and scrolls. I am an elf, after all.”

“So?”

Cedriel was taken aback by this apparent disdain for his heritage. “My skills are innate, and far more efficient than any spoken spell ever could be.”

Suddenly, the tall elf stiffened. He jumped up-though it seemed more as though he was pulled up by some invisible hand-and his hands were forced straight at his sides. His mouth snapped shut uncontrollably and his eyes betrayed a look of shock as he stared at Dryn, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. It was a rather comical spectacle, Erendel thought, seeing the tall elf standing rigid and perfectly still next to the fire.

Aeriena wasn’t as amused. She let out a cry of horror and jumped up, completely at a loss.

The elfling looked to Dryn questioningly. The old man had his right hand out, palm forward. On one of his outstretched fingers was a black ring bearing a large ruby. Erendel wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before.

Dryn held Cedriel firmly by the magical force for some time, then released him with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. The elf collapsed on the ground, gasping, his face a picture of fury.

“Lesson learned, I hope?” Dryn smiled.

“What have you done?” Aeriena cried, and rushed to her brother’s side to be sure he was not hurt.

“Hopefully,” Dryn said as though beginning a lecture, “Our elf friend here has learned a lesson in the different forms of magic. You see, Cedriel, one need not be an elf to know magic. I merely inserted my will and a bit of the energy from a tree into this ring here.” (Here he pointed to the ruby ring on his right hand.) “All I had to do then was draw on the ring’s energy and…but you knew that already, didn’t you?”

Cedriel could only snarl weakly, defeated, and assure his sister that he was fine.

Erendel couldn’t help letting a smile cross his face; he was beginning to like this old man.

The Wall

The next five hours’ travel was silent. Each of the travelers was absorbed in his own thoughts. Cedriel was sulky, embarrassed by the recent events, and refused any attempts at conversation. Aeriena too had become unnaturally silent. It was apparent that she was still in shock that Dryn would do something so harsh to her only brother. Dryn’s thoughts were inscrutable through his stoic countenance. And Erendel’s mind was a mixture of emotions. On the one hand, he had enjoyed seeing the one he strongly disliked humiliated, but he felt some remorse for bringing it upon the tall elf. It was this ambivalence that prompted Erendel to approach Dryn, who was walking at the front now.

“I am sorry about what happened today,” Erendel began a bit uncertainly.

“Are you, now?” Dryn said in a flat voice, his face unchanged.

“I apologize for bringing this-”

“Stop it, Erendel.”

Erendel almost stumbled in his walk, shocked and hurt at Dryn’s response. “But-”

“Don’t say anything. It wasn’t your fault and you know it. It was my decision to show Cedriel a little humility, not yours. Don’t put this upon yourself.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Erendel spoke again. “Why is Cedriel the way he is?”

“Why are you short?” Dryn retorted flatly.

Erendel said nothing, waiting for the old man to continue.

“Who am I to explain to you the motives of another elf?” Dryn said finally. “I am a man, not an elf. And although I’ve grown to know those two quite well” (he jabbed a thumb back over his shoulder) “I cannot fathom the motives of any elf. What I do know, though, is that all elves have one major shortcoming-pride. I suppose it’s more apparent in Cedriel than in others.” Dryn shrugged noncommittally and said no more.

Again silence.

“I…I noticed that you mentioned the different types of magic,” Erendel said presently. “I’m curious. How can you, who are not an elf, use magic so easily and without speaking.”

Dryn laughed, his wheezing chortle contrasting sharply with previous silence. He seemed to glad to get his mind off the recent events. “Magic, as you well know, is a vast subject. I could spend days-no, weeks-describing only the basic forms of magic! That is not to say, however, that I can’t differentiate between the two.

“Magic, Erendel, is a mystical thing.” Dryn laughed at his own witticism. “However, there are rules which man must follow in order to execute spells. You are aware that one must draw upon the powers of the spirit world to cast a spell, and their own energy is in turn taken by the demons proportionally to the power drawn. Now, to open a link to Sepheirias, a man must focus his will on a certain spell. To take the power from Sepheirias and complete the link, he must speak certain words in the demonic tongue. (These are often written on scrolls for those who have difficulty memorizing spells.) Once the spell has been cast, the magician severs his link with Sepheirias to keep the demons from drawing more energy than necessary.

“Elves’ minds work differently. Because they are more attuned to the world of Sepheirias, they don’t need to spend so much time focusing their wills, and they don’t need to complete the link by speaking. It is all a thought process. They still must pay with their energy, but the proportions are different for an elf than for a human.”

“But what about the ring?” Erendel asked. He understood what Dryn was saying, but more questions had invaded his mind.

“Ah, that,” Dryn waved a hand. “I don’t know if you learned this or not, but gems are containers of magical energy. To fill one with power from Sepheirias, one must follow the same process as I have already explained in order to fill it. However, because gems hold much more power than a human, a magician usually spends days filling the gem with a little energy, resting, and then filling it a little more. Once the gem is full, the magician need only focus his will on the gem to draw power from it, though, of course, the gem must be connected in some way to the magician’s person.

“I personally prefer filling the gems and drawing power from them. In the first place, they don’t take energy from you once they are filled. And, they’re safer than continually opening a link to Sepheirias.”

Erendel could only gape at the vast amounts of information that Dryn seemed to be in possession of. Before he could say anything, however, Dryn thrust his hands up despairingly and grunted. Erendel followed the old man’s eyes and saw that they had come upon a steep fifty-foot tall cliff.

The first thing Erendel realized at that moment was that they were no longer in Lianiia’s Wood. While he and Dryn had been talking, the four had passed from the exotic trees of the lower forest to a wood filled with tall pines and little undergrowth. The air had gotten colder as well, but Erendel had not noticed this before, having been engrossed in his own thoughts.

“How are we to scale it?” Dryn asked, reverting Erendel’s attention to the cliff.

With his elven eyes, Erendel scanned the cliff briefly and spotted several places along the wall where they could easily climb.

“There is no problem here,” Cedriel said, taking the words from Erendel’s already half-opened mouth. “We can climb it with little trouble.” The tall elf strode past the other three and placed a hand on the wall. “Here,” he said, “is the quickest route.”

Erendel glanced at the other options and found another route that seemed easier. “No,” the elfling then said, approaching a different section of the wall. “This place proves to be the quickest.”

“You are wrong, Selva,” Cedriel shook his head. “Here is where we shall find the safest passage.” He indicated the area at which he stood.

“Then you know little of the stone,” Erendel spat out before thinking. He promptly snapped his mouth shut and cursed himself for letting his anger get the better of him.

Cedriel’s eyes narrowed.

“We shall see about that. I will race you to the top, elfling,” he growled.

Without any further words, the tall elf grasped at the stone and pulled himself up as quickly as he could. Erendel lost only a split second before starting; he had expected Cedriel to do something of this kind. In seconds, the two were neck and neck on the cliff, grasping and clawing at the stone with surprising agility and grace as they scaled the stony wall. Neither of the two were ever at a loss for a handhold, and both took complete advantage of the crevices and cracks that they found.

They were about twenty feet up now, and neither of their paces had yet slowed.

From below, Dryn called out encouragement to both of them. He obviously didn’t care which one won. Aeriena remain silent, but a small smile creased her lips in amusement.

There was now only fifteen feet to the top. Erendel suddenly reached a spot where there was no handhold for him. He spotted one up a bit further, but his small stature wouldn’t allow him to reach it. He glanced over at Cedriel and saw the elf still finding his way up with little trouble. As though he knew that he was being watched, Cedriel turned his head and looked scornfully at Erendel.

“Can you not reach, Selva?” He sneered.

Erendel glared at him but said nothing. Then he turned back to his position and desperately looked for another way up. Unfortunately, there was none.

“When I have finished, I will help you up, Selva Erendel!” Cedriel called out, still climbing. He was only nine or so feet from the top of the cliff.

Erendel felt a rush of anger and dismay wash over him. He could see the handhold only three feet further than he could reach, and it seemed to mock him as it sat there in the wall.

Then, the elfling decided that he would do something about the situation. He put his weight on his feet and crouched low. Then, with sudden force, he forced his body up in a straight jump, his hand up high.

“No, Erendel!” he heard Aeriena cry out when she realized what he was doing.

Even Cedriel stopped for a moment, only four feet from the top, to stare at Erendel’s leap.

To the elfling, the moment that he was in mid air, only inches from the wall, seemed to happened slowly. He felt panic surge through him, and he felt suddenly dizzy. His breath came not at all, and he now understood the stupidity of his jump. He lost altitude, and knew he was falling. Without thinking, he closed his eyes.

There was sudden pressure under his feet-like two hands had gripped him-and at his back, and he felt himself being elevated.

Then he reached the crevice. Erendel instinctively gripped the fissure and he felt himself dangling with only his right hand holding his weight.

His heart was pounding, but Erendel didn’t stop to calm it. He placed his hands and feet wherever he could find a place and, with renewed fervor, raced up the remaining twelve feet with relative ease. He waited until he had caught his breath, and then turned to look down at the others. Cedriel was frozen to the wall in astonishment, as were the two at the bottom. A bit confused, Erendel looked from Cedriel, to Dryn, to Aeriena.

“Do you realize what you have just done?” Dryn croaked, finally finding his voice.

“I have reached the top…” Erendel faltered.

“But…how?”

Erendel shook his head, at a loss.

“You…you…” Cedriel couldn’t seem to finish his sentence.

“I don’t understand!” Erendel cried, “What have I done?”

“Do you not know? You flew!” Aeriena gasped, her voice almost inaudible.

Possession

Erendel’s first response was speechlessness wrought from incredulity. How could he possibly have flown? As far as he knew, levitating was physically impossible without divine aid, and he certainly didn’t believe that the gods-if they even existed-would stoop to save the life of a single elf. Without a bewildered shake of his head, he called down to the others: “I couldn’t have flown!”

“But you did!” Aeriena protested.

“What other powers have you, Selva, that we do not know of?” Cedriel’s voice, now at Erendel’s side, said quietly. Erendel ignored the question.

“Well, we can discuss this later,” Dryn yelled up to the two male elves. “Right now, you need to get us up there!”

It took only minutes for Aeriena (who chose Cedriel’s route) to climb the cliff face, and Dryn was assisted by a rope that Erendel had produced from his pack. When all four were at the top, they quickly took stock of their new position.

From where they stood, the group could view the wide expanse of Lianiia’s Wood behind them as it changed from the reds, greens, and whites of the lower trees to the dark and tall evergreens and pines that defied the mountain weather. To the north they faced a path that was only lightly wooded and contained few grasses or shrubs. The trees were taller now, though more widely separated, and so did little to block the chill wind that whistled through the gray landscape. The precipitous slope along the left of the path blocked most the wind, but a steep drop that fell for over a hundred feet or so to the path’s right created a new danger.

Dryn insisted that they find some place to make their camp, complaining that he was tired from the climb. Erendel was glad for the rest, but Cedriel wanted to go as far as possible before nightfall, an insistence that made the small elf wonder if the other knew more about the demons than he was telling. Erendel waved the thought away.

Despite Cedriel’s protestations, the small group ended up making camp in a small indentation in the mountain’s wall. Cedriel volunteered to guard the camp while Dryn and Erendel built a fire and Aeriena laid out the bedrolls. Erendel went out to find wood, and returned a half an hour later to find Dryn using a mortar and pestle to crush some purplish squares that reminded the elfling of sugar cubes. Dropping his load of dry twigs and on the ground, Erendel asked, “What is it that you are concocting, Dryn?”

“Eh?” Dryn looked up. “Oh! This is a smoke deterrant.”

“A what?”

Dryn motioned toward the sticks on the ground. “Just build me a fire and I’ll show you.”

Erendel obeyed and soon had a crackling fire burning inside a ring of stones that Dryn had meticulously set up. Without preamble, the old man sprinkled some of the purple dust onto the flames. Immediately, the smoke that had hitherto been pouring from the fire receded until no there was smoke at all.

“You seem to know a lot about the nature of smoke,” Erendel remarked with a smile.

“I have to,” Dryn shrugged, the humor of the statement complete lost on him. “I usually have messy experiments, so it helps to at least get rid of all the smoke. For some reason, I always end up with explosions. I don’t understand it…” Dryn shook his head as his voice died away into pensive silence.

Snapping back to the present, Dryn grabbed his pack and rummaged through it for their dinner. Upon finding nothing, he grunted. “It seems that I miscalculated the amount of food we’d need,” he commented.

“Oh?” Erendel was alarmed at the news, and even more alarmed that Dryn seemed unaffected. “What, then, shall we eat?”

“I don’t know…herbs, roots, grass…maybe even the trees if we get really hungry before tomorrow.”

From behind the two, Aeriena’s laugh rang out. “You are so pessimistic, Dryn. Why, there is much here that we could eat without harm. In fact, I will find some and we shall have feast for dinner.”

“I know something of cooking,” Erendel offered, “I learned much about the culinary arts from my friend Orrel.”

“Ah, yes,” Dryn nodded, “You told me about him, didn’t you?”

Within an hour Erendel, with Aeriena’s help, had boiled a delicious soup that even Cedriel admitted was sufficient. After the meal, the four discussed Nellscalon, which they were to arrive at by tomorrow evening. Erendel waited apprehensively for someone to mention his alleged flight earlier that day, but it seemed that no one wanted to speak of it.

It was Dryn who finally brought it up. He had just finished describing the wonders of Nellscalon when he suddenly turned to Erendel thoughtfully and asked in an almost indifferent manner, “So, Erendel, how did you do it?”

Erendel was caught off guard, and he opened and closed his mouth several times in a vain attempt to respond. Finally he just shrugged and shook his head.

“But certainly,” Dryn pressed, “you wouldn’t have done something so foolish as leaping from the side of a cliff unless you knew that you had the power to levitate. Elves seldom make rash decisions.”

“Well, Erendel is unique,” Cedriel commented quietly.

“But I didn’t know that it would happen…” Erendel again shook his head and averted his gaze to the fire. He ignored Cedriel’s insult.

“Was there no thought process behind the flight? Did you not consciously will yourself to fly?”

“Of course not!”

“Have you some powerful talisman, or perhaps a ring, that allows you to fly?”

“No! I did nothing!”

“Then it was the gods,” a voice, Aeriena’s, spoke suddenly.

The others turned to look at her, startled, for she had not spoken the whole evening.

“The gods intervened to save him,” the female elf insisted. “How else can it be explained, if he did not wield any magic consciously?”

“No,” Erendel said under his breath. “It was not the gods.” Then out loud, “I don’t feel capable of discussing this matter any further. Let us sleep and continue our journey tomorrow.”

With a start, Erendel awoke and sat up. He wasn’t sure what had caused him to awake, for there had been no loud sound or even a cold breeze. He felt his face and was surprised to find sweat drizzling down his cheeks. Confused, Erendel stood and walked to the fire that now only glowed dimly with the hot coals. The darkness was strangely eerie, and the volume of Dryn’s snores was unnaturally low. Erendel looked around at the others, but saw that they were sleeping soundly.

There was a short breath of wind-a cold wind-that made the elfling shudder. There was a presence here.

An eagle’s cry sounded in the darkness, a cry that carried terror on its voice and set Erendel’s heart beating faster. The elfling dropped to a crouch and slowly moved away from the fire, seeking cover behind a nearby tree. He didn’t know why he had to hide, but he found the urge too compelling.  It was a good thing that he did, for he narrowly avoided the searching eyes of a skrite.

The skrite meandered into the vicinity of the fire’s glow, revealing its grotesque coal black skin. It stopped for a moment and shook itself, its head swaying this way and that as though it was searching for something. Its head snapped up when the eagle’s cry again rang out and the bird of prey landed on a low branch a few feet away, apparently oblivious to the skrite’s presence.

The skrite wasn’t as blind.

There was a flash of motion as the demonic beast sprang toward its prey, fading into the darkness as it moved away from the firelight. Erendel squinted, but even his elf eyes could completely see the events that then took place in the dark. In the first moment, he saw the silhouette of the eagle, sitting complacently on the tree branch. Then, there was a horrible shriek of anguish, and the bird seemed to explode into manic terror. It toppled from the tree onto the ground where it lay writhing and screaming out in pain. Erendel knew what was happening even though he could not see the skrite itself. The choked cries of agony became even louder-so loud, in fact, that Erendel was forced to put his hands to his ears. Then with a strangled gurgle, the bird collapsed, its tortured cries suddenly cut short.

A moment of complete silence followed. Erendel didn’t know what to do. He knew that it wasn’t over yet, though, and stayed under cover. The silence now was oppressive, and the cold air grew even colder.

Erendel’s blood froze when he saw the seemingly dead bird twitch. Its feathered body shivered on the ground under the tree, and a burst of red light was ignited in its black eyes. Even a human could have seen the evil glow that emanated from the eagle’s eyes.  Then, the bird awkwardly got to its feet, fluttered a little on the earth, then took wing and sailed off into the night with a savage cry very different from before.

It was possessed.

Welcome to Nellscalon

The next morning, Erendel found himself shaken awake by Cedriel’s firm hands. The elfling found that during the night he had rolled a little too close to the fire and his scimitar had found its way out of its sheath and into his hand. Yawning, the elfling sat up and blinked at the cloudy sky.

“An elf should learn to keep control of his body even in his sleep,” Cedriel reproved the elfling half jokingly.

If anyone else had said those words, Erendel would have laughed and returned with some witty repartee. But it was Cedriel who said it and Erendel only found it annoying. The elfling shook Cedriel’s hand off his shoulder a bit more roughly than he had intended and got to his feet.

Dryn and Aeriena had already rolled up their mats and were now boiling water for their breakfast. Upon seeing the Erendel awake, the old magician chortled and said, “I’m glad to see that our chivalrous protector is alert even in his sleep! It must’ve been some dream that had you rolling around and wielding your sword.”

All of a sudden the past night’s encounter flooded into Erendel’s mind. He knew it wasn’t a dream, but he wasn’t certain whether it was prudent to tell the others about it. In the end he returned Dryn’s smile and replied, “Yes it was.”

After a breakfast of vegetable soup and water to wash it down, Dryn told the others that they would reach Nellscalon by early afternoon. This news was received well by the elves, none of whom had ever been outside of their native Daermias. So it was with relish that the four set off in the northerly direction for the capital trade city of the elves.

The morning’s travel was laborious, for the group had to traverse many steep slopes and cross deep ravines. Cedriel, as usual, was anxious to move as swiftly as possible, but Dryn’s old body kept him back. And for once, Erendel was in agreement with the tall elf: he did not like the idea of possessed birds stalking them. This thought brought sudden confusion onto the elfling. Why hadn’t the skrite seen the small band? Why didn’t the others hear the possessed eagle’s cries of anguish? And, for that matter, why was there an eagle out in the middle of the night? As far as he knew, eagles were not nocturnal. Erendel replayed the night’s events in his mind, but concluded that there was no possible way that any of that could have happened. And yet he felt strongly that he had not dreamt it.

At one point during the journey, Erendel felt as though something was watching him, and he looked up into the mountains. He saw the retreating bounds of a furry, four-legged creature. It had gray fur and an elongated muzzle. There was a small blunt horn protruding from its head, and a stubby tail from its rear.

And it had red eyes.

Of course, Erendel couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw two gleaming red dots of light in the creature’s eyes. He gave an involuntary shudder at the thought, which attracted Dryn’s attention. The old man followed the elfling’s gaze up the mountains to where the creature was just disappearing behind a rock. “That’s a mountain goat,” Dryn explained, “They are experts at exploring the slopes and ravines of these mountains. Their mostly harmless, so we shouldn’t be in any trouble. And,” Dryn added, looking furtively at Aeriena before lowering his voice, “I hear they taste really good roasted.”

Erendel smiled at the old man’s heretical statement, but the smile was wiped away when he saw Aeriena halt in her tracks, her face pale.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered, glancing around nervously.

“Hear what?” Dryn asked. “These old ears aren’t what they used to be.”

“Then stop chattering so we at least will hear it!” Cedriel spat, indicating himself and his sister.

It was Erendel who heard the sound first, though. It was like the clip-clopping of a horse’s hooves, but heavier, and they were accompanied by a bleat that sounded too deep for any earthly animal.

“Hide!” Erendel hissed. He knew what it was that made the noise.

Without delay, the four travelers rushed to whatever cover they could find behind bushes or trees, and it was not a moment too soon. As soon as Dryn had completely concealed himself under a log, the demonic mountain goat burst out onto the road, its horrible bleat reverberating off the rocks of the mountains. It tossed its head angrily as it searched for the four travelers. Erendel heard a gasp from Dryn’s mouth when he caught a flash of red in the goat’s eyes.

A tendril of thought stabbed Erendel’s mind, obviously coming from the demon that possessed the goat. Erendel hurriedly blocked out the mental search, and he saw the goat’s head snap around wildly as it looked for the four.

Are you looking for someone? The elfling thought menacingly, sending his message telepathically to the demon. Again, the goat whirled around, and Erendel could feel the nervousness mounting in the skrite’s primitive thoughts (for it was a skrite that was the resident of the goat’s body).

Erendel drew his scimitar slowly and quietly, waiting for the right moment to strike. He couldn’t stand being followed any more, and now that the demon was in a physical body, perhaps he could kill it. The elfling waited until the goat’s head was looking away from where they were hiding and burst out from behind the tree, scimitar leading the way.

The goat swung his head around just in time to see the oncoming assailant and dodged to the side with unnatural speed. Erendel had been expecting this, however, and as he ran past the goat, he slashed out with his blade and dug a deep gash in the goat’s left flank. Enraged, the goat whirled on the elfling and charged, head lowered threateningly. Erendel didn’t move to avoid the mad animal, but stood calmly, his sword outstretched in front of him, waiting for the goat to impale itself on the blade.

Unfortunately, the demon inside the animal recognized the move and leapt up at the last second, narrowly avoiding the blade. Erendel dropped to his back and stabbed upward with his blade as the creature soared over him. The goat had jumped too high, however, and Erendel was only able to nick one of its forelegs. Hot blood splattered across his face. As soon as the goat cleared his body and landed on the other side, Erendel rolled to his stomach and jumped up, ready another inevitable charge. The goat didn’t oblige, however. Rather, it stood still, feet apart, watching the elfling through its crimson eyes. It bleated tauntingly and pawed the ground with its front hoof as if asking for the elfling to charge.

Erendel hung back for a moment hesitantly. Then he slowly advanced, his sword at the ready and his eyes never leaving those of the possessed goat. The two watched each other as the elfling approached. Then, in hopes of surprising the demon, the elfling cried out and rushed, his scimitar going through a series of wild slashes. But instead of trying to dodge, as he had expected, the goat reared on its hind legs and opened its maw. A deep cackle came from the depths of the goat’s throat and a black smoky substance along with it. Erendel’s momentum rendered him unable to stop, and he ran headfirst into the otherworldly gas. He slashed about him wildly, but the gas’s power made him dizzy and lightheaded, and he dropped to the ground heavily, unconsciousness rushing into his mind. His sword fell from his hands and clattered to the dirt.

He dimly saw the goat rear again, but this time it was for a more deadly purpose. The goat stood unmoving for a few moments, as if taking pleasure in its victory. Just as its front hooves were descending upon the prone elfling, however, it was knocked aside suddenly. Erendel turned his head lethargically and saw Cedriel yanking his sword out of the goat’s chest, a grim smile on his face.

But the battle wasn’t over yet, for just as the goat shuddered in death, the demon that had taken up residence in its body separated itself like a vapor rising from the ground. Now in its skrite form, the demon flapped its wings and charged the tall elf, claws outstretched.

“Duck!” Erendel heard Dryn cry, and he saw Cedriel leap to the side just as a ball of blue flame rocketed over the latter’s head.

There was a flash of light that exploded from the demon as it was propelled backwards into the rock, now a mangled corpse burning with a blue fire. The gas dissipated instantly and Erendel found his head cleared. In the next instant, Aeriena was kneeling by his side and she grabbed his hand in hers. “Are you hurt?” she asked, her eyes exuding concern.

Erendel shook his head quickly, though he rather enjoyed the attention the female elf gave him. He scrambled to his feet and retrieved his sword. He looked to Cedriel, who was cleaning his sword with rag, and the shock of sudden realization hit Erendel like a stone.

“You saved my life!” he gasped.

Cedriel ignored the elfling, but he rubbed his blade harder.

“Well, that was an adventure,” Dryn remarked dryly, “but it’s time that we move on. It seems that the demons have found us more quickly than I expected.”

Aeriena warily approached the goat’s corpse and asked, “Was it…possessed?”

“Aye,” Dryn answered, “And it’s not a good sign.”

“It is awful,” Aeriena mused softly, “that one must die because another has mastered it.”

And no one disagreed with her.

A light drizzle served to dampen the four’s mood as they walked the featureless landscape toward Nellscalon. Erendel used the time to study his surroundings. The tall pines grew ever taller as they walked, becoming veritable fortresses for any creature who lived within its shade. The ground was empty of grass now, either dirt or rock. The mountains now surrounded them on all sides, making it impossible to see Lianiia’s wood to the east. The ground on which they traveled was invariably climbing upwards, and soon became a wide, smooth path.

“We are almost there,” Dryn told the others.

Erendel looked ahead and saw that the old man spoke the truth, for a thick patch of evergreens shaded a path. Along the sides this path were planted metal rods, each one bearing a yellow orb at their ends that glimmered in the fading light. The world grew suddenly very dark, and the rain seemed to cease abruptly as they entered the shade of the small wood.

Erendel barely caught the sound of rushing cloth, and then he suddenly found himself facing a tall elf. He froze, though his eyes looked toward the others. They too were detained by the strange elves, each bearing nocked bows that were trained on their captives.

The first thing Erendel noticed about these elves was that they were not like those of Lianiia’s Wood. Their long hair was a dusty gray in color, whereas Erendel, Aeriena, and Cedriel’s were a dark brown. Furthermore, they were a good two inches taller than Cedriel, and their faces were longer. Their pale skin created an austere mood to their inscrutable countenances.

“What hath brought you four unto our city?” One asked in a clear voice that bore a strange accent.

“We seek the counsel of one of your people,” Dryn responded in perfect elvish, bowing slightly.

The elf eyed the old man dubiously. “Thy party is quite unusual. Especially this one.” The elf turned and looked directly at Erendel. “Ne’er have mine eyes beheld one such as he. How shall I know that you speak the truth?”

Erendel found it particularly annoying that the foreign elf refused to speak directly to him.

Dryn’s face hardened slightly, but then relaxed and he proceeded to speak in a language unknown to Erendel. The sound of his words reminded the elfling of a waterfall, their power and majesty seeming to crash together. He could tell that Dryn was speaking in ancient, majestic tongue that held vast authority.

When the old man had finished speaking, the mountain elf bowed and ordered his cohorts to stand down, though he kept his eyes fixed on Erendel. Then he stepped aside and gestured with his hand for the four to pass.

“Welcome, then, to Nellscalon, servants of the gods.”

Noble Men

Erendel couldn’t help glancing back to see if the elves were following them as the four passed slowly under the foliage of the trees that reached out their branches to protect them from the drizzling rain. He saw no one, though, and that made him a bit uncomfortable. Up until this moment, he had expected a great welcome to the capital trading city in Lianiia’s Wood. After all, elves from all over Cellestiem came here to trade their wares, so why should his presence attract attention?

The elfling looked down at the ground, his eyes passing briefly over his short form, and he sighed audibly.

“What did you say?” he heard Aeriena ask Dryn, both of whom were walking a few paces ahead of the other two elves.

“Eh?”

“To those elves…what did you say that caused them to allow us passage?”

“Oh…I just promised them that we were who we said we were,” Dryn shrugged as though that was all there was to it.

“But in what language did you speak?” Aeriena persisted.

“I’m not sure,” Dryn replied, “But I do know that it is a language that has seldom been spoken for more than a thousand years.”

“But why should that make a difference?”

“You are full of questions aren’t you, Aeriena?” Dryn said sternly, though Erendel could tell there was a note of affection in his voice. “It makes a difference because that language is only spoken by those who are honest and noble…not that I’m bragging or anything.”

“Then few people now are noble…” Aeriena reasoned.

“Now that’s not true!” Dryn put in hastily. “It is only that few of the noble people take the time to learn it.”

“Why not?”

Erendel’s thoughts began to wander at this point as he listened to the gentle patter of the drizzling rain above his head and the musical voice of Aeriena as she discussed the ancient language with Dryn. The path, he noticed, took a sharp turn to the left, and it was steadily rising. As the four turned the bend, Dryn threw up his hands in exultation and proclaimed, “The city of Nellscalon!”

Erendel blinked when he came out of the darkened woods and into the suddenly bright opening. What he saw made him gasp, for it was a sight that he had never before seen in the Lianiia’s Woods. The travelers were in the midst of a wide and long circular canyon that rose high above their heads. What shocked Erendel, however, was the fact that the canyon walls had been made into a place of residence for the mountain elves. All along the face of the wall were hemispherical protrusions that looked like large bubbles in the stone. These bubbles were made of stone themselves, and seemed as though the rock wall had naturally been made that way-though Erendel knew otherwise-and they often had holes in them that served as windows. There were also long passage-like alcoves formed into the wall so that the elves could pass between the bulging, multi-level houses.

At the far end of the canyon was situated a grove of redwoods that reached far into the sky, and these trees held even more wonders. Around these trees coiled beautiful staircases, climbing the trees so naturally that it seemed to Erendel that they were always there. The staircases led to curved platforms that circled the redwoods, which were linked to each other by arching bridges. It was on these platforms that the mountain elves held their trade transactions.

The rest of the city-the area in the center of the canyon-was filled with the most beautiful trees, shrubs, flowers, and creeks that Erendel had ever seen, all gracing the lush green hills that gently rose and fell throughout the vast garden. Butterflies and exotic birds danced among the flowers and weaved their way through the many gazebo-like structures that dotted the garden. The garden far surpassed the beauty that he had witnessed in Daermia Soliio, and he instantly felt a calm serenity wash over him. At that moment, he felt he could walk the twisting garden paths forever and never grow weary. Perhaps it was the unnaturally warm air that created the effect, but Erendel could tell by the certain sparkle in the air-coupled with a faint sweet scent-that it was magic that kept the city in perpetual bloom.

The elfling looked to Aeriena and saw tears of joy glistening in her eyes. Even Cedriel did not go unaffected by the incredible sight.  Only Dryn was unmoved.

“Alright, now that we’re here, we can finally start getting things done!” he said firmly. “Cedriel, Aeriena, I need you two to seek some sort of inn where we can stay for the night. Erendel and I will seek the one who can help us with our dilemma.” Erendel wondered why Dryn spoke so vaguely of this person from whom they were supposed to get their answers.

Aeriena was still gaping in awe of the wondrous city and seem not to have heard Dryn’s instructions. Shrugging, the old magician turned to Cedriel and nodded. “Let her enjoy the sight,” he said, “but don’t forget to find us somewhere to stay.”

Surprisingly enough, Cedriel didn’t bother to protest. He merely nodded mutely and returned his gaze to Nellscalon’s garden.

“Come on, Erendel,” Dryn said and started off down one of the many garden paths. Erendel followed close behind, his elven eyes taking in all the wonder around him. Right now, he was in such a state of excitement that he didn’t notice the hundreds of other eyes that watched him with disdain. The gray eyes of the mountain elves were all fixed on this one strange creature that had entered their city.

Dryn seemed to know his way well as the two crossed bridges, walked under colorful trees, and climbed cobblestone stairs that were built into the hills. After what seemed an eternity, they reached the wall of the canyon, and Dryn mounted a flight of steps that snaked up the wall. As they went higher, Erendel couldn’t help but notice the extraordinary view from his vantage point. He couldn’t stop himself from taking a sharp breath.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Dryn remarked over his shoulder.

“It is,” Erendel agreed breathlessly.

They soon reached one of the countless bubble-like structures and Dryn knocked on the stone beside the cloth draped across the opening that served as a door. At first there was no response, but when Dryn knocked again, the cloth was flung aside and a tall, female figure stood in the doorway. The woman was obviously an elf, for she possessed all the traditional features of a mountain elf. There was, however, an aura of mystery that surrounded her. And her lavender eyes were not like those of the other denizens of Nellscalon. Also, she was garbed in a bright purple robe, something the mountain elves rarely wore. And there was something in her eyes that seemed different-a haunted expression of regret. This puzzled Erendel.

“Dryn?” She asked in a voice that held hundreds of years of wisdom and experience.

“It is I!” Dryn announced emphatically, spreading his arms out as though he were some royal figure. The elf laughed, but it was an oddly obligatory laugh; she seemed only to respond as was expected.

“By the hand of Alucia, thou hast gotten old!”

Dryn crossed his arms in protest. “By your standards, if I recall correctly, I am still a youngster!”

Again, the elf laughed and then turned her gaze to Erendel. The elfling shrunk back unconsciously at her penetrating look. He felt a presence searching his mind, and he knew it to be this new elf.

“Who do I have the pleasure of meeting, here?” The elf asked slowly, almost as though her attention was not fully on what she was saying.

I am not so different as you think, Erendel thought sharply at the presence in his mind, and then out loud, “I am Erendel, son of Pelinel of Daermia Scythia.”

Ah, but thou hast just proven to me that thou art…the presence’s voice sounded pensive. “Welcome, Erendel,” the elf said, inclining her head, “I am Adaria, Daughter of the Four Winds and servant only to the gods.”

My size means nothing, and only in that am I different, Erendel thought pointedly before speaking with the customary reply. “Then Maennol’s grace and blessings be upon you.”

By thy very thoughts, thou hast betrayed thy uniqueness, Erendel, came Adaria’s thoughts, which caused the elfling to look bewildered at the other elf. “And the same upon you,” said Adaria, giving Erendel a warm smile.

“Yes, well, we’ll have time for bandying words later!” Dryn cut in impatiently. “Right now we need your counsel, and we need it quickly!”

Let us speak on this later, elfling, Adaria thought quickly before cutting off her link to Erendel’s mind and moving to the side to admit her guests. “Indeed, it can be no small matter that has brought thee hither to me, Dryn. Has it indeed been fifty years since we last spoke?”

“Forty-six,” Dryn corrected as he brushed by her into the airy room within, “but who’s counting?”

Erendel was surprised to find the room to be quite warm; he had expected it to be cool because it was inside the rock. He soon saw the reason, for almost the entire front of the wall was filled with tall and wide rectangular openings that looked out onto the stunning garden below. The room itself was partially hemispherical, as though someone had taken a sphere of stone, cut it in half, and then attached one half to the cliff face. The floor and back wall were flat, but there was no way to distinguish the roof from the front and sides because of their smooth curvature. The furniture in the room was Spartan, with only two chairs, a low bamboo table, and a bookcase. Exotic mats covered the floor and hanging plants were suspended from the ceiling. What attracted Erendel’s attention, though, was the bookcase. It contained a unique collection of skulls, vials of colorful salts, black embossed books, strange amulets, chalks, parchment, quill pens, candles, and a jeweled, mahogany box.

“Please, seat thyself,” Adaria said to Erendel, indicating one of the chairs beside which Dryn had already plopped himself.

The old man didn’t wait for the elfling to sit before he began his narration. “We have come, Adaria, to discuss a very important and possibly deadly event.”

“Oh?” Adaria said, raising an eyebrow.

“Aye! There are demons on the loose in Cellestiem!” Dryn paused at this proclamation and waited expectantly for Adaria’s response. When none was forthcoming from the stoic elf, the disappointed old man continued. He carefully laid out the past weeks’ events, leaving no detail untold, and he looked often to Erendel for confirmation. All the while, Adaria listened with a veiled expression, revealing nothing of her thoughts. Only when Dryn finished his tale did she finally speak.

“So you see,” Dryn concluded, “We have come to Nellscalon to seek your expertise in the demonic realm. We want to know what the demons are doing here, how they came here, and how we can get rid of them.”

There was a long silence as Adaria mulled over this new information. “This is a difficult matter, Dryn,” she said presently. “If things are as thou sayest, then the demons have spread all across Lianiia’s Wood. Thus, it shall be no easy matter finding the gate from whence they came.

“And the possessed goat,” Adaria continued, “That meaneth much, for it shows that they are massing an army, and may use possession as a major tactic. Skrites are the weakest of the demonic races, and so it bodes ill for us.”

“Yes, yes,” Dryn waved his hand, “But I know all this already. Just tell me why they’re all here and how we get rid of them. And perhaps you can stop speaking so formally while you’re at it.” This sarcasm was lost on the elf.

“All shall be answered in good time, my friend,” Adaria said calmly. “From what thou hast told me, it is clear that the demons have come through an exceptionally large gate. There has never before been an attack from Sepheirias through gates, so the answer to your questions will not be easy to uncover, and stopping this invasion shall be even harder. The first step, I should guess, would be to find this gate.”

“Easier said than done, Adaria,” Dryn grumbled. “It is nearly impossible to find something even of that size in Lianiia’s Wood.”

“That is not so, Dryn.” Adaria’s voice dropped to nearly a whisper, and her eyes were almost completely closed now. “I can sense demonic activity, and I can find from whence they came. You underestimate the power of my link to Sepheirias.”

“Perhaps, but I do not envy your…relationship with the evil realms.”

“If I were to join you in your quest, then might thou havest a greater chance of uncovering the location of the gate.’

“But why are they here?” Erendel put in suddenly. He couldn’t stand being left out of the conversation like this.

Adaria turned her penetrating eyes to his. “There can only be one reason, Selva,” she said ominously. “Have thou readest thy history?”

Erendel could only admit that his knowledge of history was very basic. Adaria then stood and graceful glided to the bookshelf where she selected a particularly thick red book titled The Prophet’s Word. Then, she returned to the others and flipped through it. When she at last found the desired page, she began to read. “And it shall come to pass in the final years of Marelliah, Queen daughter of Maennol’s right hand, Empress of the earthly elves, and Mother of the eternal nation, that Malstaag’s army shall arise from their rest and stagnancy. Their ranks shall step through the door of the heavens and put their feet first on the land of their father wherefore they were given breath. They shall, with utter mercilessness, strike the wooded lands of their everlasting foes that they may quell them forever. Their untouchable ranks shall stream across the land as water over sand, but then….” Adaria suddenly stopped and shut the book-a little too abruptly. “So thou seest,” she said to Erendel, “They have amassed their army in order that they may destroy the elven nation.”

“But why?”

“We take their power from them, but give little in return, as human magicians must. They naturally feel cheated.”

“And how were they able to open the gate?”

Do not ask questions, Selva, Adaria’s thoughts spoke in Erendel’s mind. She said it simply, as though she was a disappointed mother. “As I have said,” Adaria said aloud, “All thy questions shall in due time be revealed.”

“Why must everything be ‘in due time?’” Dryn complained tartly.

“Thy impatience is unnecessary, Dryn. Thou should rest thyself, for thou art weary. And before even that,” Adaria turned her grim gaze to Erendel, “I must speak with the Selva Erendel-alone.”

Startling Revelations

“Alone?” Dryn nearly exploded. “What is this? I came to ask you for advice, and you’re going to push me aside just like that? This is unacceptable!”

“Please, Dryn,” Adaria said rather sternly, “I promise thee that I shall tell thee all that you desire, but there are matters of importance that I must discuss with Selva Erendel.”

Dryn looked unconvinced, but conceded with a grumpy snort, crossed his arms, and left the building. Adaria waited until she was sure she had left before she turned her attention to Erendel. “Thou needest to tell me everything about yourself,” she said bluntly.

“What?” Erendel would have laughed, if it hadn’t been for the grave expression on the other elf’s face-the first genuine expression the elfling had seen from her. “I hardly know you! And to be frank, I’m not entirely sure I trust you.”

“That is no surprise to me,” Adaria shrugged, “but thou must put these reservations aside for the moment.”

“But why?”

“The ‘why’ is not important now, Selva. What is important is that thou help me by telling me all about thyself.”

Erendel hesitated. He did not like the prospect of reveal his past to this strange elf who obviously had spent a little too much time in close quarters with Sepheirias. On the other hand, Dryn had trusted her….

“I will tell you what you want to know, but on the condition that you first tell me who you really are.” Erendel said presently.

It was Adaria’s turn now to hesitate and consider the proposal. It didn’t take long, though, for her to decide. “Very well,” she agreed with a smile that was almost invisible. “I will tell thee my story, and I hope that you find the answers you seek.

“I have no parents. I was born of the four winds on the summer solstice when the gods saw fit to bring me into existence. I was raised by a kindly family of wood elves in the Moonkist Forest on Rebellos far north of here. When I had reached adulthood I came here to Lianiia’s Wood.

“It was not long before the gods revealed to me my unique ability to sense demonic activity. I also found that I had the innate ability to understand the workings of Sepheirias. It was then that I began to study the demonic world and record my studies in a series of scrolls. As I delved deeper into that mysterious realm, I became fascinated by the link that I had with the demons. I talked with them often, and even began to summon them to my rooms at night for further discussion.” Adaria paused for some time, as though uncertain as to whether she should continue. “I was foolish,” she said finally. “During one of these necromantic meetings, I made a deal with one of the demons. In exchange for the answer to a certain question, I gave up my soul to Sepheirias. Now, if I were to die, I would no longer go to be a star as is the nature of things, but I would be sent to Sepheirias where I would join the ranks of the demons.”

“I realized my folly the following morning, and immediately begged forgiveness of Mastagna for my failure. I was forgiven-although the curse can never be undone-and was charged to devote my life to using my gift to keep the elves safe from the demons.” Adaria concluded her story with a grim smile. “It is not a happy ending, is it?”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Erendel apologized. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Do not be sorry, Selva. Of course thou didn’t know, and it is good that thou knowest now that there are kindred spirits amongst your brethren.”

“Kindred spirits?”

“Those who are different…specially gifted, if thou will. That is why I must speak to you: you are not like the other elves.”

“If you speak of my height, then you are sorely mistaken…”

“Am I?” Adaria asked enigmatically. “Thou see, some elves have been created by the gods and imbued with special gifts. These elves are then given the opportunity to discover their gifts and use them to protect the elven nation. My gift gives me the ability to sense demonic presence and speak directly with those creatures of Sepheirias without opening a gate to the corporeal world. But in addition to these unique gifts, all of these elves are capable of telepathic communication, myself included. It serves as a link to the other elves with similar powers, helps to establish a special relationship between them.

“I will admit that thy size was what first made me curious. However, it was thy response to my mental probing that confirmed my suspicions. Thou art not a normal elf, Selva. Thou hast been made directly by the gods, and thou havest a higher purpose than thou realize.”

Erendel was entirely unready for this revelation. If it was true, then it would completely upset his view of life. But the elfling was unwilling to accept this explanation, for he did not believe in the gods. “You speak of something difficult,” Erendel said slowly, “And I would have believed you but for my disbelief in the gods. You cannot make me believe in their existence by pretty speeches.”

“And it is not my duty to make thee believe, Selva Erendel. It is for the gods to convict, I only desire to make thee aware, and to ask that thou consider what I have told thee.

“Now,” Adaria abruptly changed the subject, “I must ask thee about this demon encounter. Dryn mentioned that the demons did not kill you immediately, did he not?”

“Yes,” Erendel nodded, confused, “But what is so important about that?”

“Everything, Selva. Demons hate the elves so much that they will kill on sight, but they did not do so for thee. Indeed, it seems that he wasn’t even trying to kill thee. It seems that he was fascinated and curious by thy size. But certainly, that couldn’t be enough to make them want to possess thee…”

The weight of Adaria’s words suddenly struck Erendel. There had been something else he had done to arouse their interest. “I spoke telepathically to them,” the elfling solemnly admitted, the sudden realization making his voice slightly hoarse.

Adaria’s eyebrows shot up. “So, thou hast revealed thy powers to them! It is no wonder, then, that they would rather possess thee! And there is one more thing thou must know.” Adaria leaned forward and lowered her voice ominously. “It is a demon’s nature to be dogged and stubborn, and I would be lying if I did not tell thee that this particular demon would not stop pursuing thee until one of you is dead.”

Erendel shuddered uncontrollably at these words and his mouth dried slightly. As it stood now, there seemed to be only one way that a confrontation with the arch-demon could end.

“But that reminds me,” Adaria again changed the subject. “I have not been made to understand thy powers. What are thou capable of, Selva?”

“I don’t know,” Erendel answered with sincere regret.

“I see…. Well, now that I have told thee all that I needed to tell, we may admit Dryn back into my home.”

“I have one more question,” Erendel cut in quickly as he suddenly remembered something. “What did the rest of that passage say? The one you read from, I mean.”

“Ah,” Adaria said almost guiltily. “That….It is prophecy, Erendel, and I could not read that particular excerpt even if I wanted to. Surely, thou knowest the laws of prophecy.”

Erendel nodded in understanding and, without another word, strode to the door flap and opened it to allow Dryn back in, his mind filled with confusion.

Old Enemies

Dryn was wise enough not to ask about the nature of Adaria’s conversation with Erendel, but he couldn’t conceal his apparent curiosity. He reentered Adaria’s home, his eyes darting from one elf to the other inquiringly, and he fidgeted with his cloak a bit awkwardly. “Well?” he asked presently.

“It has been decided that I will assist thee in thy quest,” Adaria returned promptly, her voice reverting to its firm, official tone and her manner once again inscrutable. Erendel wondered that she could switch between such moods so quickly. Aeriena, once unsettled, had quite some difficulty controlling her emotions, and it often took much assurance from Cedriel for her to calm down again.

“You are coming with us, then?” Dryn asked hopefully.

Adaria shook her head. “No, I cannot. But I can try to find as much information as I can concerning the whereabouts of this demonic gate. Perhaps I can lead thee in the right direction.”

“But certainly there is nothing here that is keeping you from joining us.” Dryn protested, “Your…abilities” (He looked furtively at Erendel, hoping that he hadn’t revealed too much undue information.) “would be invaluable to us.”

Adaria smiled slightly. “It would be imprudent of me to leave this city without a protector if this demonic attack is as it seems. My continued presence here may prove vital.”

“Very well,” Dryn held up his hands, defeated. “You win this round. Do you think you’ll have that information for us by tomorrow evening?”

“Who can say, Dryn? Sepheirias is an unfathomable realm, and my agenda cannot interfere with it. I can only promise that I will make all attempts to glean as much information as I can.”

And with those words, the meeting was concluded, and Dryn and Erendel bid Adaria farewell until the morrow. Just before they left, however, Adaria stopped Erendel and pleaded for him to truly consider what she had told him. The elfling reluctantly gave her his word, an exchange that only heightened Dryn’s already piqued curiosity.

The two made their way down the side of the precipitous stairway and headed toward the redwood grove.

“Let’s hope Cedriel’s found a place for us,” Dryn remarked absently as they strolled through the expansive garden. “More than likely, he’s been kicked out of every inn for arguing.” The old man chortled, and Erendel couldn’t stifle his own amused smirk.

Other than this short remark, the trip toward the grove was made in silence. Erendel, for one, was glad of the silence, for it gave him an opportunity to truly take in his surroundings. As he looked, he became ever more amazed at the perfect majesty of the garden. However, he also began to see other elves as they, too, were out walking. Most however, were not enjoying the scenery; they were watching the small elf closely, a fact that Erendel did not miss or particularly enjoy. Almost immediately, he felt his desire to strike out at them welling up inside, and it was all he could do to suppress it.

At last, Dryn and Erendel found their way to the redwood grove on the northern end of the canyon. Erendel was met by even more surprises as the two walked under the shade of the enormous trees. He had never seen plants as huge as these trees, nor had he ever seen such buildings as the ones that winding smoothly around the thick trunks. The light of day was fast waning, and candles had been lit all over the complex maze of buildings, platforms, stairs, and suspended bridges. The red glimmer of the flames looked like tiny jewels sparkling in the darkness, dazzling the elfling and nearly stealing his breath. And even at this hour, the stairs and platforms were still clogged with elves, though the ground remained relatively empty.

This grove, Dryn explain when he saw the elfling’s awestruck expression, was the trader’s region of Nellscalon. Up in the trees, there were inns, warehouses, and platforms for temporary stalls for traveling traders. Everything from clothing and jewelry, to weapons and armor, to magic scrolls and house wares could be found amongst the wide selection of items. At this, Erendel felt for his coin purse, and was disappointed only to find a few silver coins clinking inside.

“Don’t worry, Erendel,” Dryn laughed, “we shouldn’t be staying long enough for you to see the bazaar, though I will admit that it is to this day the most spectacular market I’ve ever been involved in!”

“Involved?” Erendel asked suspiciously.

“I was just a traveling wizard once,” Dryn shrugged. “I’d bring enchanted rings and other trinkets to the market and sell them whoever was interest. Didn’t go too well, I’ll admit.”

“Dryn! Erendel!” called a vivacious, female voice from behind the two. Erendel turned to see Aeriena gracefully moving toward them, arms outstretched and an ear-to-ear smile creasing her features. “I’ve been waiting for you two for so long!” She lamented, though her joyous smile remained. “Isn’t this place absolutely astounding? I’ve never seen so many elves in one place!”

“It is quite a sight isn’t it?” Dryn agreed, but Aeriena hardly seemed to hear him. Without preamble, she grabbed Erendel’s hand and pulled him away from Dryn saying, “Come, Erendel! You must see something!” Before it was too late, however, she remembered Dryn and called back over her shoulder, “Cedriel found rooms for us at the Everlasting Song. He should still be there waiting for you.”

Dryn could only smile as he turned away from the two after nodding his acknowledgement of Aeriena’s words. That elf was absolutely insatiable, he thought with a laugh. But he was sincerely thankful that she had befriended Erendel, for what other elf maiden would have done so willingly?

Erendel was confused by Aeriena’s excitement, and even more so by her refusal to tell him where she was taking him. Nevertheless he obediently allowed her to drag him up a winding stairway along the western side of the canyon until they reached the lip. Aeriena need not have explained her reason for bringing him to the top of the canyon, for Erendel saw it immediately. Before the elfling was a beautifully panoramic view of the Watchtower Mountains. The rain had long since stopped and the clouds had broken up and moved eastward. The sun’s golden rays shot from the glowing orange orb as it sank behind the mountain tops and, on the horizon far in the distance, a dark blue, sparkling flat surface. The sun’s glow danced off the glittering snow from the mountains, but even more so off this flat, shimmering expanse.

What startled Erendel the most was the sudden change in temperature. Up here, outside the elven magic that kept the city’s air in a constantly warmed state, the air was very cold and clear. The elfling could hardly resist the urge to draw a deep breath of the fresh, magic-free air.

“What is it?” Erendel gasped in awe, pointing to the blue landscape in the distance.

“It is the ocean,” Aeriena answered, plopping herself onto the ground and sitting Erendel next to her. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“No words could possibly describe it.”

Silence reigned for a few moments.

“You know what, Erendel?” Aeriena asked presently, and for the first time, Erendel noticed that she was no longer using the formal “Selva.”

“What?”

“It is places like Nellscalon that place me in awe of what the gods have done.” Erendel shifted uncomfortable, but Aeriena seemed not to notice. “If I were to stay here in Nellscalon for the rest of my life, were never to return…” Aeriena’s voice trailed off as it thickened with sadness. Soon tears were rolling down the elf’s cheeks, and she drew up her legs, wrapped her arms about her knees, and buried her face in the protection of her arms. She sobbed uncontrollably as she remembered that her own home had been utterly destroyed, and that she had no place to go now.

Erendel could do naught but place a comforting arm over her shoulders and sit quietly, sharing in her grief. He too remembered his own home: the one he had left nearly two weeks ago with the simple purpose of exploring Cellestiem. He remember his old friend Orrel how the old elf had hastened him along on his journey. Then he recalled the demonic trap he had sprung and how he inadvertently attracted the attention of an arch-demon. It was he, he realized, who had brought about the destruction of Aeriena’s ancient home. He was the one who even now was bring the destroyers of Sepheirias to Nellscalon, and there was no known way that he could stop it from happening.

Erendel-so far lost in his thoughts-did not feel the trickle of tears that were now coursing down his own face, nor did he hear the sobs that joined in the mournful chorus Aeriena had begun.

It was long past midnight when Erendel, supporting the weary and still weeping Aeriena, climbed one of the many spiral staircases in the redwood grove and entered the Everlasting Song. After inquiring about the rooms to the innkeeper, who was startled to see such a small elf in his inn, the elfling made his way past the well-lit and clean tavern, up the stairs to the fourth level, and into the suite that Cedriel had rented for them. Erendel found Dryn still awake, smoking a pipe in a high-backed, intricately carved chair. Cedriel was asleep in the chair beside him.

The room itself was very airy, boasting of many pillars set at regular intervals along the outer wall, leaving wide openings that looked out over the bazaar. The wood of the pillars and ceiling was stained white, and there were was a flowery scent that was emanating faintly from them. There were three doors around the room, two of which led to bedrooms and the third leading to a balcony that curved around a redwood tree. The furniture was sparse, but beautiful nonetheless, and Erendel felt that nothing needed to be added. The only fault of the room was its dim lighting.

“He’s out like a rock,” Dryn muttered from his chair, indicating Cedriel.

Erendel led Aeriena to her room and returned to the antechamber, seating himself on a futon near the balcony door.

“What could have made him so tired?” Erendel asked with a yawn.

“Hmmph,” Dryn grunted. “He was out singing and dancing in the tavern below. Can’t seem to hold his elvish wine, I’ll reckon!”

Erendel hardly had the energy to smile at the old man’s stringent remark, so he excused himself and retired to his own room, which he was to share with Cedriel (Dryn had offered to sleep on the futon in the anteroom). He closed the door softly behind him as he entered and looked around briefly. There was a wardrobe, two queen-sized beds, and a desk and stool-nothing fancy. Rubbing his eyes, Erendel set about changing into the provided nightgown-which was entirely too big-when he felt a draft on the back of his neck. Without thinking, he whirled around and reached for his scimitar, but not finding it at his side. It was dark in the chamber, but the elfling could clearly see a cloaked and hooded elf-like figure standing under the arch that led to the balcony. Without further ado, the figure stepped forward, its arms out in a sign of peace.

“Kroakh…” Erendel growled. He recognized that cold feel that one usually got when around demons.

“No,” the demon said, pulling back its hood. “I am not Kroakh.” And he spoke the truth, for the maimed face that glared at the elfling was not Kroakh’s, but the tall demon who had accompanied him.

“I killed you!” Erendel hissed, realizing the imprudence of alerting Dryn and therefore keeping his voice low.

“Killed me?” The demon laughed evilly.  “How could you have? As far as I know, we have never set eyes upon each other. Perhaps you are thinking of one of my brethren. You see, we often have similar physical appearances when in your world, for we have no need to ‘look’ different. Our identities transcend exterior manifestations. Surely you, an elf, should understand that.”

In that instance, Erendel’s mind shot back to Andriss. He heard the elven hermit’s voice in his mind saying, “There is more to an elf than their size, Erendel,” and he nodded in understanding. “Why hasn’t the coward come to me himself, then?”

“Coward?” the tall demon laughed again. “No. He is no coward. He was…detained by an old acquaintance. It seems that they had a lot to catch up on…old promises to renew.

“But that is not what I have come to say. Kroakh wishes me to give you this message.”

All of a sudden, the demon’s hand shot out, and a glowing blue ball of that familiar flame exploded into existence, rocketing toward Erendel, and blowing the elfling back into the wall. Then all went dark.

The Course is Set

He couldn’t breathe. Erendel’s lungs gasped desperately for air, but every time he opened his mouth, nothing came in to alleviate the torture. He burned to have air, and he knew he should be dead already.

He couldn’t see. His eyes were opened wide, and yet there was only darkness-a shimmering, inky black darkness. Erendel felt that if he looked around, he would be able to see more. It was as if the blackness was hovering just on the edge of visibility, so that if you strained your eyes hard enough, you would be able to make out objects. Erendel tried to turn his head, but he found it paralyzed. And not only his neck, but also his arms and legs. Only his eyes could move, and they darted wildly in as many directions as possible.

Suddenly, the blackness wavered. There seemed a ripple in the air before him that caused indefinable colors to shimmer as though reflecting of the ridges of each wave as they undulated before him. Then, two red circles as small as Erendel’s eyes materialized.

“Welcome to the Rift, elfling,” the voice laughed in a voice that was unmistakably Kroakh’s. Erendel fought to say something, but neither his mouth nor his lungs would permit such action. “This is your first taste of my home, and it will soon become your home as well. You may wonder why I have not already caught you when always you are within my fingers, waiting for me to tighten them around your neck. You see, I have what you might call an acquaintance here in Nellscalon. This acquaintance obviously cared enough about you to convince me not to destroy you here….” The eyes chortled again and their gaze bored into Erendel like an arrow. “I have interest in you, elfling. You have something in you that other elves do not, and you do not know what it is! To possess you would be more than enough reward for the inconvenience you have caused me.

“According to the agreement I have made with this acquaintance, I am not to touch you until you reach a certain realm. Once there, I can do all that I desire to you.”

Erendel again tried to cry out, tried to fight back, but he was so weak and paralyzed. He felt a consummating terror creep through him. The eyes began to fade as his vision weakened. He was truly dying now.

“Remember, elfling,” the eyes growled just before moving in on the elfling. A head seemed to appear behind the eyes, a terribly maimed wolf’s head. The muzzle was bloody, and it moved as the demon spoke. “The wolves are hungry, and you are the prey.”

The head faded from view with a laugh that would have made Erendel shiver violently had he not been paralyzed. Darkness overtook the elfling, his lungs shuddered, and his heart ceased to beat.

Erendel sat up with an unconscious cry of agony. His breath came quickly as he filled his lungs with the life-giving air. He felt his heart, and found it beating rapidly. He looked around and saw that he was in his room, in his bed. Next to him, Dryn was grumbling something about being woken up. The old man sat up in the bed and rubbed his eyes irritably.

“What was that for? What happened?”

“I have…have had a terrible vision, Dryn,” Erendel croaked, hardly able to speak.

“What was it? You’re sweating, lad!”

Erendel briefly described the incident, shaking uncontrollably all the while, and Dryn absorbed every word with stunned silence. When the elfling finished, Dryn shook his head incredulously. “This is not good news at all. Kroakh is here! And he’s not going stop pursuing you until you’ve succumbed to his will! This is terrible. We’ll have to leave immediately!”

“Do you think they will destroy Nellscalon as they did Daermia Soliio?” Erendel’s voice was shaken as the truth of the situation hit home.

“I do not know, but it seems that Kroakh has no intention of letting anything-or anyone-stand in the way of getting to you.”

“But why me?”

“That is the question that terrifies me the most, Erendel. I cannot say why, and thus, I cannot know what to do against Kroakh. One thing I can say, though, is that he is probably not working in anyone’s name.”

Erendel nodded. “He was the only one that saw me, so he must be the only one who has any interest in possessing me. There was another demon with him, but Kroakh was obviously the superior demon-he was the only one who spoke directly to me and the only one who fought me. I just wish I knew why.”

“As do I. It seems that we have two quests now: to close this gate and to find out what makes you so valuable to a demon.”

Erendel couldn’t hold in his frustration like the mountain elves, and he slammed a fist into his open palm. “I hate this!” He cried. “I hate being thrust into a situation I can’t control, hate being forced to run from a force that I can neither understand nor fight. Why have the gods done this to me?”

“The gods?” Dryn raised an eyebrow, his voice stern. “What do the gods have to do with it? You can’t blame events beyond your control on forces that you believe don’t even exist. What you need to do now is worry about solving the problem and not point your finger at the skies and bemoan your misfortune.”

Erendel knew better than to argue with Dryn; there was no way he would convince the latter of his views. So, instead, he grumbled some choice curses toward the demons. He could not smother the burning hatred, frustration, and fear that came rushing in on him, but he knew he had to, for Orrel, for Andriss, and especially for himself. Wasn’t he past these outbursts, he thought?

Erendel turned to Dryn and realized that the old man was now to be his only mentor. Orrel was not with him anymore-neither was Andriss-and, though Dryn was technically younger than him in age, Erendel knew that it was better that he’d better heed the wise old man’s words. He didn’t believe in the gods, so why should he blame them? The thought gave Erendel renewed strength and he said to Dryn, “I’m sorry, friend. I was careless in my words. You, of course, are right.”

Dryn smiled. “Good. Now, you need to get your rest, for tomorrow we will have to leave again, though it’s sooner than I should have liked.”

The following morning was cloudy and it sprinkled nearly the whole day around the city, but never did the elves of Nellscalon feel the rain. Even though it was cold and wet outside the canyon, the city’s magical shield kept it dry, warm, and sunny. Erendel awoke in the morning nearly stifled by the heaviness in the air caused by magic. He was not used to the feeling, nor was he particularly fond of it. Even so, the elfling was thankful that he would not have to get wet.

The previous night’s events weighed heavily on his mind. He still saw the leering wolf’s head, maimed and bloody, laughing at him. He shivered, though the air was warm, and got out of bed slowly.

Dryn, Aeriena, and Cedriel were already awake when Erendel entered the foyer, fully garbed and with his scimitar strapped to his hip. The two elves and old man were reclining at a low table eating a breakfast composed of fruits, biscuits, and a brown milky substance that was known across elvendom for its revitalizing properties. Erendel joined them, ignoring the snide comment from Cedriel about his late arrival, and partook of the meal. He was just draining his mug of the liquid-known as di’Chia-when he heard footsteps outside the room.

Adaria stood at the top of the staircase just outside the arched doorway.

“Ah! Adaria,” Dryn stood and bowed, “welcome to our humble lodgings, though it is a bit early in the morning, is it not?”

“No time is too early, friend Dryn, when there is important news to be told,” Adaria counciled the old man in that calm, unemotional tone. She did not look well, Erendel thought. Certainly, she was well dressed, her hair perfectly settled around her shoulders, and her face held no unusual blemishes, but there was another aura mixed amongst the already present ones that belied her stolid facade. 

Cedriel was a bit disconcerted by the elf’s entrance, and Aeriena leapt to her feet in awe. “You’re beautiful, Elva!” she exclaimed throwing her hands out wide. Adaria inclined her head at this compliment, a ghost of a smile appearing on her face for a brief moment.

“Thank you, Elva Aeriena,” Adaria replied. “I am Adaria, and Dryn has told me much about you and your brother.” The elf turned to Cedriel, who finally found his way to his feet. “Yes…” she mumbled. “I have heard much.”

“Why are you here, Adaria?” Dryn asked quickly, cutting off any excited words from exuding from Aeriena’s open mouth.

“Thy lives are in danger, Dryn,” Adaria said bluntly. “The demon that has been chasing thee has come to Nellscalon. He found his way to me last night.” Erendel nodded knowingly, and Adaria shot him a look. “I see that thou hast already found out.”

Erendel quickly explained the previous night’s events to Adaria. Aeriena gasped at the story, and even Adaria displayed some emotion in the raising of one of her eyebrows. Cedriel’s look was of pure malice.

“I was able to keep him from immediately destroying thee, Erendel,” Adaria continued when the elfling finished reciting the tale. “But I am not certain how long thou wilt be safe.”

Erendel wanted to ask how Adaria had been able to stave off Kroakh’s vengeance, but something about the voice with which she spoke the words deterred him. Instead, he asked, “What then should we do?”

“Leave, Selva. That is all thou canst do. But before thou goest, I have some information that is of paramount importance.”

“Yes?” Dryn huffed, interested.

“Two things, in truth. The first is this: the demons have begun to possess the bodies of the creatures that live in Lianiia’s Wood. Their preferred form, however, is that of the various cats and dogs, such as the panther, tiger, wolf, leopard, and so on. I would be extremely cautious that I did not allow myself to be seen by any of these beasts.

“The second thing I must tell is much more valuable. While I was unable to find the precise location of the gate, I discovered that it was opened somewhere beneath the Icefire desert.”

Dryn whistled. “Beneath, you say? But that means that it must be inside the Skraeling caverns! Are you certain-”

“I am absolutely certain, Dryn. The Skraelings were the ones who opened the gate. How they did it, I do not know, but it is an undeniable fact.”

“But surely the border of the Darkloom is lousy with demons!”

Adaria shook her head and shrugged. “I did not say it was easy to find your way there. I merely told thee the location of the gate. How thou gettest there is a skill in which I am not accomplished.”

A pall settled over the four travelers. Although Aeriena, Cedriel, and Dryn understood the implications of this new information, Erendel was confused. He knew only the geography of Lianiia’s Wood; the outside lands and seas were unknown to him. Where was this Darkloom? And what were the Skraelings?

Dryn saw Erendel’s hopelessly discombobulated expression. “I’ll explain later, Erendel,” he assured the elfling before returning his attention to Adaria. “Is there anything else you wish to tell us, Adaria?”

“Only that I would suggest that each of thee sees Daiymel and outfit thyselves with new weapons. Thy magic is not enough, Dryn, because of thy age. And thy sword and scimitar will not be effective, Selvas. If thou wilt see my friend, the smith, then thou shalt be given new weapons to combat these evil forces.

“And Aeriena, I would not recommend that thou join these three on their quest. It would be better if thou stayest here with me.”

Aeriena hesitated. It was apparent that she did not like idea of walking into demon-infested territory, but neither did she want to leave her friends and stay. Erendel knew that it would be better if she stayed behind. He couldn’t keep himself from wishing that she would stay with them, though.

“I cannot leave my brother and my friends alone,” Aeriena said finally, slowly. “Nor do I deny the fact that I am not strong in battle. Nevertheless, I feel that gods are calling me to complete this journey with them.”

Adaria conceded with a reluctant nod of her head. “Then thou shalt have thy will satisfied. I will say, however, that I do not agree with thy decision. But I knew that thou wouldst respond in such a manner, so I have brought with me a gift that will protect you.” Adaria reached into the folds of her robe and retrieved a small golden jewelry box. It was simply carved, bearing the elvish words for light, life, and love on the front and sides, and it was only about two inches in length. She handed it to Aeriena, who accepted it gingerly, eyes wide. She moved to open it, but Adaria placed a hand over hers to stop her.

“Do not open it, Elva, for its contents are to be revealed only when thou findest thyself in a place of inevitable death.”

“I thank you very much,” Aeriena breathed, clutching the box tightly to her chest. “I will not misuse it.”

“Good, my child.” Looking to the others, Adaria bid her farewell. “I must now take my leave, friends. I hope that I will see thee again, and that our meeting shall be much more pleasant.” The elf left without waiting for a response.

After a moment of uncouth silence, Dryn spoke up. “Well, you heard the lady! It’s high time got ourselves prepared for our little excursion!”

The Hands of the Smithy

Daiymel’s smithy was extremely neat. It was situated inside one of the redwood trees’ trunk at ground level, and the interior was sanded and polished wood, giving the red wood a glistening effect. The actual forge was built separately from the tree to avoid fire hazards, but the transactions took place inside the base of the tree. Everything from the walls filled with every imaginable weapon, to the rack of various tools that stood behind the counter was in pristine condition. No matter what direction one looked, one would always catch the glitter of metal in the eye.

When Erendel entered the shop behind Dryn later that morning, his mouth dropped open. He felt that he could pick up any weapon and wield it with the skill of a master. Then he looked at his own scimitar and grimaced. Even its mellifluous form paled in comparison to that of the other Scimitars that this Daiymel had for sale. It seemed so dull and gray against the shining white blades on the wall.

Cedriel too was fascinated by the weapons. Upon entering the shop, he was instantly upon the wall of weapons, stroking the blades and feeling the sharpness of their tips. Even Aeriena was intrigued by the shining metal, though in a different way. “It is amazing, is it not, that things of such beauty can be the symbols of such destruction?” she remarked.

“That is the way of the world,” Dryn shrugged in reply. “Many things can be beautiful to behold, but their power is terrible. Take me for example.”

Cedriel burst into a noisy laughter.

There was a creak as the rear door opened and a tall, surprisingly graceful elf entered the shop, rubbing a fresh dagger with a rag. Daiymel was not unlike the other mountain elves, with his long silvery-gray hair. He did, though, possess two thin braids on either side of his forehead that were draped over his shoulders, while the rest of his hair fell down his back. His angular face was long and sharp, with an aquiline nose to match. The subdued blue shade of his work tunic gave him an aura of perpetual solemnity.

Daiymel placed the dagger and rag on the counter and came to the group to welcome them. He almost stopped short when he saw Erendel, but quickly mastered himself so that only a slight jerk in his movements was perceptible. His eyes, however, belied any feigned disinterest. He gave a stiff bow to Dryn and said, “I see thou art still alive and kicking.”

“It’s nice to see you again too, Daiymel,” Dryn returned icily, mimicking the other elf’s bow.

“Mundailleth, friends,” Daiymel greeted the others, eyes still transfixed on Erendel. “I hope that thou findest what thou seek. As thou canst see, I have a vast selection for thy pleasure. Please, if thou havest any questions, do not hesitate to ask them of me.”

“We are not here for any normal weapons,” Dryn cut in before Daiymel could complete his recitation. Daiymel turned to him quizzically. “We were sent by Adaria,” Dryn explained briefly. “She recommended that we get some magical weapons for our…little journey.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, so if you’d be so kind as to tell us what you have in the way of enchanted weaponry, we can make this as short as possible.”

Daiymel crossed his arms as if waiting for further explanation. Dryn was unwilling to comply, however, without a prompt from the smith. “What is the nature of enemies that thou plan to battle?”

“It doesn’t matter, Daiymel. But certainly, you will not refuse to submit to an order from Adaria!”

“Adaria is usually in the habit of telling me why she needs something done. I will not serve thee until I have prove of thy intentions.”

“Blast you, Daiymel! By Mastagna’s blade, I swear you’re out to discover every secret I have!”

“That is how I have managed to survived thy little escapades in the past, Dryn, and thou art not about to begin them again.” The elf leaned forward conspiratorially. “Especially not in the company of such strange elves.”

Dryn threw his arms out in defeat. “Fine! You win. We need the new weapons so that we can kill demons.”

Daiymel raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Believe it or not, Daiymel, that’s the truth. I’m not out to get you this time.”

“But why doth thou havest the desire to fight creatures from a world that is not in contact with ours? Thou haven’t let any demons onto the phlesa by accident, have you?”

“Will you stop asking questions and just get us what we want? I have to have some secrets in this world, Diaymel, that an elf can’t extract from me.”

The ghost of a smile appeared on Daiymel’s face, but he conceded. “I shall see what I can find for you,” he said and left.

Cedriel continued to browse the seemingly endless selection of weapons, and Aeriena followed suit, but Erendel had some questions he wanted answered. “Dryn, I need an explanation,” he blurted as soon as Daiymel had disappeared.”

“I know you do, Erendel,” Dryn replied, “But now isn’t the best time.”

“It’s as good a time as any.”

Dryn shrugged noncommittally, “If we are to keep our mission secret, then we can’t risk someone overhearing everything we say.”

“But why are we keeping it secret? Isn’t it important that the elves realize the danger that they are in? Look at Daermia Soliio! Their ignorance cost them their lives. Are you going to deny Nellscalon the chance to defend themselves as well?”

Dryn sighed heavily. It was apparent that he knew Erendel had made good points. “The people of Nellscalon have Adaria, Erendel. She can use her powers to keep the demons from upsetting the order of things here, and we don’t want to create panic by announcing that massive armies of demons are preparing to overrun Lianiia’s Wood. Furthermore, our job is to keep the attacks from ever happening by closing the gate before anything can happen.”

“But shouldn’t the elves at least be prepared for battle?”

“Right now, I believe we largely have the element of surprise. If the elves start to arm themselves against the demons, then this will prompt them to attack sooner to avoid a head on battle. If we avoid alerting them, then they will mount their major attack until it is too late.”

Erendel was about to respond, but Daiymel entered again, carrying various magical weapons. The elfling could almost smell that thick aura that surrounded the enchanted weapons.

Daiymel silently placed the weapons on the counter near the back and then approached the others. “This is all that I have available at the moment. But before I allow thee to choose thy weapon, allow me to make some suggestions.” The smith stepped right up to Erendel. “Hold out thy hands,” he said firmly.

Erendel was confused, but he held out his hands, palms up, for Daiymel. Without hesitation, the smith grabbed the hands in his own and began to trace them with his fingers. This made Erendel a little more than uncomfortable. Daiymel’s eyes were rolled back in his head now, and the pressure on Erendel’s hands increased as the smith pressed his fingers into the elfling’s palms. Finally, Daiymel released his grip and Erendel drew his hands back sharply. “What did you do?” he asked sharply.

“Do not be afraid, little Selva,” Daiymel said in a condescending tone that Erendel did not appreciate, “I merely tested thy hands to see what weapon would best befit thee. It seems that thou hast the skills to wield a dagger. This causes me to wonder why thou carry a scimitar at thy side.”

“It was given to me after I lost my own dagger,” Erendel said shortly.

“But how could one with such adept hands lose his own blade?” Daiymel said, obviously fishing for an answer that Erendel did not want to give.

“It does not matter, Selva,” Erendel growled, “My business is my own.”

Daiymel bowed and stepped back in feigned apology. “I am sorry, friend. I should have known.” Then, he turned to Cedriel and requested that the elf give him his hands. Cedriel adamantly crossed his arms and shook his head.

“I like my weapon as it is, smith,” he said.

“I am glad that thou findest thy weapon to thy likin, Selva, but would it not be prudent to see where thy true skills lie?”

Cedriel’s face appeared angry for a time, but his hands came up. Daiymel took them and repeated the procedure. When he finished, he stepped back and declared the verdict. “thou use a sword, Selva, but thy hand is that of an archer’s. Why is this?”

“Does it matter?” was Cedriel’s cross reply.

Daiymel said nothing, instead turning to Dryn, who took a wary pace back. “Oh no, you don’t! I already know where my true power lies!”

“As do I, Dryn, as do I.”

Finally, Daiymel came to Aeriena. Her hand’s shot out eagerly, anxious to discover what they could be best used for. Daiymel once again studied the graceful hands before making his proclamation. This time, though, when he stepped back, his eyes were slightly confused. “Thy hands are difficult to read, Elva,” he nearly stuttered.

“Have I no skill, then?” Aeriena asked, her voice choking up in wonted emotion.

“It is not that, Elva. It is, rather, that thou possess the skill to use, perhaps, a weapon that I have not seen before. I cannot explain it to thee, for words cannot describe what I have felt.”

“How can I get this weapon, then?”

“I do not know. Surely though, it exists, or else thou wouldst not have the skill to wield it.”

“It seems that much about you has come to a head today, Aeriena,” Dryn commented. “Too much. But let’s not worry about that now. We need to select our weapons and be going as soon as possible.”

Despite his apparent aversion to his gift, Cedriel reluctantly chose a long bow and explosive arrows. Erendel was not surprised by Cedriel’s choice of arrows. The bow itself, however, did surprise him. Cedriel was considerably violent for his race, but the bow he chose look not at all like an instrument of death. It was made from asaph wood, the strongest and most flexible of all woods, and was painted with a white so brilliant that it seemed to glow with its own light. Hence, Daiymel explained, the elvish word for light written up and down its length.

The quiver was no less spectacular. It bored the same radiant white paint, and was graced with golden bands around it’s lip and bottom. The words that circled it too were outlined in gold. Dryn couldn’t help whistling when he saw it. “That ought to be incredibly expensive,” he remarked.

Erendel chose for himself a dagger with a foot-long blade that snaked from side to side as it made its way to the tip. The handle was also carved from asaph wood, but it was painted gray instead of white. The cross-guard was a small circle, providing very little protection for the hand, but ornately carved from steel to give it a beautiful shine. The pommel held a small sapphire, and Erendel couldn’t help imagining how much magic power could fit into that stone. If only he knew how to fill it…

“So how much is the damage?” Dryn queried grumpily, putting a hand on his coin-purse protectively.

“For thee, I shall greatly reduce the price,” Daiymel said, “to a mere song and a dance.”

“If only that were the case, you thieving elf! I know you’re probably going to overcharge it.”

“How could I do that to someone such as thyself?”

“Name you price, Daiymel, or we’re not getting anything,” Dryn growled.

“Certainly money does not have such a hold on thee that thou wouldst deprive thy friends of the means to save themselves from a horrible death?”

“Look who’s calling the kettle black.”

“Shh!” Aeriena hissed suddenly, “Do you feel that?”

The banter ceased abruptly as everyone turned to Cedriel’s sister. Her face was frowning in confusion. “I felt a chill all of a sudden…” she stuttered uncertainly.

Erendel stood motionless for a moment, feeling the air around him, and he discovered that what she said was true. There was a slightly chill breath on the air, one that brought fear and destroyed the magic that kept Nellscalon warm.

And Erendel knew who breathed this fell air.

“The demons are back,” he whispered in a choked voice.

The Fall of a City

A shadow, thick with the evil chill, crept into the smithy, and before anyone could respond, Erendel bounded to the smith’s door and disappeared outside without stopping to leave the asaph dagger behind. The others, stunned for only a moment, were soon at his heels, fearful and curious.

Erendel felt the fear surround him, heard the cries of terror borne upon the wind as it hammered the canyon. The elfling was afraid, and he knew that it wasn’t so much that the demons had found him as it was the fact that the breath of Sepheirias was battling the magic of the elves and winning. The wind seemed to blow against the magical warmth as though it were trying to push it away, and the horrifying truth was that it was succeeding, bringing in an icy cold and pushing away the heat. The result of the struggle was a swirling bluster that whipped the leaves from the trees and blew Erendel’s cloak out so that it was parallel to the ground.

The most terrifying thing, though, was the darkness. The sky that had once been crystal clear and deep blue was now covered with a terrible greenish-gray mass. It completely blotted out the sun, taking away the light and replacing it with a demon darkness unlike that of the darkness of night.

Heart pounding, Erendel ran on through the Redwood grove until he reached its edge. There, he skidded to a halt and cast his eyes upward at the distant lip of the canyon. There, on the edge of the canyon utterly surrounding it, stood the largest menagerie of glowing red eyes that Erendel had ever seen. He whirled around, seeking an opening in the interminable circle of demons, but there was none. Upon straining his eyes further, Erendel discovered that this vast army, easily numbering one thousand, was composed utterly of possessed beasts. He saw tigers, lynx’s, panthers, mountain lions, leopards, foxes, coyotes, and other horrific dog-like creatures that he didn’t know existed. Erendel felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness at that moment, standing there surrounded by an army of possessed creatures that were certainly after him.

I am here, elfling, and I am hungry, a voice-unmistakably Kroakh’s-whispered in Erendel’s mind.

The elfling gripped his blade tightly and looked around, seeking out the source of the voice. His eyes were drawn to the west side of the canyon, where he and Aeriena had stood the night before, and he found the one he sought. Kroakh, in the form of a large male wolf, sauntered up to the edge of the canyon wall and leered down upon Erendel and the city of Nellscalon. Erendel could almost feel the wolf’s gleeful grin and anxious pant. Then the gleaming red eyes of the possessed animal seemed to turn to him. It was as if an icy dagger had pierced the elfling’s heart as he and Kroakh’s eyes met and were locked to each other. It seemed a lifetime of torture to look into the demon’s eyes, to look into the face of evil and corruption. Erendel shook uncontrollably, but his eyes remained fast, never wavering from the demon’s own gaze in a silent challenge. Was this to be their final confrontation?

“What is happening?” Aeriena cried from behind the elfling.

Shaken from his personal thoughts, the elfling finally saw and heard what was happening around him inside the canyon. Elves, both male and female, were running back and forth in a desperate attempt to organize a defense. They all carried weapons, mostly bows, and were forming a defensive semi-circle around the redwood grove. Commands to abandon their homes and defend the trade center came from all directions.

Behind him, Erendel saw Aeriena, tightly clinging to her brother, who had his own sword drawn. Dryn was staring open-mouthed at the massive army on the ledges around the canyon, and Daiymel was readying his bow for the imminent battle.

“What is this?” Daiymel queried in a low, solemn voice.

“So, the demons have found us anyway,” Dryn muttered. “Despite ourselves, we’ve led them into Nellscalon.”

“Then let us make them pay dearly for it,” Cedriel growled, his eyes tearful and his voice strangled. “They took our home, but I will not let them destroy any more.”

“Erendel,” Dryn barked suddenly, “we have to get out of here.”

“You’re right,” Erendel turned slowly to the old man. “We must help the people defend the redwoods.”

“That is not what I mean! We must leave th-”

Without warning, a ferocious howl was raised from Kroakh, quickly followed by a cacophony of growls, snarls, and barks from the thousand other cats and dogs. The noise was deafening, but not as deafening as the sudden rampage that ensued. The beasts seemed to fling themselves over the edge, finding any and every foot hold to help them find their way down the precipitous cliffs. From where Erendel stood, they looked like ants pouring over a wall. Their approach was rapid, and it wasn’t long until they landed on the floor of the city and began to converge on the waiting elves.

Erendel and the others moved nearer to the elven defenders and stood waiting for the inevitable. Once all the creatures had reached the ground, they disappeared, hidden by the trees, shrubs, and flowers of the garden, which was now a mass of dirty green leaves and branches. The wind howled, carrying the sound of paws pounding the earth with it. Erendel could hardly bear the terrifying moments before the demons burst into the open. He saw trees and bushes shaken as they were trampled by the approaching enemy. Leaves and dust were kicked up behind the feet of the cats and dogs as they rushed toward the waiting line of elves.

With a thunderous burst, the possessed animals exploded from the garden and bore down upon the defense. There was a cry from somewhere in the throng of people. A volley of arrows flew into the skies with a sharp twang and rained down upon the beasts. Some of the arrows found their marks. They only killed the animal forms, however, and the demon forms rose from the dead creatures to continue the rush. Even in this moment, Erendel couldn’t help thinking that the elves were remarkably prepared for battle.

The demons were now only a few yards away.

Erendel’s hand was outstretched, dagger in hand. From beside him, Aeriena sobbed in horror, to which Cedriel responded by pushing her behind him protectively.

Now the demons were upon them. In a roar of action, the two armies converged. Claws flew, swords slashed, and teeth snapped. One panther in particular had chosen the elfling as its target, and the sleek black animal leaped at the short elf’s face, claws bared and maw open dangerously. Erendel ducked the lunge and stabbed upward as the creature went above him, piercing it through its heart. The dagger burst into green flames as it made contact with the flesh of the beast. From the panther’s mouth erupted a horrible contorted cry of agony, half beast, half human. The panther fell to earth with a heavy thud.

Erendel stood there, shocked by the event. He waited for the demon inside the panther to appear, but nothing came. Looking at his blade, which was still simmering with an unearthly green glow, the elfling turned again to face the battle. He was barely in time to kick away the mouth of a coyote and slam the hilt of the dagger up its muzzle. As the dog fell to the side, off balance, Erendel stabbed it in its skull, the same green burst of flame engulfed the blade.

A quicke glance to his side brought a sudden lump into his chest. Neither Aeriena or Cedriel were near him anymore. His eyes anxiously scanned the battle in search of them, but all he saw was the glint of blades and the flash of magical energy, both good and evil. Apparently the elves had realized that the cats and dogs were possessed, and responding with magic.

Erendel dodged a claw and cut the leopard’s throat, allowing the blood to spatter his dagger and his clothing. Again, he looked around for his friends, but to no avail. Where were they? What happened to them?

All of a sudden, there seemed to be a parting of the demonic hoard directly in front of Erendel. It was as if the creatures, even in their onward rush, were stepping aside to allow room for someone to approach. The elfling soon saw why, for the wolf that Kroakh had possessed was now slowly making its way down the improvised aisle, seemingly oblivious to the battle raging around him.

Are you ready, elfling? Kroakh asked telepathically.

“I have ever been awaiting this moment,” Erendel yelled out loud, trying to sound braver than he felt.

The demon chuckled, his voice having a strangely growling quality to it. Then you shall be disappointed, for I have not come for you.

Erendel’s mind whirled. Kroakh had not come for him? But then why was he here?

“Who do you want, demon?”

I want death. The mental voice replied.

With a burst of speed, the wolf bounded the last few yards to Erendel then leapt. He leaped so high that he completely passed over the elfling, hardly touching Erendel’s head with his paws. As he landed behind the elf, a strange thing happened. Kroakh howled, crouching low as if to pounce again. His muscles tensed and rippled with intense strain as if he was trying to force something out of him. Then he exploded into flames, but not the blue flames. Instead, the wolf was encased in a ball of real, physical flames.

Erendel was frozen with shock as he watched the wolf crash into the melee and burn all within his path. It was only seconds before the wolf breached the defensive line of elves and entered under the redwood trees, lighting them with his burning body as he ran beneath them.

“Fire!” someone yelled. “They’ve lit the grove!”

Erendel was dizzy now. He was dazed and confused by all that had suddenly happened. He could hardly see now as he slashed and hacked at anything that moved. He saw his dagger light up several times as he bit into flesh, and he heard the anguished cries of the demons as they fell before his blade.

Then, a hand grabbed at the elfling’s shoulder.

“Let go of me!” Erendel cried, sobbing in anger.

“No!” An unusually powerful Dryn answered back. “We must get out of here!”

“No! I will not leave another city to die because of me!” Erendel snapped hotly, trying wriggle away from Dryn’s grasp.

“They do not want you now! Erendel, come with me! We must fly!” Dryn cried, dragging the elfling away from the battle to the eastern wall.

Erendel fought to free himself, to return to the battle and protect the redwood grove, but Dryn was using his magic to keep a powerful grip on the elfling’s neck. Together, the two climbed the stairs embedded in the wall. The sound of battle grew further and further away as they climbed, but the light of the flames grew ever larger. Erendel turned his head once just in time to see a burning tree crack and fall to the ground. He was nearly blinded by the intense heat, and was forced to turn his head away.

After a hurried and strenuous climb, the two pulled themselves over the lip of the cliff and ran to the north, leaving the carnage of battle and the cries of death behind, but the sound still ringing in Erendel’s ears.

A New Bond

“What have you done?” were the first grief stricken words to pour from the Erendel’s mouth when Dryn finally stopped. They had run for nearly ten minutes without pause. For Erendel that was easily achievable, but Dryn did not fare so well. As soon as he released the elfling from the magical grip, the old man collapsed to the ground, his chest heaving in a desperate grasp for air, and his body shaking uncontrollably. Even in his frenzied state, Erendel could see that Dryn was sick with fatigue and the wounds of battle. Dryn’s cloak was torn and caked with dirt and drying blood-both his and his enemy’s. There was a long gash along the old man’s balding forehead that told of a horrible struggle. But what caught Erendel’s eye was the ruby ring on Dryn’s bony fingers-it was dark and lifeless.

Dryn did not immediately answer Erendel’s querie, which led the elfling to reiterate it. “What have you done?”

Tears were now coursing shamelessly down Erendel’s dirt-streaked face, probably the most passionate display of emotion he had ever shown in his life.

“I-I did what I…had to,” Dryn struggled to say through hoarse gasps. He coughed violently.

“You abandoned Nellscalon to the same fate as Daermia Soliio! You left Aeriena and Cedriel behind! I could have found them, if you had given me more time! And I should have fought Kroakh! If I had killed him, then none of this would have happened!”

Dryn lay silently on the ground with imploring eyes uplifted, boring into Erendel’s own brown eyes. It was apparent that he wanted to say something, but there was no strength left in him.

Oblivious, Erendel continued his rant. “Why did you take me away from the battle? I could have saved them! I could have saved the redwood grove, the elves, the garden! I could have saved Aeriena…”

Erendel could go no further, could say no more. He fell to the ground, choked and sobbing, beside the prone form of Dryn. He could feel the reality-the hopelessness-of his situation course through him. He could still hear the distant cries of dying elves, Aeriena’s sobs of horror, the terrible crack of the single, burning redwood tree. In his mind he saw flashes of fire, the army of demons, the eyes of Kroakh.

It was his fault that all this destruction, Erendel told himself in hot, muddled anger. It was he who had led the demons to Daermia Soliio and Nellscalon. It was he who had caused the demons to attack the elves. It was all his fault!

Somehow, placing the blame on himself gave Erendel a sense of finality. He had solved the mystery of the attack, and nothing more need be said. So, in a strangely comforting state of self pity, the elfling allowed the darkness, the wind, and the soft rustle of pine trees to lull him into a dreamless rest. Silence finally overtook the forest in which they were lying, Erendel having fallen into a deep sleep and Dryn into unconsciousness.

A lone leaf, having traveled hundreds of miles upon the wind, finally fell to its resting place on Erendel’s cheek the next morning. It was not a dead leaf, though, but a living one, still green and moist. How strange it would have been for an observant onlooker to see that single, bright green leaf in a wood of pine trees. How strange indeed.

The delicate pressure on the elfling’s cheek nudged Erendel into consciousness. Lightly brushing the leaf away, he slowly opened his eyes to the light, allowing them time to get used to it. Then he sat up and looked around. The forest wasn’t much different from the other mountain woods that he had passed through on his way to Nellscalon. There were still the thick pines, the forest floor lousy with pine needles, and that mystic aura of magic.

Erendel stood and looked beside him at Dryn. The old man was still unconscious. Suddenly nervous, Erendel rushed to his side and placed a pointed ear near his nose. There was a barely perceptible intake of breath, and equally faint rise of the chest. This heartened Erendel slightly, though he knew that there was still a chance that Dryn would not wake up. He briefly scanned the unconscious man’s body and was satisfied to see the wounds no longer bleeding, the dried blood having stopped up the flow of the life-giving liquid.

There was a crackle of pine needles as a deer bounded through the woods. Erendel’s head snapped up in fear, but those fears were quickly alleviated when he saw the creature, calmly nibbling at a short elderberry bush. It seemed happy, oblivious to the demonic danger that chased Erendel constantly. Erendel envied that deer for a moment; it didn’t have a care in the world beyond its next meal.

Unconsciously, the elfling stretched out his mind to the deer, invading its thoughts. As Erendel’s presence entered the beast’s, it stopped abruptly and stood frozen, its nostrils flaring in fear. Erendel pressed further, though, for he was fascinated by the unique feeling of the animal mind. It felt simplistic. There were few emotions to crowd its mind beyond fear or complacency. Its thoughts felt more instinctive, rather than conscious. But Erendel knew that, somehow, he could communicate with it. He felt a rather unexpected link to the creature, an inner bond that he did not feel with, say, Adaria.

The deer stamped its foot uncomfortably, making as if to run off. Erendel tensed at this, for he did not want the deer to leave him. To placate the animal, he began telepathically sending it calming images. He sent his memories of the sunset over the mountain range, the creek where he first met Aeriena, the dell where he had lived for many years, and even another deer that had once unwittingly led him to a bush similar to the one the deer was standing above. That did the trick; the deer visibly calmed, and Erendel felt its thoughts relaxing.

Then, a though struck Erendel. Could he talk to the deer in this way? Could he possibly communicate to it questions by pictures? He couldn’t see why not-there was no reason not to try it.

Erendel once again began to focus his energies on bringing up images and sending them to the other presence. This soon proved to be difficult. How was he to convey emotions or specific places that he had never been to through mental imagery? Surely the deer must know something about these Darkloom lands that Dryn and Adaria had spoken of. But the elfling had no idea what they looked like. How could he ask this animal where it was without a picture of it to provide a visual?

Then, all of a sudden, Erendel felt the deer’s energies pulse. Curious, he brought the mental link between them closer together. He felt the deer’s memories flash through his mind as though the creature was looking for a specific one. The remembrances that the deer held were surprisingly plethoric and varied. Much of it was of different areas of the pine forests or other deer. One particular image was of a young fawn, still wet from birth, struggling to stand, while the mother deer looked on. There then came an image of a heavy rain and darkness, but it passed by so quickly that Erendel couldn’t focus on it properly. At last, the rate of images slowed and stopped. The deer had seemed to find and highlight one particular image that it thought would be helpful to Erendel. It was a picture of a wide plain. The deer was apparently standing atop a high, jagged cliff looking down over it. Through the deer’s eyes, Erendel saw clearly the black soil that formed the plain’s landscape. There were no grasses, shrubs, trees, or any plant life to be seen here. Instead, rocks and purely black sand were the dominant features. And on the horizon, far, far in the distance stood a looming mountain, standing alone like a sore thumb in the center of the flatlands.

Was this the Darkloom lands?

In response, Erendel sent a picture of Kroakh and the dark clouds that had covered Nellscalon. Then he transmitted the elven symbol for a question mark. Surprisingly enough, the deer seemed to understand. It stamped its few and threw back its head a few times in apparent affirmation.

Despite himself, Erendel smiled. It seemed so impossible that he should be carrying on a conversation, no matter how primitive, with an animal. But it was exciting and refreshing.

The elfling had one more question that he wanted to send to the deer.

A few hours later, after a breakfast of bitter berries, the elfling strapped a makeshift sledge-made of sticks and his cloak-to the deer’s waiting back. Then he laboriously dragged the unconscious Dryn onto it. He had no idea where he was going, or how he was going to help Dryn, so he relayed his desire for the deer to lead in the form of two pictures: one of the deer itself, and another of the Darkloom lands image that the deer had shown him. With a quiet whinny of understanding mingled with consternation, the deer slowly began to pull the sled northward, Erendel following behind.

Travel was slow, to say the least. Deer are not nearly as powerful as horses, so Erendel had to offer as much assistance in transporting the sledge as he could. They stopped rarely, for there was no reason to stop. In this forest, there were few creeks to provide water, and there was little material for the making of any shelter. The one thing, though, that Erendel was thankful for, was the gentle but obvious decline in the terrain.

As the elfling and deer walked side by side, each bearing the sled behind them, they shared their memories with each other. Erendel, in as few images as possible, related to his mute companion his adventures, while the deer showed him the most eventful periods of his life. Through this experience, Erendel learned a lot about what made this timid, fast little creature tick. He felt, as they continued to talk in their primitive language, that their bond was growing ever closer. He felt that, if he could, he would tell the deer all his secrets and hopes and emotions. Only his knowledge that this creature would probably not understand kept him from pouring forth these thoughts.

Daylight eventually turned twilight, and twilight gave way to night. It was then that the new friends stopped. The mountain air was frigid, and since Erendel had relinquished his cloak for Dryn’s comfort, he quickly began to shiver. He tried multiple times to make a fire, but all attempts failed.  In frustration, he threw down the sticks and two rocks he had been using and looked helplessly at his friend the deer. The creature had created a bed from the pine needles and had curled comfortably in its warmth.

“I envy you, friend,” Erendel muttered, “You have a warm coat to keep you safe from the cold.”

At this, the deer perked its head up. It looked at Erendel with sympathetic eyes, then stood. It trotted to where the elfling was sitting and laid down next to him, wrapping its warm body around his. Erendel smiled at the deer, genuine grateful for its company. He too curled up and rested his head on the deer’s back. Then, significantly warmer, he fell asleep to dreams of Aeriena and Cedriel and Dryn and Adaria, and all the rest of the people that he met on the journey. It seemed a lifetime of relationships, and the journey seemed to have taken him to the ends of the world already, without his ever leaving Lianiia’s Wood.

But the journey was still far from over.

Ah! Na Nolsest Jasahn’a!

The following morning saw the two travelers and their sled treading the needle-filled earth northward through the mountains. Erendel had not eaten breakfast that morning, for there was no food nearby. The deer had nibbled a little at the pine needles and fern fronds that sparsely dotted the ground, but decided that it didn’t like them.

Compared to the air in Nellscalon and Erendel’s home in the dell, the air here was cold. There was a perpetual frostiness that bit through his tunic (which was light because of the warmer climates that Erendel had traveled through), and without his cloak, he had very little protection from the cold. The cloudy sky above grew grayer and grayer, until a gentle rain of snow began to drift lazily into the woods. As the flakes fell around Erendel, he moved closer to his friend, hoping to get warmer through their contact.

After three hours of chilled travel, the elfling could not take the cold air any longer. He found a large boulder and sent an image of it to the deer, indicating that they would rest under it. The deer shook its head in response and the two, dragging Dryn behind, made their way to the boulder, not far off to their left. Here, Erendel pulled Dryn closer to him, squatted down, and began to examine his friend.

“I need you, Dryn,” the elfling whispered, running a finger gingerly down the scar on the old man’s forehead. “I do not know where to go, or what to do. Why will you not awaken?”

The elfling felt the Dryn’s pulse and listened for his breath. Both were still there, but very faint, possibly fainter than before. For a brief moment, Erendel thought that Dryn might die, but he quickly put the idea out of his head. If the old man died, who would lead him to the Darkloom? How would he close the gate?

Then another thought came to Erendel. Did he even have to go to the Darkloom? What reason did he have to close the gate at all? After all, it was Dryn who had led this expedition. It was Dryn who knew how to close the gate to Sepheirias-at least, Erendel hoped so. Why should he bother?

Sensing the elfling’s turmoil, the deer approached him and nuzzled his arm with a cold, wet nose. Erendel couldn’t help giving a weak smile at the honest efforts of his friend. “You’re right. I should keep going, even without Dryn’s help. It is what he would want me to do, isn’t it?

“I don’t know your name, friend,” Erendel commented suddenly, the thought having just come to him. “Do you have a name?”

The deer cocked its head curiously. Apparently, names had no meaning to him.

“Well,” Erendel said, “If you don’t have a name, then I shall give you one. Only I do not know what I should call you. Are you a he or a she?”

The deer, understanding the elfling’s question somehow, gave his elf friend a mental image of a large, strong looking deer with antlers protruding grandly from its forehead. It was a he, the elfling surmised. “All right then,” Erendel said, “You are male. But what name does one give a deer?”

Erendel put his back against the boulder, its grey mass giving him shade and protection from the increasingly powerful snowfall, and placed a hand thoughtfully on his chin. He remained this way for quite some time, considering many different names and passing them on to the deer, who responded indifferently to all of them. The creature didn’t care what it was called. Erendel did, though, and he found great difficulty in coming up with a name that was both applicable and conveyed his gratefulness to his new friend.

Erendel, frustrated, yanked his dagger out of its sheath and turned it over in his hands absently. He studied the blade, which curved like a snake that slides along the ground until it reached the point. To the elfling’s surprise, there was a faint green tinge around the edges of the blade, and the sapphire in the hilt had begun to glow. It was not very strong, but Erendel’s keen eyes easily detected the magical glow. He curiously placed a finger on the gemstone. Why should the gem glow if he had not placed any of his energy into it?

An idea suddenly came to the elfling. Perhaps this dagger was enchanted! That would explain why it burst into green flames whenever it cut into flesh. But the gem…why did it glow? How had it obtained its energy?

Erendel thought about this for a moment, then an idea came to him. He stood, ignoring the stinging cold of the snow, and approached a young sapling that was growing nearby. With a sharp cut, he bit into the wood. There was a burst of green flames. Erendel watched in awe as the tree wilted before his sword until it was no longer green and sprightly. The leaves browned and broke off reluctantly to the ground, leaving their home behind. The stem shriveled and cracked in multiple places, then bent and snapped.

The gem in the dagger flickered with a sapphire fluorescence, and Erendel understood. The gem drew power from the living.

Now, how would he use this new power?

The elfling still contemplating this conundrum, when his elven ears picked up a very faint sound. Sitting up straight, Erendel put a finger to his lips, gesturing for the deer to remain silent, and strained to make out what the sound was. After a few moments of intense concentration, the elfling concluded that the sound had to be singing. The mellifluous flow of the noise, and the melodic rise and fall of the faint tone could be nothing else.

Standing, Erendel looked around for the source of the noise, and eventually divined that it was coming from the northwest. Dagger tightly in his fist, and boots making soft impressions in the snowy earth, Erendel walked toward the sound. The deer made to follow, but Erendel arrested its pursuit with frightening images.

As the sound grew louder, the elfling was able to distinguish the various cadences that made up the melody, and he recognized it. It was a song of death, a lamentation for those who have passed on to the stars. Erendel squinted, attempting to see through the heavy snowfall and thick pines. He failed to see the singers of the song, however, and continued forward slowly.

The song was loud in his ears now. He could hear every word, every vibration of the voices of every elf that sang it. It was song heavy with sorrow and passion. The minor key in which it was sung was so beautifully orchestrated, that the elfling was nearly brought tears. Or perhaps it was the snow stinging his eyes. Nevertheless, Erendel had to find these elves. He desperately needed their help.

A sharp prick in the back of his neck immediately halted the elfling.

“Who art thou, demon?” A voice, accented but unmistakably elvish, whispered in the frozen elfling’s left ear.

“I am Erendel, son of Pelinel,” Erendel replied smoothly, though he was inwardly shaken. He did not turn around to see the face of his captor for fear of being killed on the spot.

“Thou art no elf,” the voice said maliciously.

“Am I not?”

“Thou art not of the height befitting an elf. Unless, thou art a child.”

“I am no child, of that I can assure you,” Erendel shifted his weight uncomfortably, and the needle-like prick in his neck dug deeper.

“Do not move, or I shall end thy miserable life.”

“Why do you hurt one of your own kind?” Erendel pleaded with a calm tone.

“Thou art not one of us. Thou art different.”

“Am I so different?” Erendel knew now that this elf was only afraid of him because he was unusual in size, and that made him angry.

“Prove to me that thou art who thou dost say thou art!” The voice hissed.

“I do not need to! I am living proof.”

“Thou liest!” The voice rose in volume, the elf’s resolve diminishing.

“Ah! Na nolsest jasahn’a iami mundai eya ineia’a!” Erendel whispered solemnly.

The sharp prick disappeared and Erendel turned around. He now faced his captor.

The mountain elf was of the nomadic tribes that dotted the northern and highest peaks of the mountains. This people were animal hide cloaks and ponchos, because they, unlike the wood elves, were not so particular about the killing of animals. Their faces were long and sharply angular, just like the elves in Nellscalon, and their hair was the same silvery gray.

The elf that stood before Erendel could have been considered the stereotype for this particular people, so perfectly did his garb reflect his kinsman’s culture.

“How didst though knowest that?” The elf asked in wonderment. He was referring to the elvish proverb that Erendel had spoken-the proverb that was the hallmark of these nomadic tribes.

“If I were not an elf, would I know it?”

The elf spread out his hands in defeat. “I am sorry, small elf. Thou looketh not like any elf that I have laid eyes upon. Of what race are you?”

Erendel relaxed now that he had the upper hand. “I am the only one of my kind,” he explained, then quickly added. “But I was born of too wood elves, and they were just as tall as you are.”

“Then, is this a disease that hath given thee this…this impediment?”

“I once thought so, but now I am not sure….But listen. I need your help. I have a friend who is near death, and cannot survive long in these woods without medicine.”

“Then bring him to me and I shall take him to our healer, Selva.”

Erendel turned to go, but then realized something. “What is your name, if I may ask, selva?”

The mountain elf bowed, the beads that were entwined in the foremost locks of his hair falling down over his shoulders. “I am Ne’anithel, Selva Erendel.”

Erendel bowed in return and raced off, back to find Dryn and the deer.

The snow was now so thick that one could hardly see through it. The flakes fell thick and fast, and by the time Erendel and his deer friend dragged Dryn back to where Ne’anithel was waiting for them, they were utterly exhausted.

The mountain elf rose from his crouched position upon their arrival and went over to Dryn, kneeling beside the unconscious man to examine him more closely. A sudden cry escaped the elf’s lips and he jumped back in revulsion.

“A human! Your friend is a man!” Ne’anithel cried in disgust.

“What is wrong, selva?” Erendel inquired diffidently.

“Man is an evil race, selva! It would be traitorous for me to touch him! I cannot help thee!”

“But this one is not evil, selva. He is a good man, and he has saved my life multiple times already. You must aid me!”

“I cannot!”

“Then tell me how I can help him, for he must be saved! His life has more value than you could ever know!” Tears began to sting Erendel’s eyes. He was desperate! Here was one who could possibly save the dying man’s life, and yet this hope was already beginning to slip away.

“But I knoweth not how to help! I am not a healer; I am a hunter.”

“Please! I need your help, or your healer’s help. At least take me to shelter so he does not freeze to death!” Erendel’s voice cracked. “Please!”

Ne’anithel’s mouth opened and closed many times as he tried to say something, but his thoughts were keeping any words from coming out of his mouth. Finally, he sighed. “I shall take him to a cave near our camp, but no closer. I do not know how else I canst help thee, but I shall try, if only for thy sake.”

Erendel nearly burst into grateful tears, but his held his emotions back. Nevertheless, the profuse thanks he offered Ne’anithel nearly overcame the mountain elf.

At last, there was hope!

The Ultimate Sacrifice

As it turned out, the singers of the lamentation were also mountain elves. There had been a recent death, Ne’anithel explained as the three traveled, and he had been assigned to guard the funeral party. That was why he had been away from the rest of his elven relatives. When Erendel asked why a funeral needed to be guarded, Ne’anithel told him in a rather shaken voice that there had been sightings recently; strange animals with glowing red eyes that struck fear in one’s heart by its mere presence. It was one of these creatures, Ne’anithel said, that killed the subject of the funeral. It was his duty to make certain that that did not happen again.

Erendel was not surprised to hear that the demons had been sighted even out here. They were, after all, only a few leagues from Nellscalon.

After a walk of about fifteen minutes, the small procession reached what Ne’anithel claimed to be a cave. Of course, the dense fog created by the snow did not permit even Erendel’s elven eyes to see the dark mound clearly, but he approached it all the same, trusting Ne’anithel’s judgment. 

“We are near my tribe’s camp,” Ne’anithel said, “Only about a few hundred feet. Thou shouldst remain well hidden during the day, and I will bring thee what I canst. But first, make thyself comfortable and I will fetch thee the healer.”

Erendel nodded and began to walk toward what he thought was mouth of the cave, then stopped. “Is there any way that…Oh, nevermind.”

“What is it, selva?”

“It’s just that, well, in Nellscalon…but it is too presumptuous of me to ask.”

“Art thou certain, selva?”

“Yes. Besides, it would require too much magical energy to maintain anyway.”

“Magic? I thinkest that I knoweth what thou art asking of me, selva. Thou art correct; it is impossible for me to accomplish. Our tribe does not believe that magic shouldst be used by any but the healer and the speaker. It is too powerful a weapon, they say, and it canst turn even the most righteous to acts of the highest evil.”

“I understand,” Erendel apologized. “It was not my place to ask.”

With that, Ne’anithel dissolved in the snowstorm as he made his way back to camp, and Erendel poked his head into the cave.

It was shallow, but large enough to shield both himself and the deer, as well as the sled and Dryn. The air inside was much warmer than the air outside, but it was still too cold for Erendel’s liking. Nevertheless, he was thankful for the shelter, and prepared a crude camp within the walls to make the stay a bit more comfortable. He did not make a fire, however, because he did not want to any undue attention to be drawn in his direction.

The deer was uncertain about staying in the cave, but it did not take long for Erendel to coax it in and unhitch Dryn’s sled from its back. After making the old man more comfortable, the elfling situated himself near the mouth of the cave, drew up his knees, and waited.

An hour passed, but Ne’anithel did not return.

Eventually, the sky darkened, and there was only the sound of the wind and the glitter of snowflakes. Erendel’s head bowed in weariness, but he jerked it back up, rubbing his heavy eyes. It was futile for him to attempt to stave off sleep, for he had spent three days without the proper rest needed to revitalize him. Soon, his head drooped again and he was within the realm of unconsciousness.

But no sooner had his head hit is knees than he was shaken into wakefulness. Looking up, he saw Ne’anithel. The mountain elf had a hand on the elfling’s shoulder and he looked grim. Ne’anithel carried a torch as well as his bow.

“You’ve returned,” Erendel observed drowsily, pushing himself to his feet.

“Yes, and I have brought thee our tribe’s healer,” Ne’anithel replied, but his face was still solemnly set, and Erendel noticed it.

“What is wrong?” The elfling asked, concerned.

“It is none of thy concern, little elf,” a voice snapped.

Erendel looked around Ne’anithel (looking over his shoulder proved impossible for the short elf) and could just make out the form of another elf materializing from the snow. This new arrival was bedecked in thick robes made from bear skins, and his hair was braided, beads tied meticulously to each individual braid on his brow. His face looked remarkably like Ne’anithel’s, a fact which was heightened by the elf’s frowning eyes and downturned mouth.

“I am only here to see what I may see,” the elf said without bothering to introduce himself; indeed, he hardly glanced at his host. His eyes were fixated on the prone form lying on the sled. “It is with great reluctance that I have come to thy aid at all. Dealing with humans is forbidden by our tribe, thou shouldst know.”

“I am Erendel,” the elfling uncouthly introduced himself.

“Thou art likened to no elf I hath ever seen, Erendel,” the healer remarked, finally regarding Erendel with piercing gray eyes, now that the light he was fully inside the cave.

With those words, the elf approached the sleeping form and set about examining the injuries. He got no further than the gash on Dryn’s forehead, though, before he jumped back and gasped. “It cannot be! It is Dryn!”

Ne’anithel was perplexed by this. “Dryn? Who is this Dryn, selva Sa’renel?”

The healer ignored the other elf’s question and continued to speak. “But he is dead! He should not be breathing! How didst thou cometh upon him, selva?” Sa’renel-for that apparently was the elf’s name-asked in a breathless voice.

“He has lived for years in Lianiia’s Wood, selva,” Erendel answered, his brow creased in confusion, “But how do you know him?”

“There is not an aged elf in all Cellestiem that does not know Dryn,” Sa’renel responded, once again kneeling by the unconscious man’s side. This time, the elf procured a pouch filled with herbs and minerals. He then began to dress the old man’s wounds, while explaining his previous statement to both Ne’anithel and Erendel. “Dryn came to these mountains many years ago-three hundred, if my mind dost not deceive me-because he sought training from us in the art of healing. Of course, in those days, we knew him not, and because of our beliefs, we shunned him. He was persistent, however, and I was soon compelled to teach him a few of my skills. When he left, he was known by all in our tribe as a kind, and surprisingly adept young man. He was the first human to come to our tribe since before the first age.

“We later discovered that he had traveled across all of Lianiia’s Woods, seeking wisdom and knowledge so that he might write a book concerning the elves. Whether, he finished it, I know not, but that is not what made him known unto all of the elves.”

Sa’renel paused and tore open the old man’s robe, dressing the slash marks on his chest and wrapping them in a bandage. Erendel waited patiently for the elf to continue with his story, but Ne’anithel was not so. “What, then, has given this human such fame, selva?” He asked of the healer.

“That story would take days, even weeks, in the telling, friend. Suffice it to say that Dryn mastered what was considered impossible by elves.”

“What was that?”

“Magic,” Sa’renel said simply.

“Magic?” Erendel was thoroughly disappointed. He had thought that all people could use magic-except himself, of course.

“Thou seest, selva, the elves were imbued with the natural ability to alter the world around them with magic, drawing their power from Sepheirias without opening a gate to that evil realm. Then, seemingly from nowhere, a human enters our territory and proves that he can use the same powers. Thou must understand that this caught many of us quite off guard. It utterly revolutionized our way of viewing magic. In fact, some elves were downright indignant. In a way, Dryn opened the door for all humans to use magic.”

The question was out of Erendel’s mouth before he had time to consider whether it was prudent to ask. “Then why are you helping him now?”

“He human, yes, but he is a good human. One of the few, I dare say. He deserves my help, though I cannot say now whether it will be enough. He hast been through much, and his frail body can hardly handle the strain.”

The truth of Sa’renel’s words hit Erendel hard. The possibility of Dryn dying now was all too real. Dryn couldn’t die! Erendel needed the old man’s guidance more than ever. How was he to continue on without the old man’s wisdom? “Is there nothing you can do?” Erendel whispered, hardly able to speak any louder.

Sa’renel shook his head. “There is no way to know. I have the right to use my magic on this man, but his wounds are too grave for me to attempt to heal without draining all of my energy and killing myself.”

“But there must be a way!”

“I have done all that I can, selva. I can do no more but pray to Mastagna-”

“Mastagna be cursed!” Erendel cried in a sudden burst of hopeless emotion. “Dryn must live!”

Ne’anithel gasped and drew back from the elf in surprise and fear. Sa’renel did not respond so obviously to the elfling’s outburst, but it was clear that the healer was equally hurt. “Watch thy words, little elf. The gods hear all, and will punish thee for thine insolence.”

“There are no gods!” Erendel growled. “If there were, then why would they let my friend, and my only hope die before me?”

“Their ways are not our ways, selva,” Sa’renel answered coolly, his tone almost condescending. This only made Erendel angrier.

“To Dircraag with their ways! I need Dryn now!”

“Please, selva, calm thyself. If thou wouldst have Dryn alive, then thou wouldst do well to keep thy voice down and let him rest.”

“It is too late for that, you said so yourself! There must be some way to heal him with magic! You are an elf! You have the ability to draw more magic than any human! Why can you not do that now?”

The cave grew silent. Sa’renel regarded Erendel with an expression of empathetic sadness as he carefully chose his next words. “There are some things that not even an elf can do, selva. I can indeed take more energy from Sepherias than I return, but to return one from the dead requires complete sacrifice.”

“Then Dryn…he is…you mean…” Erendels broken voice trailed off. Tears returned to overwhelm him, the one word he had wished never to hear now piercing through him.

Dryn was dead.

Sa’renel stood from Dryn’s side and placed a firm hand, wet with cold blood, on Erendel’s shoulder.

“No, Erendel, he is not dead.”

“But-”

“I know what I hath said, and to some degree, it is true. The wounds Dryn now bears are too grievous for any doctor to cure. Without magic, Dryn will certainly die, and his body has not the energy to fight against death. To heal him, I wouldst have to cure his wounds, and then administer to him enough energy to return to health.”

“But you are an elf…” Erendel lamely tried to protest, his sobs interfering with his words once again.

“I am. But I cannot give him merely magical energy. He needs physical energy, and that energy can only come from another life.” Sa’renel’s voice was quiet and solemn. “Unless thou art willing to offer your life for his, selva, I cannot help thee,” Sa’renel stated grimly, his words heavy.

Erendel was subdued, silenced by this proposition. Of course he would give his life for the old man! Of that he had little doubt. But then, he thought, he would be leaving Dryn in the same position. The old man did not have the physical fortitude to carry on the quest without a younger elf to help him. And only Erendel knew of and was able to assist in this mission.

Erendel could say nothing. The quandary in which he found himself was overwhelming. Tears rolling down his cheeks, he collapsed onto the floor and buried his head in his hands. Dryn was truly lost, he thought, sobbing.

A nudge on Erendel’s shoulder caused the elf to look up. The deer was looking at him with strangely peaceful eyes. The elfling felt the projection of the deer’s thoughts in his mind, as though the deer was trying to speak to him.

Erendel shook his head, sending an image of Dryn being buried to the deer.

The deer snorted.

Erendel frowned, but the frown faded when the deer sent him a tendril of thought that carried the deer’s true feelings to him.

“No…” Erendel said out loud to the deer. “I could not. You have been my best friend in these times.”

In answer, the deer trotted over to Dryn and promptly laid down next to the body.

Sa’renel seemed to understand what the deer was suggesting. “He is the most selfless creature I have seen,” the elf breathed. Then he turned to Erendel. “But will you allow it?”

Erendel hesitated. He did not want to lose his friend, but the deer was adamant. It continually sent him images that pleaded for the elfling to let him take the old man’s place. Then, a startling message came into Erendel’s mind. The deer believed that the gods had created it for this purpose, and that it would only be happy if this purpose was fulfilled.

Erendel couldn’t help letting his mouth drop open. The thought had been so intelligently put that the deer had almost seemed human in that moment. Indeed, it seemed as if there had been another presence that accompanied the deer in that one projection, but Erendel couldn’t be certain. With a sigh of concession, the elfling bid the deer a goodbye telepathically and looked to Sa’renel.

“I will allow it.”

Ne’anithel looked from Sa’renel to Erendel, then back to Sa’renel. “What has been decided? I do not understand.”

Sa’renel said nothing, but rather stretched out his hands to Erendel and Ne’anithel.

“Hold my hands, friends,” he explained when no one moved. “I will need thy help.”

Hmmm, will this work? I guess we’ll have to find out, lol.

A Heart’s Last Beat

Ne’anithel reeled back, reaching blindly for the wall with his left hand. “I cannot, selva!” He burst out in a croak of shock. “That is sin!”

Sa’renel took the same tone of voice he had used to calm Erendel and addressed Ne’anithel in the same manner. “It is not thee who worketh the magic, Ne’anithel. I merely need thee to provide me with the physical energy to draw the magic and link thy body with the deer.”

“But…but…” Ne’anithel was diffident. “I cannot assist in the casting of magic,” he finished lamely.

“Show where thou has read those words and I shall not force thee to comply.”

Ne’anithel frowned, then stuttered, but could not complete a coherent argument. He reached out and withdrew his hand several times, as though vacillating between the two choices. Finally, he let out a sigh of reluctant concession and grasped Sa’renel’s hand in his.

The three then sat cross-legged around Dryn. The wind howled outside, and brief deluge of flakes burst into the cave, only to melt into sparkling droplets thereafter. The torch flickered in the sudden draft, its orange-yellow glow causing the long shadows of the elves and deer to quiver and convulse on the rough cave walls. Erendel shivered with the cold, for he still did not bear any suitably warm clothing.

Hands were tightly clasped, and heads were bent now. The deer lay at Dryn’s head, Erendel’s left hand pressing against its warm flank. Erendel’s right hand held that of Ne’anithel, who in turn clasped Sa’renel’s hand across Dryn’s legs. Finally, Sa’renel’s right hand was upon Dryn’s breast.

A chill of apprehension ran through Erendel’s short form for a moment when Sa’renel began to speak. His words were the magical language; a conglomeration of intonations, each carrying the weight of otherworldly power on the speaker’s lips. Erendel could not even begin to understand the words, but he recognized the feeling of strength and majesty in the words. Where had he heard them before?

For some reason, Erendel’s mind flashed to Dryn, and he heard the old man’s voice uttering the words outside of Nellscalon.

Sa’renel’s incantation increased in volume and pace, forcing the elfling to return his thoughts to the present. A tingle of fear laced Erendel’s heart, and he felt a strange compulsion to break the chain of hands. He did not.

The elfling closed his eyes and listened to the words now pouring from the healer’s lips. They pulsated with life at every word, every syllable. Energy began to course from the words through the bodies of those present. Erendel felt Ne’anithel shiver. An instant later, a surge of energy, in the form a powerful tingle, flew into Erendel’s right hand from Ne’anithel’s. He shook, his face contorted in surprise and pain, but his eyes remained closed.

The surge continued through his body, crossing the path of his heart and making beat rapidly. The energy then began to oscillate within him, surging and falling with each word that was exuded from Sa’renel’s lips. The power was welling within him now, and it reached out his left hand, creeping into the deer’s breathing form.

For a moment, the deer’s breath quickened, and it shook violently as the force of the energy coursed through its very being. A quiet bleat issued from its mouth.

The pulsing increased-moving, flowing, swaying, and rising with the spell. Then, from Erendel’s left hand, there was a massive rush of physical energy. It felt as though it was sucked through the elfling’s body, the magic within him being the conduit for its course. Erendel threw his head back in agony. He tightened his already iron grip on Ne’anithel’s hand. The physical energy continued to run-to thrash-through him, and the energy pumped it incessantly. Erendel felt the deer’s heart beating wildly. Then it fluttered and stopped altogether.

The physical energy drained from Erendel’s being, and the magic soon followed thereafter, dissipating into the air around him.

It was over.

Erendel uncertainly opened his eyes. His hand still lay on the deer, which had grown cold in death. His own heart’s pounding continued, the after-effects of the incredible experience still burning in his memory. His hand shook uncontrollably, and his breath came in short gasps. It was amazing, he thought, that he had survived that!

Peering to his side, he saw that Ne’anithel shared his sentiments. The other elf was licking his lips and trying to brush his long hair-which had falling across his face during his own convulsions-aside with two equally unnerved hands.

Only Sa’renel seemed unaffected by the magic’s power. He leaned back against the wall, touched his fingertips together, and leaned his chin on his thumbs. All the while his eyes were fixed upon Dryn. His breath came easily, it seemed to the elfling.

Dryn! Having been caught in his own internal turmoil, Erendel had utterly forgotten the purpose for the ritual. The elfling anxiously looked down at his friend, reaching for the unconscious man’s hand.

It was warm.

Tears rimmed the elfling’s eyes. He saw Dryn’s chest heave and fall more noticeably, and he heard the sound of the man’s breath as it was drawn in and exhaled repeatedly. Dryn was alive! No one could possibly have described the inexplicable joy that Erendel felt at that moment, watching Dryn return from near death into life. To the elfling, it seemed that everything would be better from now on.

“Dryn…” Erendel whispered, ecstatic. He could hardly control his emotions. He had been through such floods of opposing emotions in the past days; he had never felt that way before. Especially not when it concerned a human.

At the elfling’s words, Dryn’s eyes fluttered. Slowly, he lifted his eyelids and squinted up at the ceiling of the cave blankly, as though trying to regain his focus. He then turned his head slightly to face Erendel.

“Where am I?” were the inevitable words to first escape his mouth.

“You are in the northern Watchtower Range,” Erendel laughed, tears rolling freely down his dirty cheeks.

“Eh? I don’t recall traveling that far…Why are you crying, Erendel? Why do I have bandages enough to stifle me? Why are we in a cave? What-”

Everyone burst into sincere fits of laughter; the joy of the occasion was contagious. Dryn looked confused and turned his head away from Erendel, toward Sa’renel, when he heard the elf’s merry laughter. “What are you doing here, Ne’renel?”

“I am Sa’renel now, Dryn,” Sa’renel corrected the old man. He reached forward to undo the bandage around Dryn’s forehead. When he pulled it away, Erendel saw that the gash that had previously marred Dryn’s countenance was no longer there, replaced by wrinkled, but clean and fully intact skin.

“Thou hast been at the threshold of death for many days, friend,” Sa’renel continued, unraveling the rest of the bandages. “Thy friend, the little elf, found Ne’anithel, our brother, quite by accident, I shouldn’t wonder, and he hast brought me to thee so that I may heal thee from thy imminent doom.”

“But doesn’t that sort of thing take physical energy?” Dryn asked, his faculties apparently now completely under his command.

“Aye, it does. That is why the deer at thy head hast given up its life for thee.”

Erendel finally remembered the deer, the creature that had given his friend life. He felt ashamed for not having recalled the dead animal’s presence, and now tears of mixed emotion glittered on his eyes. He touched the cold body reverently, gingerly. He knew he was incapable of the ultimate sacrifice, the very same sacrifice that the deer made for a man it hardly knew.

Then Erendel recalled the animal’s conveyance of the sentiments it held. It said that the gods had placed it on the earth for the sole purpose of one day giving up its life in place of another. That profound and strangely intelligent message had caught Erendel off guard, and he now wondered whether it was the deer itself that made the statement, or another presence inside it.

But what did that matter now? Dryn was alive!

“You’ve lost me, Sa‘renel,” Dryn complained in response to Sa’renel’s brusque explanation. The old man grunted as he sat upright, swiveling around to look at the deer carcass that lay unceremoniously at his head.

Erendel, now broken from his reverie, turned to his friends and proceeded to explain everything that had happened since the battle of Nellscalon. The telling of the story brought great emotion to Erendel, but he suppressed it; he was tired of tears and sobbing. When he finished, Dryn nodded and slapped the elfling affectionately across the shoulders. “You are a foolish little elf,” he laughed, “but I am infinitely grateful for your service.

“And,” he added, regarding the dead animal beside him with a mixture of disgust and admiration, “I do believe that we should give this poor little animal a proper burial for its sacrifice for me.”

“Aye,” Erendel agreed. “But the night is still upon us. Perhaps if we waited till morning?”

Dryn conceded Erendel’s point and then returned his attention to Sa’renel. “Why, might I ask, are we still in this damp little cave? You have a camp nearby, I don’t doubt, so why not let us stay there for the remainder of the night? I dare say, I’m a bit chilly, and Erendel here looks like an icicle.”

“Thou speaketh truly,” Sa’renel said, “I didst not realize, however, that thou wert the one to whom I wouldst provide assistance, and knowing that my tribe looks unkindly upon most humans…” Sa’renel trailed off and shrugged.

“Ah, I see what you mean.”

Only fifteen minutes later, the troupe had packed up Erendel’s things; tramped into Ne’anithel’s camp, which Erendel could hardly see amongst all the snow; and settled the elfling and Dryn in the designated guest’s tent. It was conical in shape, supported by wooden beams that were placed at regular intervals around a circle and leaned in upon each other as they stretched toward the pinnacle of the tent. The thick material that formed the protective covering around these beams was made of interwoven pelts, some gray, some brown. The furs covering made the interior of the tent far warmer than the exterior, and Erendel was soon comfortably warm.

Erendel felt strangely at home in the camp. He felt as though this was where his home should be, out amongst nature, like it had been back at Orrel’s hut.

The two friends lied down to rest on mats made from bear fur and covered themselves with woolen blankets. Erendel closed his eyes, ready to fall into a peaceful sleep, and thankful for the first warm rest he’d had in days. Everything was all right now; Dryn was alive, and he was surrounded by the safety of elven warriors.

The muffled sound of voices brought the elfling into wakefulness the following morning. Sitting up lethargically, he rubbed his eyes, shook of the blanket, and listened to the voices.

“…but the trip will be too dangerous,” Erendel heard Dryn say, and he looked across the tent at the old man’s mat. It was true: Dryn was not there.

“Aye, that is the reason for my persistence,” a second voice, Ne’anithel’s, said.

“He haveth a point, Dryn,” yet another voice, which was Sa’renel’s, responded.

“I agree, selve Sa’renel,” a new voice cut in. The voice was obviously elvish in accent, but Erendel did not recognize it.

Deciding that he wanted to be included in the discussion, the elfling jumped out of bed and pushed back his long, tangled hair. Then he threw on his cloak and yanked back the flap of the tent back. A thrill of cold snow ran up his legs, and he quickly realized that he was standing in over a foot of fresh snow. Shivering, Erendel looked around to better get his bearings.

The camp in which he had been housed was set up much like a bivouac. The tents, made from the same materials as his own, but shaped differently, were pitched at straight, regular intervals. There were four congregations of tents, stemming from a central meeting area in the center, and each was two rows thick as they moved away from the center like spokes on a wheel. The central commons area was blanketed by a thick sheet of snow, as was everything else nearby. However, the elves had dug away the snow in the middle to reveal a fire pit, which was now blazing with a fire that smelled of magic. No doubt it had been started by Sa’renel, since only he and the speaker-who that was, Erendel did not know-were permitted to use magic.

The group that Erendel had heard was deep in discussion near the fire, standing in a ringed formation so as to exclude anyone who was not supposed to be involved in their conversation. As he had expected, Dryn, Ne’anithel, and Sa’renel were amongst the discussers. There was also a tall, unwontedly muscular elf, garbed in a bear-skin poncho and bearing masses of beads along his forelocks.

This new elf looked up at Erendel when the elfling appeared from within the tent, and a look of wonder crossed his face for a brief moment before being replaced by the usually taciturn expression. The others, too, stopped talking and looked Erendel’s way. The elfling felt heat rise into his cheeks, but he approached them nonetheless. He saw the tall elf lean over to Dryn and whisper something, his eyes still fixed on Erendel.

“I hope I haven’t disrupted anything,” Erendel said a little more coldly than he had intended, bowing to the group as he reached them.

“Bah!” Dryn grunted, “You haven’t interrupted anything. I was just telling Teir’reahnel here about our quest.”

“Indeed,” The tall elf, apparently Teir’reahnel, agreed. “I was made aware that I shouldst prepare my tribe for an invasion.

“By the way,” Teir’reahnel added, “I am Teir’reahnel, the tribal leader of this, the Adrianhethla tribe of the northern reaches of the Watchtower Mountains.”

Erendel almost smirked at the long title, but kept his face impassive. He bowed respectfully instead. “It is an honor to share words with one as powerful as yourself, Teir’reahnel.”

Teir’reahnel bowed in kind and turned back to the others, his eyes darting back to Erendel occasionally, betraying his surprise at the elfling’s size. “What dost thou thinkest, then, Dryn? Shouldst Ne’anithel accompany thee on this journey? This decision is not one that I should make, but let me have it known that Ne’anithel knows these mountains well, and shall find thee the best trails. Thou shall not lose thy way, nor shall any demons assail thee, with him at thy side.”

Dryn crossed his arms thoughtfully, looking Ne’anithel up and down. “How old art-er-are you, son?”

“I am nearly 100 years,” Ne’anithel said proudly, drawing himself up to his full height.

Dryn laughed. “Is that so? Well, then, I guess I have no choice but to allow you to come with us. But only to the border of the Darkloom lands,” he added quickly, much to Ne’anithel’s dismay. “From then on, it will have to be just me and Erendel.”

“As you wish,” Ne’anithel bowed, disappointment written across his visage.

And so it was that Erendel, Dryn, and Ne’anithel set out northward later that morning, trudging slowly through a foot’s worth of snow. They made a brief stop at the cave Erendel had stayed at the night before and gave the deer a fitting burial. Watching Dryn magically seal the cave with the snow-turning it into an icy wall that would stay frozen forever-made Erendel’s eyes moisten. He held back his tears, however.

Erendel looked back at the village and sighed as they left its borders. He couldn’t help feeling that this was the last elven society he would see for a long time, and it made him more than a little nervous. He had seen the image of the Darkloom lands, and was not sure that he wanted to go there. Yet, he was compelled by duty to fulfill the obligation that was set upon him by some unknown force, and he knew that he would not be able to return to Lianiia’s Wood until that purpose had been fulfilled.

Conversations

Travel that day was slow, but nonetheless enjoyable. Dryn and Erendel were constantly buzzing with questions for each other, and neither had a chance to answer each one properly before the other cut in with another question. The whole while, Ne’anithel was trudging along in front of them quietly and worriedly. It quickly became a habit of his to look anxiously from side to side for hidden dangers that might have been attracted by the boisterous cacophony of discussion from the two friends. “Must thou speaketh so loudly?” He had asked multiple times, and the response was always the same. “Maybe we shouldst-er-should settle down a bit.” But of course, a few minutes later, the volume of their words was right back at its previous level.

Erendel honestly felt bad for the tall mountain elf. He knew they were excluding him, but there was so much information that he had yet to relay to Dryn, that he found himself almost ignoring the other elf.

Even more, the elfling now realized how precious his friendships were. He had already lost Aeriena, and had nearly lost Dryn as well. Even Cedriel, he had to admit, had provided good company. Erendel did not want to squander the gift of friends while they-or he-were still around.

That evening, the threesome came to a halt in a particularly thick grove of pine trees. The sky was cloudy-remnants of yesterday’s storm, no doubt. It was also quite cold, and Erendel was glad to have brought the thick, warm pelts that Teir-reahnel had given the group.

Ne’anithel soon had the area cleared of snow and had brought in some mildly dry sticks for a fire. Erendel meanwhile constructed three lean-tos, also gifts from Teir-reahnel, and laid out a few mats beneath them. The elfling could not help but think how useless these lean-tos would be in a few days, what with their need for stealth. Nevertheless, he was thankful for the shelter they provided, at least for the present.

It was fast growing dark, and Ne’anithel still had not lit the fagots of wood ablaze. Erendel wasn’t too concerned for himself or Ne’anithel, since the two elves had enhanced night-vision, but Dryn was old and his eyes weren’t nearly as accustomed to the darkness. The old man had gone off to hunt, besides, and would need a beacon to direct him back to the camp. So, the elfling approached the mountain elf and asked why there was no fire.

“The twigs are too wet to hold a flame,” Ne’anithel grumbled, throwing down the two sticks he had been rubbing together in frustration.

“Perhaps if you used magic, you would be more successful.”

“Thou knowest what our tribe believes about magic, selva,” Ne’anithel said, and Erendel thought he detected a tinge of discontentment in his voice, as though he wished his beliefs were not an inhibition. “Perhaps thou couldst light the fire with magic,” Ne’anithel continued presently. “Certainly thou art not constrained by our beliefs.”

Holding out his hands, palms up, in a gesture of inability, Erendel shook his head. “I cannot use magic. I don’t know why, but I have never been able to learn the language and use it.”

“But thou art an elf,” Ne’anithel persisted, clearly confused. “Are not all elves capable of using magic?”

 ”At first, I thought it was because I hadn’t completed training in the Academy at my home that I couldn’t cast a spell. It wasn’t until yesterday, though, that I realized that the magic language is but gibberish to my ears.” Ne’anithel gave him a questioning look, and Erendel explained, “You see, Dryn had once spoken the magic language at Nellscalon, but I did not recognize it for what it was because it sounded strange. Then Sa’renel used the same sounding words in his incantation last night. I realized that the reason I could not use magic was because I could not understand the words that one uses to cast a spell, and because of that, I couldn’t use them myself.”

“How strange,” Ne’anithel muttered, turning his gaze back to the twigs.

“You know what I like about you, Ne’anithel?” Dryn’s voice called out, and the two elves turned to regard the old man as he approached from the woods. Dryn was carrying a brace of conies firmly in hand. “You have good taste in food,” he finished with a wheezy grunt of laughter. He then threw to dead carcasses at Ne’anithel’s feet. “Where’s the fire?” He asked casually, stooping to examine the sticks. “I nearly ran into a tree several times for want of light! My eyes aren’t what they use to be. No matter.” Dryn stretched out his arms, speaking a few words of the magic language. Instantly a flame flared to life amongst the meager supply of wood and quickly spread. The camp was now illuminated with a orange-red glow that reminded Erendel of Orrel’s hut on a cold winter night.

Erendel noticed that the ruby on Dryn’s finger now exuded a brilliant red phosphorescence.

“That should be good for the night,” Dryn remarked with a measure of satisfaction. “And don’t worry about refueling the fire. It will burn until I decide to put it out, regardless of the sticks.”

“Thou art remarkable,” Ne’anithel said in wonder. The mountain elf reached into the pack at his side and pulled out a small vial, containing a coal black dust. “I, however, havest one more thing to add to thy work.”

Without preamble, the elf unstoppered the vial and gingerly sprinkled a bit of the dust over the flames. Erendel watched, awestruck, as the flames gradually turned black, as though each tendril had been gloved. The light around them faded a little.

“It shall keep our fire from the eyes of evil, without compromising the light or heat it gives,” Ne’anithel explained, pressing the cork back into the vial and returning it to his pouch.

“Incredible!” Erendel couldn’t help exclaiming. Then something struck him. “I thought you could not use magic.”

“I cannot cast spells, selva, and I didst not enchant this potion. Sa’renel gave it to me for the journey.”

“It is truly an amazing gift.”

“Aye, it is.”

The meat that the rabbits provided was finished cooking by the time the darkness had overcome the forest. Erendel eagerly grabbed his portion of the meat and reached for his magical dagger so cut off a bit. Just as he was about to pierce the food, however, he changed his mind and re-sheathed the blade, not wanting his meal to be tainted by magic-or possibly destroyed.

“That is an interesting blade,” Ne’anithel commented when Erendel asked him for a knife. “Doth thou mindest if I look at it more closely?”

Erendel shook his head, his mouth full of meat, and reached to his side to retrieve the dagger, carefully handing it to the mountain elf.

Ne’anithel turned the dagger over in his hands several times before saying anything. Eventually, he handed it back, and said, “It is magic, is it not?” When Erendel nodded, he continued. “What, if I may ask, is its power?”

“I don’t know if I could define it properly,” Erendel admitted, “but I believe it drains the life from any living object and stores it in the gem on the hilt.”

“You do realize that you’re going to have to pay for it eventually, right?” Dryn cut in as he swallowed his share of the rabbits.

A brief feeling of irritation fluttered within Erendel, but he dispelled it immediately; Dryn was right, after all. “Then, if we succeed in this quest, I believe that will be more than enough payment for this little trinket.” Erendel smiled.

“And if not, the old smith can feel free to come get it from your corpse!” Dryn replied, and the two of them burst into fits of laughter. And once again, Ne’anithel was confused.

The laughter did not last long, however, and Erendel’s amusement faded into horror as he recalled Daiymel’s smithy, and then Nellscalon. The recollection of the battle and the burning redwood grove brought his heart into his throat and he lost all will to laugh.

“Why did you do it, Dryn?” Erendel asked suddenly, quietly.

“Eh?” Dryn looked perplexed. “Did I offend you?”

“No, I was not referring to the joke….I want to know why you took me from the battle at Nellscalon. I know I would have been more help there than I am here. You told me right before you passed out a few days ago that you ‘did what you had to.’ I didn’t understand, and I still do not.”

Dryn grew silent and gazed off into the woods beyond the elfling, squinting as if searching for something in the darkness. For a long moment, Erendel waited for Dryn to formulate his response. The black flames of the fire crackled extraordinarily loudly.

“Sometimes we all have to make difficult choices, Erendel,” Dryn said finally, now subdued and melancholy. “I knew that the battle was lost as soon as I saw the enemy, and I decided that, in the long run, it would be wiser to carry out the true mission, instead of getting ourselves killed in battle. I know that sounds like cowardice, but you must put these things in perspective. What would it avail us to die for a doomed city, when we could live to save the elven nation later on? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Erendel nodded, but felt the answer unsatisfactory. “I do. I do not like it, but I understand.”

“Good,” Dryn grunted. “Honestly, I think I can say that I made the right decision. It nearly cost me my life, but what can you do? It’s just one of life’s little adventures.”

The camp again resumed an aura of silence. Ne’anithel, knees drawn up under his chin, poked at the magical fire with a stick. Erendel looked to the elf and truly felt sorry for him. The mountain elf had come along expecting to be an effective addition to their little troupe, but so far he had been excluded from most of the goings-on. Erendel decided then that he would make a point to involve the young elf more often.

“Tell, me, Selva Ne’anithel, what do you know about the northern Watchtower Range?” Erendel asked, attempting to bring conversation back to the camp.

Ne’anithel’s head snapped up, his face showing surprise. Apparently he had not been expecting anyone to speak to him. “I know many things, selva,” he responded a bit uncertainly. “Is there anything in particular that you want to know?”

“How far are we from the end of the mountains?”

“I wouldst say that we have but two day’s more travel before we reach the northern-most tip of the mountains.”

“That is assuming that the trip is uneventful, correct?”

“Aye. If all goes well, then we shouldst arrive shortly. I am not so certain now, however, for if thy story is true, and I believe it is, then we may face opposition from demonic forces.” Ne’anithel shuddered.

“I hope that that is not the case, but I highly doubt it. I have been chased through Lianiia’s Woods ever since I began my journey across Cellestiem.”

“Why is that?”

“I do not truly know. I was told by Kroakh, an arch demon, that I have been found to be unique. And he did not mean only my physical stature. I believe he recognized something in me that was worth preserving through possession, though I cannot say what it is.”

Erendel wanted to say more, wanted to tell Ne’anithel of what Adaria told him at their first meeting, but he decided against it. The less people knew about him, the safer he would be if any disguised demons came asking about him. He also deemed it prudent not to tell Ne’anithel of the incident at the stone wall far to the south when he allegedly flew, or the pact Adaria made with Kroakh that stipulated that demon would not touch the elfling until he reached a certain destination. All these he felt uncomfortable explaining to the mountain elf.

It did not matter, though, for as these thoughts were rolling around in Erendel’s mind, a sound suddenly reached the two elves’ sensitive ears.

It was a low, blood-curdling growl that emanated from somewhere deep in the woods.

Save Us!

Demons, was Erendel’s initial thought. However, he quickly dispelled that theory; he had been chased by demons for almost three weeks now, and he would have recognized their aura a mile away. So, if the noise did not come from a demon, who or what made it?

Ne’anithel, apparently recognizing the growl, was on his feet in an instant, and an arrow materialized against his bow. Snapping his head this way and that, the mountain elf jerked his bow around as if fending off surrounding enemies.

Dryn, too, had risen to his feet, though his expression was one of puzzlement. “Where’s the fire?” He asked almost too casually.

The two elves hissed for him to be quiet. “We heard something,” Erendel explained in a low whisper.

“Aye,” Ne’anithel agreed with a nod. “And it doth present ill news for us.”

“Why?”

Another growl, closer now, echoed on the cold mountain air, sending a shiver of trepidation up Erendel’s spine. He looked to Dryn to see if the old man had heard it this time. He had, and his face was contorted now with paralytic fear, the sight of which further increased the rate Erendel’s already rapidly beating heart. Whatever was making that noise had terrified the old man into immobility.

“W-what is this creature?” Erendel whispered hoarsely at his elven companion. The latter’s hands were quivering, the bow in his hand vibrating along with them. For a long moment, the elf did not speak.

After a moment of tortuous silence, Ne’anithel licked his lips and answered, “Nakhri.”

“Nakhri?”

Ne’anithel nodded, but did not offer an explanation.

Another growl, then another, erupted from opposite sides of the camp. Erendel felt a cold tendril of terror claw at him, trying to get him to freeze with fear. It was with great effort that the elfling stove off the urges.

“There is more than one!” He squeaked at his friend.

Again, a nod was the only acknowledgment that the elfling had been heard.

The growls increased in volume and frequency, and Ne’anithel jerked awkwardly (at least be elven standards) around to face the source of each sound. His bow shook, and he pulled back the string in preparation to fire.

“No!” Erendel hissed, putting a hand on Ne’anithel’s arm. “Let me try something first. Perhaps I can convince them not to attack us.”

“H-how?”

Erendel did not respond. Instead, he positioned himself on the muddy ground so that he could focus without disruption. With his forefingers on his temples, he reached out with his mind into the woods. He felt for any presences, and detected eight, two of which he knew were Dryn and Ne’anithel. There must be six of these Nakhri, Erendel thought with a sudden sense of hopelessness overwhelm him. He reached further, this time entering one of the creatures’ minds.

What he found almost made him fall back with surprise.

The mind of the Nakhri was unlike any mind that he had ever entered; it was strangely intelligent, and yet unintelligent at the same time. It was as if the creature acted solely on instincts, but it was able to reason, if only basically, and think on a level just below comprehension. The thoughts seemed to follow patterns, but Erendel couldn’t quite understand what those patterns were. It was a mind of turmoil, with the animal and the humanoid intelligences converging and diverging. It was impossible to understand what the creature was thinking because of that.

But that was not what shocked the elfling. It was the sudden, violent reaction that caused him alarm. The mind, upon being reached, put up a mental barrier that Erendel was helpless to breach. Then, a loud roar rent the air, and the mindless patterns coalesced into single thought: kill.

Erendel had no trouble understanding that.

The elfling broke his mental contact as quickly as he could, jumped to his feet, and whipped out his dagger. His breath came in ragged gasps.

Beside him, Ne’anithel trembled and asked in a low voice, “What didst thou doeth?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Erendel replied. “but I think I made them angry.”

Another howl cut off Erendel’s words, and there was a crashing noise as of a heavy object running into trees. Then, all of a sudden, there was a gray-black blur before the elfling’s eyes, and he was propelled backwards by the dark object. As he landed in the mud, he felt hot breath encase him, and he nearly suffocated from the stench. Claws raked at his arms and legs, teeth snapped at his face, and snarls of rage erupted from the mouth of the creature.

From his pinned down position, Erendel did the best he could to stave off the gaping maw as it lunged at him, while at the same time wrenching the dagger from underneath the heavy beasts body. With a sudden jerk, his dagger hand came free and he reached up and around to stab the Nakhri in the side.

There was a howl, and the beast released its grip, jumping back. Erendel scrambled to his feet and faced off against the huge animal. It was about seven feet tall, with reptilian skin, and a horned tale. Its head was like a dragon’s save that fangs protruded from its muzzle and its eyes were large and lidless. The bulbous pupils reminded Erendel of Kroakh’s true demonic form, and he shuddered. And it was engulfed in green flames.

The Nakhri lunged again, its bent hind legs straightened out with the leap. Erendel threw himself to the side, rolling into the snow, and was up again in an instant, only to catch the bottom of the Nakhri’s tale against the side of his face. Blood splattered onto the tale, but Erendel ignored the pain. He brought himself back to a standing position and blocked an incoming claw with his dagger. The blade bit into the creature’s flesh sending another explosion of green flames up its arm.

But the Nakhri was still not dead. It was obviously injured, but instead of becoming defensive, it grew more vicious. Erendel dodged to claw swipes in quick succession, and jumped back when the creature whirled around in an attempt to whack the elfling with its tail. When it completed its rotation, returning its direction to Erendel, it didn’t even paused before lunging again, its flaming arm leading.

Erendel ducked as it came and stabbed upward, scoring a hit under its chin. Now the Nakhri’s head was aflame. Its ear-splitting howl shook the elfling, as its lunge stopped abruptly and it fell forward over the small elf’s form. Its tail was dragged over Erendel’s head, burning the elfling’s head.

When at last the form collapsed onto the ground, Erendel straightened himself and whirled around, narrowly missing a deadly blow to the chest from the spiked tail as the creature thrashed about on the ground. It was not in its death throes yet, the elfling realized in horror, and did not wait for it to arise. He leapt onto its chest and stabbed repeatedly at its reptilian face, each puncture exploding into flames. When that did not seem to kill the creature, Erendel aimed for its throat.

The wounded Nakhri clawed Erendel’s back repeatedly. Its claws dug deep through Erendel’s animal skins and dug into his flesh, gashing it in all directions so that it looked like the elfling had been whipped. At last, Erendel could stand it no longer and threw himself back off the creature, howling in pain and clutching his back.

He lay on the ground for many moments, rolling around in anguish and turning the snow red with his blood. The Nakhri was in a similar plight, with its face now horribly maimed and its whole body writhing with flames. Even so, however, it stood slowly and made its way to Erendel. Then, with a ragged snarl that sent blood spewing from its mouth, it through its left arm back to slash Erendel again.

“Die, creature!” Erendel cried in panic. He could not move, so painful was his back.

The Nakhri tried to laugh, but instead gargled its own blood. Its arm swung down upon Erendel. Then the body followed its descent. With a thud, the creature fell to the ground, right on top of the elfling, its arm swinging harmlessly to the side, but its sheer way crushing a few of the elfling’s ribs.

Erendel screamed in agony, both from his back and his chest, but could not move to free himself. He looked to his side with the greatest effort to see Dryn, still paralyzed with fear, and Ne’anithel being backed toward the campfire by another Nakhri, his bow shaking profoundly.

“Dryn!” Erendel howled as best he could.

The old man did not move.

“Dryn! We need you! Dryn, please! Use your magic!”

It was useless; nothing that Erendel could cry drew any sort of response from the paralyzed man.

Erendel wanted to weasel his way out from the dead Nakhri, extricate his body from the corpse, but he was in such pain that any motion elicited another cry of pain. He found, however, that he could move his arms. With a groan, Erendel yanked his dagger arm out from under the body just as he had done when the Nakhri had first attacked him. His dagger was still gripped in his fist firmly.

He again glanced toward Ne’anithel and saw that the mountain elf was only a foot from the black flames.

“Watch out!” Erendel shouted in warning, but his voice was so weak now, from loss of blood, that he doubted he could be heard.

Ne’anithel noticed the flames at the last minute and jumped aside, causing the Nakhri to lunge for him. With a war cry, the mountain elf let fly his first arrow, which buried itself deeply in the Nakhri’s chest. This only exacerbated the Nakhri’s manic rage, and it threw a claw out, cutting a jagged line of blood across Ne’anithel’s left cheek.

“Dryn!” Erendel cried again, tears in his eyes. Why wouldn’t the old man move?

He again cast his gaze to Ne’anithel, saw the elf narrowly miss getting another claw across his face, and struggle to nock another arrow. The second arrow found the Nakhri’s eye, and the monster paused only long enough to howl in pain before it leapt for the mountain elf.

Ne’anithel could not fire another arrow before the creature landed heavily on him, driving the elf to the ground. The Nakhri’s mouth closed over the bow that Ne’anithel had held up in front of him to protect his face and snapped it cleanly into three pieces. Ne’anithel threw his arms up to grab the Nakhri’s head and hold it away from his face.

“No!” Erendel shrieked. Was this how it was to end? In battle against a foe that wasn’t even demonic? Hot, bloody tears coursed down the elfling’s face. This was to be the end!

Ne’anithel seemed to lose hope in resistence, allowing his arms to slacken. The Nakhri’s gaping maw reached down to Ne’anithel’s face, fangs glinting with blood.

“Gods, save us!” Erendel cried out to the heavens, his voice choked and hoarse. “We are lost! Please, save us! Save us!”

All of a sudden, a bright light burst forth from nowhere, and the elfling was blinded. When he again opened his eyes, he saw Ne’anithel lying, gasping, on the ground. About two yards away, the Nakhri thrashed on the ground, the light burning its eyes and two new arrows protruding from its mouth. It tried to howl, but only blood came from its mouth. Two more arrows appeared in its flesh, and finally it sighed as life was drained from it.

The light diminished until it disappeared entirely. Erendel’s eyes could stay open no longer. He had lost so much blood, so much energy. He felt the weight on his chest lifted, then a hand grasp his face gently. He turned to look, but his eyes wouldn’t open. He tried to say something, but his mouth wouldn’t answer his mind’s commands.

His awareness dimmed, darkness overtook him, and he felt his consciousness carried off into the night.

Guests of Honor

Erendel had no idea how long he had been unconscious when he finally awoke, but that was not the first thoughts that ran through his mind when he opened his eyes. The towering pines of the grove within which he, Dryn, and Ne’anithel had set up camp loomed down from above him, nearly blotting out the sky above, which was a crystal blue save for the occasionally puffy white cloud. The brightness of the mid-afternoon sky was an overwhelming, but not unwelcome sight to the eyes of one who had seen only darkness for what Erendel assumed to be the last few hours.

The next sensation that Erendel felt was that of his own body. He knew he had been injured, but he felt no pain. Indeed, he did not even find it hard for him to brief or move. He did, however, feel very tired; so tired, in fact, that he nearly dozed off again.

Suddenly, however, a head came into Erendel’s view and looked at him with inscrutable eyes. Erendel was startled by the form that stood over him, and could not vocalize a response when the figure said, “Thou hast finally decided to return to the land of the living, I see.”

For a long moment, Erendel opened and closed his mouth in an attempt to speak. No words would issue forth from his mouth until, at last, he managed to whisper, “Daiymel?” His voice cracked as he spoke.

“Well, it is good to know that thou canst see,” Daiymel said dryly in return, his face remaining unchanged.

Another elven form appeared to Erendel’s right, and she immediately dropped to her knees beside him. “Do not do this to me again, Erendel, or I will probably kill myself!” Aeriena scolded, though her countenance was alive with joy and sparkling tears. If Daiymel’s appearance had shocked Erendel, then Aeriena’s rendered him utterly paralyzed with surprise and happiness.

Four more figures surrounded the elfling, and he could hardly bear the complete astonishment that beset him.

“Well, it took you long enough!” Dryn grumbled, but with a smile on his lips.

“I’ll say!” Cedriel remarked. “Even the mountain elf recovered more quickly, and I dare say we thought he would not live at all.”

“Thou wouldst do well to watch the words thou speaketh, wood elf,” Ne’anithel said.

“Wouldst thou keep thy voices down and let the little elf speak?” Adaria demanded, positioning herself between the two male elves as they glared at one another.

“I don’t understand…” was all Erendel could muster.

“Well then, it seems that we have much explaining to do,” Daiymel declared.

Aeriena propped Erendel up to a sitting position while the others sat down around him. Their eyes were all upon him, and each expression was different. Erendel did not like being the center of attention, but he did not say anything.

“Alright, so if we are all ready, I will tell Erendel what happened,” Dryn said, clearing his throat.

“I hardly see why you should have the honor,” Cedriel protested, “After all, it was not you who saved his life.”

“Nor was it thee who saved him,” Ne’anithel snapped.

“If I recall correctly, selva, you were nearly unconscious when we intervened.”

“Cease thy incessant rambling!” Adaria exclaimed sharply, “I will tell Erendel the tale, for it seems that no one else has the presence of mind to keep from bickering.”

“Please go ahead, Adaria,” Daiymel said, and he stood, walked over to Cedriel and Ne’anithel, and squatted between them, placing his hands on the hilts of his two scimitars poignantly. The young elves immediately became silent.

“First of all,” Erendel said, “I wish to know what attacked us last night. Ne’anithel called them Nakhri, but said little else.”

“He is correct, selva Erendel,” Adaria nodded. “They are indeed the Nakhri. That is the Dwarven name given to them, for they were first discovered in the caves of the mountains. I think it unnecessary to point out that they are vicious beasts, and prone to berserk when threatened. Thus, they are difficult enemies to kill, as thou doubt found.”

Ne’anithel nodded. “It is partially my fault that they attacked us,” he admitted. “If I hadst not used the dust that Sa’renel gave me, then they wouldst not have assailed us; they art nocturnal creatures and the light doth not sit well in their eyes.”

“I have another question,” Erendel said. “There were only two of the beasts that attacked us, correct? Why then did I sense the presence six life forms besides Dryn’s and Ne’anithel’s?”

“You sensed their presence?” Cedriel raised an eyebrow. “I was not aware that you had this ability.”

Erendel ignored the wood elf and looked to Adaria for an explanation, but the others seemed to be more interested in Erendel’s revelation.

“Yes, I didn’t know you could ‘sense presences,’ Erendel,” Dryn huffed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Nor me,” Aeriena added with a tinge of disapproval.

That would have been better left unspoken, Erendel, Adaria mentally reprimanded him. Thy powers are not something of which everyone should be aware.

I’m sorry, Erendel snapped, but I still need an explanation.

“Thou may have sensed our presences as well, selva,” Adaria said aloud, waving her hand vaguely toward the others sitting around the elfling. “for we were not far behind them.”

“If that be true, then why didst thou wait until we were almost destroyed before thou intervened?” Ne’anithel asked.

“I said we were not far behind, selva,” Adaria explained, “not that we were yet close enough to aid thee. Besides, we had assumed that Dryn had things well in hand.”

“Ha!” Dryn smirked, “You thought I had things under control? You do realize that I am only human, and that the Nakhris’ growls paralyzed me, right?”

“I had forgotten about that,” Adaria murmured.

“I do not understand,” Erendel whined.

“It is very simple,” Daiymel cut in before either Ne’anithel or Cedriel could say something. “The Nakhris’ voices strike a paralyzing fear into the souls of lesser beings…”

“Lesser beings indeed!” Dryn scowled.

“…and in that way, they are able to capture their prey. Obviously, when they saw that thou and Ne’anithel were not affected, they felt threatened and attacked thee first. Dryn should count himself lucky that he survived.”

“And what of the light?” Erendel pressed.

“That was my doing,” Adaria confessed with a pleased smile touching her lips. “And Daiymel and Cedriel provided the killing arrows.”

“That’s all well and good,” Dryn interrupted, “But there is still a matter that has been left unanswered: why are you here?”

“And what about the battle of Nellscalon? What transpired there?” Erendel inquired.

“Ah, too many things must be explained!” Daiymel lamented. “Concerning our presence here, I think it necessary to explain what happened at the battle.

“It was a battle the likes of which no elf had ever seen before. Yes, it was a victory, selva. Every demon save one has been destroyed.” Erendel knew which demon Daiymel spoke of.    “The casualties,” Daiymel continued, “on both sides were high in number, and there was much destruction. The redwood grove is gone, save for one tree, a mere sapling. The garden is now a barren wasteland, and the streams running through it have dried away. The stone homes, however, were spared and many of the surviving elves have taken refuge within their walls.

“As for the battle itself, it was hard fought. Every elf was in the battle, and every elf was scathed in some manner or other. But we emerged victorious from the darkness. As I said, we killed every demon but one-the accursed beast that set the grove aflame. That one escaped from the body that it had possessed and disappeared when it had completed its mission.

“I sought thee and Dryn after the demons had been defeated, but I couldst not find either of thee, so I instead looked for Cedriel and his sister.”

“We had made our way to the eastern flank,” Cedriel said, eager to tell his part of the story, “where I held the demons back from the grove. I was hard-pressed, but I was able to protect Aeriena from harm.”

“And yet, I was compelled to kill several of the beasts that beset me,” Aeriena added, receiving a glare from her older brother.

“We also looked for you, Erendel,” Cedriel continued, “after the fighting had ended, but we found Daiymel instead. He asked if we knew where you were, but, of course, we had long since lost you.”

“As for myself,” Adaria said, “I was near the center of the line of elves, using all my magic to stave off the attacks of the demons. I too sought thee out, but when I could not find thee, I knew that thou hadst escaped north to continue thy quest. Even so, I knew that, with Kroakh still alive, thou wouldst not be safe. Thus, I found Cedriel, Aeriena, and Daiymel, since they were they only elves who knew you, and implored them to help me find you.”

“I was uncertain at first,” Daiymel admitted, “for I did not truly know why thou hadst left, but I trusted Adaria’s judgment, and agreed. I stipulated, however, that we stay until the magical atmosphere had been restored and the bodies had been buried.”

“We, on the other hand,” Cedriel said, indicating both himself and Aeriena, “agreed immediately. We knew you would not last long in the mountains without aid.”

“And I offer my sincerest thanks,” Erendel replied, though he hated admitting it to the proud wood elf.

A smirk edged Cedriel’s mouth, but he said nothing.

“The rest of the story is rather dull,” Daiymel said in order to conclude the discussion. “We hunted thee down for a few days, until we found thee under attack by the Nakhri.”

“And it is our purpose to protect thee until thou reachest the Darkloom Lands,” Adaria put in. “Then, we shall have to return to Nellscalon to assist in its reconstruction.”

“Of course, Cedriel and I will remain with you,” Aeriena said. “It is our duty…and our desire.”

She shot Erendel a brief, but affectionate look, and the elfling’s face reddened.

“Well, now that we’ve told our story, I think it only fair that Erendel and his friends tell us theirs,” Cedriel said brusquely. He had seen the interchange between his sister and Erendel and was not happy about it. Thus, he attempted to change the subject, to get the attention away from Aeriena.

Erendel, Dryn, and Ne’anithel agreed to his proposal. Each in his own turn described the adventures that had transpired. Erendel, however, carefully avoided mentioning his mental connection to the deer when he came to that part of the tale. Aeriena sighed several times and smiled when the elfling described the deer’s relationship with him, and she nearly burst into tears when he told of how the deer had sacrificed itself for Dryn.

From there, Ne’anithel took over and related his perspective of the story. He seemed to have a lot to say, Erendel thought, amused. Every event he described nigh dripped with his opinions and feelings.

There was not a face that was in some way affected when the three concluded their tale. Aeriena was in tears, Cedriel was rather stunned, Adaria nodded in understanding, and Daiymel struggled to maintain a staid expression. Erendel nearly laughed at these drastically different countenances.

As the elfling looked around at the five other elves and Dryn, though, he could not help but feel a thrill of excitement rush through him. Here before him were those who would soon embark again on a journey that would decide the fate of the entire elven race, and perhaps the world. Here before him were the friends that he had established in his flight from the demons, friends that he knew he could trust to be faithful even through the fires of Sepheirias. Erendel felt his eyes water as he considered this.

He was not alone in his trials.

“So, how about lunch?” Dryn asked, uncouthly jolting Erendel from his reverie. “I’m feeling a bit of deer meat, well done, and accompanied by a nice hot bowl of beef stew…”

Aeriena gasped in horror, and Dryn realized his mistake. “Er…I think I would rather eat a salad and berries. Besides, tree roots seem much more appetizing than a steak anyway…”

Erendel detected profound sadness in the old man’s voice and burst out laughing. It seemed there would no longer be any meat for him. Not while Aeriena was around, at least.

The Fringe

The wind was the troupe’s biggest impediment now. When they set out the following morning, the air had become brisk and windy. The pine forest was alive with motion as the moving air caused the trees to sway and kicked up the soft snow in sparkling swirls. The crystalline flakes pattered against Erendel’s face ceaselessly, nearly blinding him with every gust that brought them into the air. And all he could do was pull his hood down lower and draw is cloak tighter.

Beside him were Aeriena and Dryn, while Adaria and Daiymel walked behind them in deep philosophical discussion. Cedriel was in the front with Ne’anithel, and they too were conversing. Their conversation, however, was more of an argument than anything else. Erendel couldn’t help but smile as he heard Cedriel’s colorful oaths and Ne’anithel’s well vocalized repartees. Apparently, they were both thoroughly enjoying the battle of words.

“They certainly have started off well,” Dryn commented, referring to the two elves in front of him.

“Aye,” Aeriena agreed, “It is good that Cedriel has someone who shares his interests. It is difficult for me to bear his constant coddling sometimes.” She added this last sentence with a smile, looking down to Erendel.

The elfling returned the smile.

Hours passed, and the seven travelers still walked. For the elves, it was no difficulty, but Dryn was forced to draw power from his ring on several occasions to keep himself going.

As they walked, Erendel began to notice that the forest was thinning, the trees growing fewer and further apart. The snow, too, was not as deep as it had been. Also, he saw that the mountain range was becoming more and more rocky. Where trees or shrubs would have been, now boulders and cairns of small stones sat. This made the walk more monotonous and gray, with only the occasional gnarled tree or dead thorn to offset the rocks.

After they had traveled quite a few miles through the northern Watchtower Mountains, Ne’anithel called for a halt and brought the others into a circle. “We are approaching the Brodruin-the Fringe-now. We have but three more miles to travel, and then we shall reach Brodr-Ojiia.”

“Brodr-Ojiia?” Erendel asked, confused.

“Border-Watch,” Cedriel answered tersely.

“I know what the word means,” Erendel grumbled. “I merely did not know that such a place existed.”

“The Brodr-Ojiia is a chain of elven fortresses,” Ne’anithel explained, “commissioned by our queen and run by her legions. They protect the northern and southern borders of Lianiia’s Wood so that all elves within may live in peace.”

“How can the Brodr-Ojiia live out here?” Aeriena wondered, looking around distastefully. “It is so desolate.”

“It is their duty,” Ne’anithel shrugged. “The queen gave them the order, and it is their duty to obey.”

“Well, why are we standing around then?” Dryn complained rather loudly. “My feet are killing me and I would love to get to this Brooder-something-or-other before it gets dark.”

The fortress came into view an hour later. The seven approached it just as dusk was settling over the peaks of the Watchtower Mountains. They now stood at the bottom of a wide cleft in the mountains, steep stone walls rising perpendicular to the ground on either side of them. Directly above them was the fortress. Erendel’s mouth gaped at the spectacular structure, built across the expanse of the cleft. It seemed that no matter where he turned, his people never ceased to amaze him.

The fortress of the Brodr-Ojiia bridged either side of the cleft. Arching roads swept upward and inward to the large white stone structure that seemed to hang directly above the cleft. It was many levels high, each level bearing sweeping arches and curved corners. There was a balcony around each rectangular floor, pillars at regular intervals around the outside. At the top of the main section fortress stretched a tower, looming many hundreds of feet above the cleft below. And at its pinnacle was the Elven flag, flapping wildly in the winter wind.

Of course, all Erendel could see was the domical bottom of the fortress and the underside of each bridge that supported the whole structure. Nevertheless, the sheer size of the fortress was awe-inspiring.

“How will we get up to it?” Erendel asked to no one in particular.

“The same way thou reached my home,” Adaria responded. “There are stairs in the rock.”

“Really? Because I can’t see them?” Dryn said incredulously.

“That is because they were cut to conform to the rock perfectly,” Ne’anithel replied, pointing to the left wall of the cleft. “They are over there.”

Erendel strained his eyes, searching for the invisible stairs, but was unable find them, and he was ashamed to say as much. Instead, he asked, “How do you know so much about the Brodr-Ojiia’s fortresses?”

“Thou forgettest that I am of the Adrianhethla tribe. I hath been to many places in these mountains.”

“How many of these fortresses are there?” Aeriena asked.

“I do not know,” Ne’anithel ruefully admitted as he lead the group to the wall, where he revealed a staircase cut so perfectly into the wall, that the casual observer would not have seen it. “I do know, however, that there are many, and they stretch across from Lianiia’s Sea to the ocean in the east.”

The climb up the stairs was steep, and in a switchback formation. Dryn was placed in the middle of the seven as they walked, single file, upwards. That way, if he were to fall, there would be three others behind to catch him. Erendel, of course, was not one of those three. He was a strong elf, yes, but too small to easily keep Dryn’s body from plummeting back down the stairs.

When at last they reached the top, the seven found themselves standing before one of the two bridges that arched up and out over the chasm to the Fortress of the Brodr-Ojiia. If Erendel had thought it remarkable from below, his new vantage point rendered it utterly fantastic. The polished white stone arched and curved as it rose. There were many spires, the elfling now realized, that that reached up toward the clouds, not just the one that he could see from where he had been underneath it. The bridge was wide enough to bear at least ten horses walking abreast, and was lightly dusted with fresh snow. One either side, low walls rose about three feet above the floor of the bridge, and upon them were braziers lit by the fires that they held within them and set at regular intervals. Erendel shuddered, for the fortress seemed as though it was something from a fairy tale.

The large, ornately embossed gates at the end of the bridge swung open silently, their creaks muted by the swirling wind. Erendel saw five figures materialize behind the door, running toward him and his friends. Though they were all dressed in similar garbe-a grey cloak; burgundy tunic; and black, knee-high boots-they were somehow different to the elfling. As they got closer, he realized that they were not all mountain elves as he thought they would be. Some of them had long pale hair, while others had neck-length brown hair. And, when the five finally halted in front of him, Erendel realized that their faces were also angled differently.

The elfling uncomfortably bore the surprised and curious expressions that the Brodr-Ojiia cast upon him before they spoke.

“From where art thou and for what purpose hath thou sought entrance to our fortress?” one, a mountain elf, asked in that annoyingly unemotional tone of which his race was wont.

Ne’anithel stepped forward, drawing the Brodr-Ojiia’s gazes away from Erendel, whose face had grown cherry red. “I am Ne’anithel of the Adrianhethla tribe, and we seek shelter for the night,” Ne’anithel announced confidently.

“Ne’anithel?” another guard, this one a wood elf, asked.

Ne’anithel bowed and said, “Aye, Odrinel, it is I. It was been no little time since we last met.”

“Indeed,” Odrinel laughed. “I did not expect you to come this far north, especially since winter is fast approaching.”

“Thou knowest these people?” yet another guard asked his compatriot.

“Only Ne’anithel,” Odrinel indicated the mountain elf. “I have not had the pleasure of meeting these others, but I can assure you that, if they are friends of Ne’anithel, then they are friends of the elves.”

“Indeed…” the first Brodr-Ojiia mused. “And yet it is a strange company that has found its way to our doors.” He shot Erendel another glance.

“Well then,” Dryn huffed, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get out of this cold. My old body isn’t as resilient to diseases as I would like.”

“Please, suffer us to know thy name, and, if the word of our brother Odrinel is to be trusted, then we shall give thee our shelter.”

The seven travelers introduced themselves in turn, and then the Brodr-Ojiia led them across the bridge and through the gates. Erendel was awed by the massive interior. The roof of the vestibule was domed and far above his head. The pillars along the walls were carved with elven script, and between them stood more large wooden doors. It was through one of these that one of the Brodr-Ojiia led them, while the other guards went to announce their guest’s presence to the fortress keeper.

They were led up a flight of spiraling stairs, then down a few halls until the guard decided that they were at the desired location. He pointed to some of the doors that lined the halls. “Thou may decide for thyselves which of these rooms thou wouldst have. I am sorry that we cannot offer more stately fare, but it is seldom that we entertain guests.

“I will alert thee when we are prepared to eat the evening meal,” the guard continued, turning to face his guests, “which will be in only a few minutes. Please, settle in quickly. I will see to that you are brought all that you need.”

Erendel was forced to agree that the rooms were not as luxurious as he had expected. When he, Dryn, and Cedriel filed into the nearest room (Ne’anithel and Daiymel chose to sleep in another room, while Adaria and Aeriena opted for a third room) they found it to be surprisingly Spartan. The room, for one thing, was much smaller than they had anticipated. Two bunks sat on either side of the door, a desk was situated in the center of the back wall, and to slitted windows were cut on either side of the desk, admitted only a little light.

“Not much like Nellscalon, is it?” Dryn said, voicing everyone’s feelings.

Cedriel shook his head.

“At least it is more protection than we will receive when we enter the Darkloom lands,” Erendel replied matter-of-factly.

Dryn shuddered. “You don’t know how right you are, my friend.”

Erendel wandered to one of the windows and looked out. The peaks of the mountains were swathed in a golden glow as the setting sun’s ray’s reflected off the snow and trees. The cleft, the elfling saw, continued on for a few leagues before widening out and becoming a valley in between the mountains. Though the wind obscured much of the distant landscape, Erendel could just make out a flat, dead looking land on the horizon. Truly, they were on the fringe of the mountains, Erendel thought to himself.

“What is the Darkloom like?” Erendel asked suddenly, turning his gaze back to Dryn.

“Very odd,” Dryn began, frowning as he tried to think of a suitable description. “It’s weather patterns are…unique, to say the least. Sometimes it rains, sometimes it’s as dry as a desert, and sometimes there are earthquakes.”

“Many lands are like that,” Cedriel argued.

“Aye, but in the Darkloom, such things are often without cause, and they occur so close together that it’s almost as if Malstaag himself were changing it.

“As for the landscape, it is mostly a desert. There are plains to the north of us, but they are filled with dead grass and bones. Then there are the cliffs along the northern coast, not to mention Scourgewood, the home of the skraelings. The main feature, I’d have to say, would be the single, tallest mountain on the face of the earth that sits dead in the center.”
      “How do you know all this?” Erendel inquired, suspicious.

“It’s common knowledge to most humans,” Dryn explained. “It’s on practically every manmade map you can find. The elves don’t think it important, so they don’t have it mapped out.”

A knock on the door precluded any further discussion. Without waiting for permission, the Brodr-Ojiia guard that had brought them to their rooms opened the door and looked in. “Come, friends,” he said, “it is time to for us to eat.”

Foul Play

The hall where the food was served daily was surprisingly large. The vaulted ceiling was high above Erendel’s head, being supported by fantastically carved stone arches. From the zenith of every arc hung a flag, each one bearing the standard of the various elven tribes and cities. Pillars aligned the walls, torches and statues between them in a symmetrical pattern-a torch then a statue, then a torch again, and so on. The tables were of stone as well, and arranged in a large square, the empty area in the center left for entertainment, Erendel surmised. The large door through which the eight elves entered was at the far end of the hall, opposite the lengthy buffet table and kitchen doors. Erendel was awed by the overall vastness of the whole affair.

The paucity of elves eating, by contrast, seemed to make the room rather superfluous. Only about a quarter of the tables were occupied with elves, talking and conversing casually with one another. That was, of course, until they saw Erendel. A hush slowly washed over the company, their eyes fixed on the small elf before them. Erendel felt a wave of frustration rush through him, and he unconsciously shrank back within the protection of the others. He saw the eyes boring into him, some were curious, some haughty, but all were surprised.

Erendel, for a brief moment, hated them. Then he mental slapped himself. You know better, he berated himself.

The Brodr-Ojiia lead them to the buffet, where they were left to get their own food and find their own seats. When they had been through the buffet and had found seats-which, of course, was not difficult-Odrinel joined them. He casually strode up to them, placed his tray of food on the table next to Ne’anithel, and slipped into his seat.

“I apologize for the less than regal fare,” Odrinel said apologetically. Erendel smiled; that was not the first time someone had apologized to them for non-existent problems.

“You elves make me laugh,” Dryn chuckled through a mouthful of vegetable soup, droplets spewing from his mouth. Aeriena grimaced.

Odrinel seemed confused by the statement, so Erendel waved a hand vaguely in Dryn’s directions. “Don’t worry,” he laughed. “He is old and prone to say strange things.”

Erendel grinned when Dryn shot him an injured looked.

“Why, if this is a Brodr-Ojiia fortress, are there so few warriors?” Daiymel inquired of Odrinel.

“What you see now is only about a quarter of our full force. Normally, only about half the force is out on patrol while the other half maintains the fortress. There have been recent sitings, however, that have given us cause to increase our patrol.” Odrinel stopped.

“Sightings?” Daiymel pressed.

“Aye,” Odrinel nodded and in a confidential voice said, “We have had reports of animals with red eyes and increased aggressiveness. This, of course, wasn’t enough to warrant our attention, but then we began to receive more news. There were whispers in the night–curses that reached elven ears, but came from no noticeable mouths. Then, we began to see strange, translucent creatures stalking us in the night. And then…” Odrinel paused for dramatic effect, obviously pleased by the rapt attention of his listeners. Nearly all of them had ceased eating to listen. “Then,” he continued, “one of our patrol contingents disappeared.  Vanished.”

“Is that so?” Cedriel smirked. “That is nothing compared to what I have seen. An entire Daermia-my Daermia-was eradicated by these “strange creatures” as you call them. Then, Nellscalon nearly fell to the same fate.”

Aeriena nudged Cedriel warningly, and Dryn glared at him.

“What?” Odrinel’s mouth dropped open. “You mean to say that these creatures…”

“Demons,” Cedriel corrected, and received a rather hard jab in the arm from his sister.

“Demons? Apparently there is much I do not know. Few creatures have ever gotten past the Brodr-Ojiia, but it seems that these demons have permeated all of Lianiia’s Wood!”

“Shh!” Dryn hissed when Odrinel’s voice rose. “We do not wish to attract too much attention.”

“It is too late for that,” Odrinel put in. “I daresay, your group is rather unique. That in itself has inspired much talk amongst my fellows.”

“Please, let us speak of lighter things,” Adaria implored suddenly, drawing a few baffled gazes. “I do not wish to discuss what has already passed, if I can avoid it.”

“Why?” Cedriel blurted.

“My reasons are my own,” Adaria returned coolly, but rather sharply.

Erendel raised an eyebrow. This was not like her, he though, not at all.

Nobody had any chance to further question Adaria, or Odrinel for that matter, for at that moment, a loud crystalline voice rose above the dull roar of conversation. Everyone turned toward the source of the sound, and discovered a wood elf, sword in hand and upraised, standing in the middle of the large brown mat that sat on the inside of the surrounding tables.

“…I wonder,” the elf cried, now that all attention had been turned on him, “who bears the strength to challenge the arm of Mastagna! I wonder who amongst you is prepared to battle he who holds the God of Light’s favor! And I wonder who will prevail against he who has not failed to please his god in four days!”

The elf lowered his weapon till it was leveled at the group of seated elves, and he slowly waved it back in forth in a strange ritualistic motion.

Erendel turned questioningly to Odrinel, as did Cedriel and Aeriena.

“It is a challenge, friends,” Odrinel explained. “During the evening meals, since we do not have the luxury of hired entertainment, we have sparring matches instead. Ahvel,” he added, nodding his head in the direction of the elf, “has been the champion for a few days now. And as champion, he has the right to choose his challenger.”

“What if the one he chooses refuses?” Aeriena asked.

“Then he is considered a coward and shunned for a time by his peers,” Odrinel shrugged. “But it rarely happens.”

“Does that not seem even a little harsh for a game?”

“If it were a game, then yes, it would be. This however, is more for us. We have no way to attain renown this far north, save through battle. But since there seldom is reason for us to fight, we find other ways of making our name known. I, of course, do not look upon it as more than a game, but some of the mountain elves prefer to see it differently. I admit I do not understand why they are so…bellicose.”

“If you held in your feelings as well as they do,” Dryn commented dryly, “then you would want to find a way to let out your anger too, eh?” The old man laughed at his witty remark, but no one else did.

They were watching Ahvel’s sword sway over the waiting crowd. It seemed an eternity that he performed the ritual, seeking out a worthy opponent. Finally, his eyes fell upon the small group on the far side of the square of tables, particularly on Erendel. His sword hovered for a moment in the elfling’s direction, and Ahvel stared hard at Erendel. Erendel returned the stare with equal coolness, daring the wood elf to challenge him.

Erendel did not want to fight; he had never fought another elf with anything other than fists and words. He desperately wanted Ahvel to choose someone else, but at the same time he knew he would feel insulted if, after the wood elf considered him, he was deemed unworthy. Thus, Erendel held his breath and his right hand clenched and unclenched his dagger hilt as he held the Ahvel’s gaze.

Choose already! Erendel thought. He saw Ahvel flinch ever so slightly, and, to his horror, he realized that he had accidently projected his thoughts to the elf in the center of the makeshift arena. Erendel continued to hold his steady gaze, though, hoping that the elf would think that it was just his own thoughts telling him to hurry along.

The blade sat frozen facing Erendel. Everyone, including even the cooks who had come out of the kitchen to observe the battle, was deathly silent. They, too, realized the enormity of the decision Ahvel was about to make. If the wood elf chose to battle Erendel, it would mean that he felt confident that he would defeat the elfling, whereas if he picked someone else, he could be insulting Erendel by deciding that he was not worth it. Perhaps, Erendel thought, being careful to keep his thoughts to himself, it would have been better had he not considered me at all.

Ahvel swallowed.

The sword jerked to the left and Ahvel proclaimed, “I-I challenge thee, wood elf bearing the bow, to confront me in combat!”

Erendel relaxed, and could not keep the relieved sigh from escaping him and drawing a few looks from his companions. He heard other elves across the tables whispering to each other, some with disappointment and some with approval.

Ne’anithel stood without hesitation, being well acquainted with these tournaments, and responded to the challenge. “I, Ne’anithel of the tribe of Adrianhethla, shall accept thy challenge and will willingly defeat thee in armed combat.”

“Then take up your weapon!” Ahvel replied stiffly, glancing back at Erendel briefly.

A mountain elf leaped to his feet and offered his blade to Ne’anithel, who admitted that he only had his bow and a small dagger. Ne’anithel accepted the proffered shortsword and then stepped into the arena to face off against Ahvel.

When the two had assumed the proper combat positions, Ahvel announced, “I, as champion, fight for the god Mastagna: Lord of creation, God of Light, and Father of the elven nations.”

“And I,” Ne’anithel responded as was customary, “fight in the name of the god Alaron: the God of Life, Son of Mastagna, and Husband of the Two who are One.”

“Then come hither, friend, and let us decide whose god shall be shamed!”

With those words, the battle began. The two elves-one a wood elf, the other a mountain elf-circled each other slowly, warily. They watched one another’s eyes, waiting to see who would strike first.

It was Ne’anithel who struck first. His blade slashed at Ahvel’s right, which the other elf easily parried and followed with a stab forward. Ne’anithel knocked it aside and leapt back, twirling the blade around in his hand and attempting to slam it over Ahvel’s head. Ahvel saw the action and brought up his own sword to block, at the same time kicking out with his foot to sweep Ne’anithel off his feet. The mountain elf leaped over the extended limb and rolled backwards, popping up to his feet just in time to knock aside a blow to his face.

And so, the two elves locked themselves in a furious dance. They parried, thrusted, hacked, slashed, feinted, and clashed. Their feet were in constant motion, dancing in almost perfect synchronous. When one circled around to try to get to the other’s flank, the other would move just as quickly in the same direction, pivoting to evade the blow. Their swords, too, seemed to be connected. Clashing metal resounded throughout the hall as the two blades constantly found one another.

Erendel was surprised by Ne’anithel’s skill. He watched the mountain elf twirl away from the opponent’s stabs, or bring his blade in deceptively, only to execute another move that put the other elf on the defensive.

“Won’t they kill each other?” Aeriena whispered worriedly to Odrinel. The latter shook his head and smiled.

“Nay. The goal is to disarm the other or force them off the mat, not to kill. If we killed our friends, after all, there wouldst be no one to guard the border of the Darkloom. We have these tournaments to keep one’s arm loose and grip tight, not to vanquish a foe.”

“Ne’anithel is very skilled, I dare say,” Daiymel commented in a low voice, watching the mountain elf execute a complex move to put Ahvel off balance, then drop-kicking in an attempt to trip him.

“Aye,” Dryn agreed. “That he is. It seems that he can wield more than just a bow.”

By now, Ne’anithel had pushed Ahvel back towards the edge of the mat. It was apparent that his aggressive fighting style was wearing on the wood elf. Over and over again, Ahvel tried to twirl to the side and reverse the situation, but Ne’anithel kept overpowering him and forcing the elf to stay dangerously close to the edge of the mat. Ne’anithel repeatedly stabbed at Ahvel to force him backwards, inch by inch. Ahvel was able to keep his opponent’s sword at bay, but Ne’anithel’s plan was slowly starting to succeed: Ahvel’s feet were now within one foot of the edge of the mat.

All of a sudden, Ahvel crossed Ne’anithel’s blade with his own, reached out with his free hand so that his palm was facing Ne’anithel, and cried out a word in the magic language. Ne’anithel was thrust back by an invisible force and landed heavily on his back at the other end of the mat.

Erendel stiffened. “He cheated!” The elfling protested, almost too loudly.

“Did he?” Odrinel countered. “He may have used magic, but it sapped his energy. See how he sags.”

It was true: Ahvel seemed to move more sluggishly now. He approached Ne’anithel and put his sword to the downed elf’s throat.

“Submit!” Ahvel commanded, his voice coming in a gasp.

Ne’anithel glared defiantly at the wood elf standing over him. “But I have not yet been defeated!” the hunter cried, slapping Ahvel’s sword away and rolling to the side before the other elf could react.

Ne’anithel was on his feet in an instance, parried a rather lazy thrust from Ahvel, and sent his sword into a ferocious attack sequence. Ahvel had to leap back a few steps, disappointment that his plan hadn’t worked etched across his face. He blocked the blows, but wasn’t able to return with any attacks of his own. Finally, when it looked like Ahvel’s grip on his blade was beginning to weaken, the wood elf did the unexpected. He took two large leaps backward and ran as far away from Ne’anithel as the mat would allow.

“That was not wise,” Cedriel smirked. “He has cornered himself.”

“I think not,” Odrinel responded. “He is probably going to use magic again.”

“Is that not against the rules?” Erendel queried angrily. “Ne’anithel has not used magic.”

“Ahvel is not as brilliant with the sword as he would like to think,” Odrinel said, obviously unconcerned by the unfair state of the battle. “He is a man of the bow, and so prefers to fight from a distance. Thus, he will use magic when he does not have his bow. Apparently, Ne’anithel prefers to fight in close combat. I agree that perhaps that bodes ill for Ne’anithel, but at the same time, Ahvel’s magical attacks will inevitably grow weaker as he loses energy.”

Erendel didn’t hear Odrinel’s commentary. He was frustrated by Ahvel. The wood elf was not confining his attacks only to the blade, which was all the combatants were allowed to use, in the elfling’s opinion. What angered him more was that Ahvel seemed to be doing it in spite, for his opponent could not use magic because of his religious beliefs, as most elves with any education knew.

Ahvel’s hand went up to cast another spell. This time, however, Erendel decided to act. He projected his anger into Ahvel’s mind, distracting the elf from casting the spell. Ahvel grimaced visibly and tried to raise a meager mental defense, but Erendel hammered on his mind, keeping the wood elf from creating a coherent spell.

Ne’anithel saw that Ahvel was distracted, and used the moment to rush him. With blade swiping at every imaginable angle, Ne’anithel flew in, broke past Ahvel’s defenses, and quickly sent his opponent’s blade skittering across the ground.

The wood elves applauded and cheered, while the mountain elves nodded their heads in approval at Ne’anithel’s victory. Ne’anithel’s friends leapt to their feet and applauded the loudest, clapping the elf on the back as he returned to sit with them.

Erendel, though, watched Ahvel. The wood elf had retrieved his blade and was sitting again with his own group of compatriots. He seemed to feel the elfling’s eyes upon him, for he turned to look at Erendel. There was a look of bitterness in his eyes, and Erendel quickly averted his gaze. For a moment, he had felt as though Ahvel knew that it was he who had caused him to lose.

Erendel’s attention was soon brought back to Ne’anithel, who was announcing that, although he was the new champion, he would relinquish his position to Ahvel, since he was not a member of the Brodr-Ojiia, and thus would not be able to participate in any more duels.

“It is strange,” Ne’anithel remarked as he sat down and finished off his dinner with the others. “I thought that I surely would lose that battle, but it seemed that something kept Ahvel from completing his spell.”

Adaria raised an eyebrow, then turned questioningly to Erendel.

Erendel bent over and buried his face in a bowl of soup.

The Price of Safety

“You!” a voice yelled, causing Erendel, who had casually been walking to the washroom with a towel in his hand, to stop and turn. A few paces away stood Ahvel, arms crossed and brows furrowed in a deep scowl. “Yes you, little elf.” Ahvel repeated, drawing a step closer. “I know it was you!”

“I?” Erendel shook his head as though confused. “What do you mean?”

“You caused me to lose!”

“How could I have-”

“I do not know how! But your little mind trick distracted me and lost me the duel.”

“It was only a game, and besides, Ne’anithel gave you your previous status back…”

“So you don’t deny it! I knew it!”

“Yes, then, I did it! But you used magic, which you knew that Ne’anithel could not use because of his religion. It was not fair.”

“And it was not your place to step in like that! Not only did I lose, but I was humiliated in front of my peers.” Ahvel’s voice was venomous.

“There is nothing you can do about it now, Selva Ahvel,” Erendel said conciliatorily.

“Oh, you are mistaken. There is much I could do. I could satisfy my anger by killing you.”

Erendel stared at Ahvel levelly, showing much more coolness than he felt. He hadn’t realized that Ahvel would react so violently to his actions. “That is a gnomish tradition,” Erendel said, attempting to make Ahvel’s proposition sound foolish. “An elf does not kill wantonly.”

Ahvel’s hand released its grip on the pommel of his shortsword slowly. “No, an elf would not do that. But an elf could find ways of making one wish they were dead.”

“Why do you want to do this to me, Selva? It was only-”

“A game,” Ahvel finished for the elfling, “I know. And if it was only a game, then why did you feel strongly enough to intervene-to cheat -on your friend’s behalf? You see, Selva, it is more than just of game. For many decades, it was a game. But after the Darkloom was closed, it became our only distraction from daily monotony. It became part of the Brodr-Ojiia’s culture. No, I don’t think you understand at all what you did.”

“I am truly sorry, Selva Ahvel. But you are equally at fault. You knew that Ne’anithel would not use magic, but you used it regardless. That, to me, was unfair and downright spiteful.”

Erendel had finally struck a chord with Ahvel. The wood elf relaxed visibly, his malevolent visage softening. “You are right, little elf. I knew of Ne’anithel’s religious convictions and ignored them. But I am right as well: you should not have intervened.”

Erendel nodded his agreement. “Then please accept my apology for my rash behavior.”

“Accepted.”

Ahvel looked like he wanted to say more, but changed his mind and gave a terse, “Good night” before turning and heading back to his own rooms elsewhere in the fortress. Erendel, on the other hand, continued on to the washroom to bathe.

Erendel’s eyes snapped open. He tried to cry out, but a hand was slapped over his mouth. All was dark, and the only sound he could hear was Dryn’s stertorous sleep. Slowly, he turned his eyes toward the source of the hand, and saw the last person he expected.

“Shh,” Adaria whispered earnestly. “Come with me, but make no noise.”

Erendel was confused, but he nevertheless acquiesced. He arose and lithely climbed down from the top bunk that he had chosen for his bed. Then, he snatched up a robe that the Brodr-Ojiia had provided for him, and threw it on as he followed Adaria out the door and down the hall. The older elf led him to the great hall where they had eaten the previous day. It was only a couple of hours past midnight, so the hall was nearly deserted. The sound of elves working in the kitchen wafted through the hall, as did the low, melodious instrumental of three elves playing a flute, harp, and lute in one corner. All else seemed dead and ominous without the bright lights of the torches.

Adaria sat down at one of the many stone tables, lit a candle and gestured for Erendel to sit across from her.

“We have much to discuss, Erendel,” Adaria began when Erendel sat. The elfling look at her in confusion. “First, I must tell thee where thou must go to reach the Gate.”

“Why not tell the others as well, or write it down?”

“No, only thou canst know of thy destination. I have studied what prophecy was revealed to me, and I found some things that led me to assume that only one person can know the true location of the gate.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. It is the work of the gods, not of man or elf. Their ways are not ours, so I can do naught but obey their will.

“I was shown the location of the Gate by the demons, in exchange for something equally valuable. Now, I am going to show it to you so that you may find your way to it.”

“Can it be that difficult to find?”

Adaria shook her head with pity. “Elfling, thou hast never been in the Darkloom Lands. The Skraeling tunnels in which the Gate is located are lost in an interminable sea of sand called the Icefire desert. There are such horrific sandstorms, hurricanes, and tornados, that one would never find even the entrance to this cave without first knowing where it is. And even if thou makest it into the caves, they are a veritable labyrinth of tunnels, traps, and highly populated cities. And of course, the Gate itself will be heavily guarded by the undead…”

“Demons?”

“Nay, they do not think the Gate worth guarding, so confident are they in their success. Instead, they left that particular task to the reanimated bodies of all manner of creatures. Needless to say, it will be no easy task to reach the Gate.”

Erendel shuddered. “And if I survive these obstacles, how am I to shut the gate?”

“That,” Adaria said sorrowfully, “is something I do not know. I exhausted all my resources to extract just the location of the Gate from the demons.”

“Resources? What did you offer them in return for this information that could be so valuable?”

“It is nothing that concerns thee, Erendel.”

“Everything concerns me,” Erendel retorted sharply. “Ever since I unwittingly set myself on this quest, everyone and everything I have come in contact with has concerned me in some way. You especially.”

Adaria sighed. “Thou art right. I will tell thee, but promise that thou wilt tell no one else.”

Erendel promised.

Adaria leaned forward and connected herself to Erendel mentally before proceeding. The first mental exchange, however, was many images of the Darkloom lands, the Skraeling tunnels, and the Gate. All of these flashed through his mind so quickly that Erendel was unable to register their meanings. When Adaria’s answer came telepathically, it was quiet and dreadful. I gave them my whole being.

Erendel nearly fell off his seat in shock and horror. “What?”

“I will not say it again,” Adaria replied.

“But…but why?”

“It was all I had to offer. Thou do not seem to realize the true weight of your mission. If thou faileth, the elves will be destroyed utterly, and then perhaps the humans. There will be no distinction between Sepheirias and the corporeal world when the demons occupy both. They will turn this realm into a twisted image of their father Malstaag. Thou canst not let this happen!”

“You already gave them your soul, Adaria. How could they want more? What would they do with your body?”

“They know I am one of the gods’ children, and so they will possess me, for I am powerful.”

“But why are you not possessed now?”

“I also stipulated that they should not take control of my form until I cross over into the Darkloom Lands.”

“And is that where I will lose the protection that you gave me through the selling of your being?”

“Yes.”

“Then all is lost, for if they possess you, and I am no longer protected, there is no way I can reach the Gate!”

“Hush, Erendel!” Adaria admonished the elfling, whose voice had grown too loud in lamentation. “Thou art wrong. Thou havest thy magical dagger, which Daiymel made. As long as thou wear that dagger, then no demon can possess thee.”

“But what of Dryn, Cedriel, and Aeriena? They have no such protection.”

“Ah, thou forgettest Aeriena’s gift.”

“Gift?”

Adaria’s eyes widened slightly when she realized that she had said too much. “I will say no more,” she said quickly. “Only know that thy friends are not without protection.”

“But what of yourself? When we reach the Darkloom, the demons are sure to take your body immediately.”

“Aye, that they will. Which is why thou shalt kill me.”

Again, Erendel was forced to grip the table tightly to avoid collapsing from sheer shock.

“I cannot do that!” Erendel whispered hoarsely when he found his voice.

“Thou must, Erendel. It is the only way to keep thyself safe from my magic when I am possessed.”

“But you will go to Sepheirias when you die! You have given them your soul!”

“It will inevitably happen, Erendel. There is nothing thou canst do to change that. Thou must kill me when we reach the Darkloom Lands.”

“No. I cannot.”

Adaria lunged for Erendel over the table before the elfling had a chance to react. Her eyes blazed with a horrible fire, and her face was contorted in such emotion that Erendel felt his blood freeze at the sight of it. Adaria grabbed the elfling’s robe and brought his face within an inch of her own.

The music stopped.

“Listen to me, and listen well, elfling,” Adaria hissed. “I have made too many sacrifices in my life to lose what I have worked so hard. I have spent centuries trying to protect the elves from this imminent disaster, and you are not worthy to stand in my way and say that what I have done has been for naught! If you do not kill me, not only will you be doomed to death, but the entire world will fall because of you! You must kill me.”

Erendel fell back in his seat when Adaria released her grip on his robe. Her burning eyes softened, and her contortions of wrath changed into bitter sadness. She buried her face in her hands and wept profusely while the elfling could only watch in paralytic shock.

He was not entirely sure what had happened, but Erendel now realized the full extent of what Adaria had been through. Her immortal life had been spent in the worst possible way any elf could imagine, but she had bore it without complaint. She had tried for centuries to thwart the inevitable by making agreements with demons and spending much time in unholy practices. And never was she recognized or even pitied. It seemed that even the gods, if they did exist, had not look in favor upon her for her deeds. Even in death, she would find no respite from her curse. What a horrible, horrible, life she had led, Erendel thought.

The entire weight of her past struck Erendel, and he realized what must do.

“I…I will kill you,” Erendel whispered.

Art Thou Ready?

Suicide was a concept unknown to elves. No elf had ever committed suicide, and no elf had ever considered doing such a horrible deed. And even if it had been common, the pact Adaria made with the demons would not have allowed her to commit suicide to avoid being possessed. The other stipulations held that Kroakh and the demons under his power would not cross the border of the Darkloom Lands to take either Erendel or Adaria. Only when either of these two crossed the border into the Darkloom Lands would the pact be complete. For the most part, that is what Adaria explained to Erendel the following morning, after a sleepless night.

The time had come for the parting of the troupe. Daiymel and Ne’anithel would return to their respective homes, and Dryn, Erendel, Cedriel, and Aeriena would continue on into the Darkloom Lands. Adaria announced, to the surprise of all save Erendel, that she would lead the four to the border before leaving them. She explained that she needed time to show them the location to the entrance of the Skraeling city. Dryn was suspicious, but nevertheless allowed her to continue with them.

And so it was that, on the bridge to the Brodr-Ojiia fortress, that the seven travelers bid their last goodbyes. Only Dryn and Aeriena exhibited any emotion at the parting. The old man was bleary-eyed, and Aeriena wept openly, throwing her arms around both Ne’anithel and Daiymel in turn, thanking the surprised elves for their aid. Both mountain elves awkwardly returned the embrace, and both looked to Dryn helplessly, to which the old man burst out laughing.

When Daiymel came to Erendel to offer his farewells, the elf said, “Please, Selva Erendel, thou dost not need to pay me for the dagger.”

Erendel raised an eyebrow, surprised that Daiymel had noticed the blade hanging from his hip. If Daiymel saw the elfling’s confusion, he ignored it. “Consider it a gift, and my investment in the success of thy quest.”

“I shall never forget thee,” Ne’anithel said when he, too, came to Erendel. He bowed, a little stiffly the elfling noticed, and continued. “I would that I could carry on with thee, but thy human friend has made it clear that he will not accept my company.”

Erendel allowed a small smile to lighten his face, and patted Ne’anithel on the shoulder, if a bit uncouthly due to his size. “I am sure you would have made a fine companion, Selva. Dryn does not wish that many men take on the burden that we have, for it may cost us all our lives.”

Ne’anithel was obviously not convinced, but he said nothing more.

“Well, then,” Dryn coughed, “We’d best be off. The demons aren’t going to wait for us to close their gates, are they now?”

With a profound feeling of loss, Erendel nodded a last farewell to his newly found friends, and walked down the bridge behind Dryn. He heard Aeriena sniffled and saw Cedriel placed an arm around her shoulders silently. His eyes betrayed a small hint of compassion, and Erendel was surprised, for he had never seen the elf act as he did now.

The party made their way down the invisible stairs into the steep gully, then continued north. The crevice widened slowly, and snaked its way between the mountains, down into a valley of brown flaky grasses and loose grey rocks. The sky, too, was filled with grey clouds, occasionally spurting out a few snowflakes. Such flurries made it impossible to see the border of the Darkloom Lands, but Erendel could feel it approaching, and he loathed every step he took toward the source of demonic evil.

As they walked, Erendel found himself leading the way with Adaria by his side. The other three travelers walked a few paces behind, silently. Adaria, without turning to look down at the elfling, said, “We must discuss our…quest more fully.”

“Why?” Erendel grumbled, looking up at the tall mountain elf in reluctance. He did not want to think about the inevitable murder he would have to commit. Yes, it was murder, he thought.

“If thou dost not know thine enemy, then how canst thou kill him?” Adaria asked, matter-of-factly. Erendel shrugged apathetically. “Good. Now, I think it important to know that when the time comes and I am…under Kroakh’s power, I will be much more powerful than I am now. I will have the abilities of a demon, though that demon will be confined to the laws of this realm while he is within me.”

“Then it is impossible for me to kill you. I have not the ability to fight even another elf.”

“Ah, but thou do,” Adaria countered. “Thou hast Daiymel’s magic dagger, which shall protect thee from any demonic magic, including possession.”

“Does Kroakh know this?”

“Nay. If he had, he wouldst have taken pains to steal it from thee if he could.”

“And how do you know all this about Daiymel’s dagger?”

“It is thy dagger now, Selva Erendel. And I know of the dagger’s power because I am sensitive to magic, especially that concerning Sepheirias.”

“But what would possess…I mean, cause Daiymel to craft a dagger that protects one from demon’s? As far as I know, this sort of thing has never happened before, and will never happen again.”

“Ah, that is a question that I cannot truly answer.” Adaria eyed Erendel carefully. “But if thou wouldst have my opinion, I wouldst say that the gods themselves inspired Daiymel to create the blade.”

Erendel said nothing. He was sick of arguing against these religious concepts.

“Now,” Adaria continued, “Where were we? Oh yes! I was explaining to thee thine advantages. As I said, thou havest the dagger. Thou another advantage as well: the stipulations of mine agreement with the demons.” She paused, then went on. “Thou seest, I have agreed that they shall not hurt thee until thou crosseth the border into the Darkloom Lands. Thus, if thou stayest away from the border, then thou shalt be safe.

“Thou also havest mine weakness. I am old, and Kroakh will be hard pressed to make my body move as freely as he.”

Erendel nodded his acknowledgement, but remained silent. Adaria, too, ceased to speak for a long while.

“How can you speak of these things so lightly?” Erendel asked quietly, at last breaking the grim silence. “You are going to your death, you have nothing to look forward to, and yet you seem not to care.”

The mountain elf did not speak for some time.

“I care quite a lot,” Adaria said, her voice almost a whisper when it finally came. “I choose to face it with dignity. I cannot control my destiny now, and dwelling on it will solve nothing.”

“I am deeply sorry for you,” Erendel said after another long pause. “You know, if there was anything that I could do…”

“I know.”

The group walked on for most of the morning, stopped for a brief and unfilling meal, then continued on, the shadow of the cliffs falling on them as the sun creaped past its zenith.

“Have you named thy blade?” Cedriel asked suddenly. Erendel turned around to face him as they walked, grateful for the elf’s meager attempt to begin a conversation.

“No, I have not,” Erendel admitted. “It was not my dagger to name until now, so I have not thought about it.”

“Call it Dragonbreath,” Dryn counseled, “because it has a green flame when it bites its enemy.”

Aeriena shook her head, “That is not a good name. It makes one think of violence. I say name it Daiymel’s Song, for it is as graceful and beautiful a blade as he has ever made.”

“Ha!” Cedriel snorted. “I rather think that that would make any enemy laugh. ‘Oh no! I am going to be killed by singing!’”

Aeriena glared at him.

“It is not a bad name,” Erendel argued defensively, his words cut short, though, by a slight exclamation from Adaria.

“There it is,” she breathed, extending a forefinger toward the north.

The Darkloom Lands was still about an hour’s travel from where the party was, but it could clearly be seen from the gully now. Before the group stretched a wide flatland of brown and grey. The dead lands went on for hundreds of miles in all directions. Lightning crackled in the sky far from them in shapeless illumination. On the distant horizon, there was a black haze, and, when Erendel looked more closely, a dark smudge that cut into the sky. The mountain, Erendel gasped. Just then, a sharp breeze wafted into the gully, whistling ominously. At that moment, the whole party shuddered in a mixture of horrible awe and consternation.

“How will we find the skraeling city in this wasteland?” Aeriena squeaked, clutching at Cedriel’s arm.

Adaria shook her head. “May the gods guide thee,” she whispered.

It was difficult for any of the five travelers to move, but they finally started off again. The rate of travel quickened immensely when the gully began to slope downward and the rocks became larger and further apart. They were climbing down the side of a particularly intrusive boulder when Erendel looked out at the Darkloom Lands and saw the border. It was like the gods had built an invisible wall between the Darkloom Lands and the rest of the world. The ground of the Watchtower Mountains was a bluish-grey, smattered with greenery. However, it abruptly came to a halt and transformed into a land of dead grass, smalle pebbles, and cold brown earth. The transition between the two environments was so stark, that one could have straddled the border, with one foot in dry brush and the other in a flourishing tuft of green grass. Now Erendel understood why Adaria had not been concerned about him crossing the border accidently.

When they reached the base of the boulder, Adaria regarded Dryn, Cedriel, and Aeriena with a melancholy gaze that was unwonted of her. “Please, it is time that Erendel and I continue, and you three stay here.”

“No,” Dryn stated gruffly. “We started this quest and you’re not going to make us leave now.”

“Thou mayest cross the border when Erendel returns to thee, but for now, thou must do as I say.”

Dryn looked helplessly at Erendel, who nodded solemnly.

“Fine,” the old man conceded with a resigned sigh, “but you’d better have a good reason for this.”

“I also suggest that thou stayest hidden,” Adaria warned, ignoring Dryn’s not-so-subtle request for an explanation.

“What is going on?” Cedriel asked grumpily.

“All will be explained in due time, Selva,” Adaria answered cryptically, then motioned for Erendel to follow her.

They left the company of their friends. Each step Erendel took felt like a dead weight, as though his body was fighting his mind’s directions to go toward the evil lands.

“Art thou ready?” Adaria asked when they had moved out of ear-shot of even the two elves.

Erendel took a deep breath, placed his hand on the hilt of his dagger, and answered, “No. But I will do my best.”

“That is all I can ask. I hope that thou understandeth that this is necessary.”

Erendel nodded, a knot suddenly forming in his stomach, and his heart’s rate increasing. He was afraid. He did not want to kill this woman, this elf. Erendel did not know how he could do such a deed. “May the gods help me,” he murmured before realizing what he had said.

Within five minutes, they were standing at the very edge of the Watchtower Mountains, gazing out across the seemingly endless ocean of death and decay. The air was cold and biting. There was a faint odor of magic, and Erendel wrinkled his nose to rid himself of an itch. Dust whirled around in miniature tornadoes across the flatland, whipping brush up with them.

Adaria’s eyes had taken on a distant look as she stood, perfectly still, watching the sky and letting the wind whip her dark hair across her face. When she spoke, her voice was husky, and filled with emotion.

“Our adversary approaches.”

To Cross the Border

Erendel felt the presence before he saw it. The all too familiar chill of terror that made him shiver slowly began to creep through his spine. There was something odd, though, about the chill. It was stronger, more powerful, than normal. Erendel shuddered and gulped as the implications of this made their way into his mind.

Then, the air before him rippled as heat from a fire distorts the landscape. This distortion seemed to flow as it approached from the horizon. It grew larger and moved more rapidly as it came closer, until it halted just before the border of the Darkloom. Then, the forms began to materialize from the distortion. Not one form, but five, emerged from the ripple before it dissipated. Before the two elves were five short but stout demons. Each one bore a single horn on its forehead, and its jet black skin seemed to reflect the light like ebony.

“Fortune seems to smile upon you, little elf,” one of the demons said with a high-pitched, cackling voice.

“Where is Kroakh?” Adaria growled in response, drawing the demons’ fascinated stares away from Erendel.

“Does it matter?”

“If he wishes for the bargain to be fulfilled, then yes, it does matter.”

“He was…called away,” another demon explained after a pause and a look at the first demon. His voice, Erendel was not surprised to note, was exactly the same as the first one’s. “Malstaag, the high god, has had reason to call Kroakh to his temple, and so he is unable to be with you today.” The demon then gave a malicious grin, showing sharp fangs in neat, unnaturally white rows. “Thus, he charged us to meet you here and fulfill the stipulations of your agreement.”

“I do not believe thee,” Adaria hissed.

“But you must.” The second demon held out his hands in a symbol of honesty, which Erendel thought strangely ironic. “If we were not sent by Kroakh, then you would have been dead already.”

“And you of all elves should know that we demons cannot break our words,” a third demon put in. “It is the law that rules us just as gravity holds you to the ground.”

“So,” yet another demon asked, “Shall you step over the border so that your possession may be completed?”

Erendel was quivering with a mixture of anger, fear, and cold. He turned his eyes expectantly to Adaria and saw that she was breathing heavily. Her eyes were glazed and distant. It was the deciding moment, he knew. She was now facing her future fully, and she was having doubts. The elfling couldn’t blame her, but he wished to have this dreadful business over and done with. He placed his hand on the cold metal of his magical dagger. For a split second, he wondered what he should name the dagger, but then the thought was lost as Adaria moved.

Save me, Erendel, were her last words, sent telepathically to the elfling.

She moved haltingly at first, as if reluctant, but then, with a deep breath, she took one large step and placed her foot over the border of the two realms and into the Darkloom. Before her other foot landed inside the Darkloom Lands, the demons were upon her.

Erendel turned away, choked and horrified.

The demons were possessing Adaria, from what he could hear, and he did not want to see the process again. He heard screams, horrible screams, emitted from Adaria, and the sound of scuffling feet. He could only imagine what torture Adaria was enduring now. He heard grunts and cackling laughter, more screams, a final gasp, and then a thud.

Slowly, fearfully, looking back, Erendel saw only Adaria’s form, crumpled on the ground face down. She was breathing quickly, her back rising and falling rapidly, but there was no other movement. Erendel took a wary step closer to the border and reached out gingerly. His hand crossed over the border and fell gently on the elf’s back.

With inhuman speed, the body jerked around and grabbed Erendel’s wrist. Wrenching his hand free and stumbling back a few steps, the elfling cried out in shock when he beheld the now possessed Adaria. Her eyes were blood red, pupil-less, and glowing. Her teeth had turned into fangs, and her whole body writhed with the demonic presences within her. Erendel struggled to pull his dagger free from his belt, and was grateful that the demons could not cross the border to get him.

“Come,” Adaria said. Her voice was one, and yet it seemed as though many voices were echoed behind it. “Do not keep Kroakh waiting. Cross the border and give yourself to us that we may take you to him.”

“No!” Erendel cried out, though his voice shook with ill-concealed terror. He brandished his dagger threateningly even as the demons within Adaria laughed their evil, maniacal laugh.

“Come to us,” Adaria said again, holding out her hand as if wanting Erendel to take it.

Erendel knew what he had to do in that moment, but few a few terrible seconds, he was immobilized by fear. He couldn’t bring himself to fight an elf with his dagger; he had never fought or killed anything more intelligent than a deer…he couldn’t.

Gods…give me strength, the elfling breathed, unaware that he was calling out to those that he did not believe in.

“You cannot stand there forever,” Adaria said almost conciliatorily.

“You’re right,” Erendel growled. The dagger slashed viciously through the air and cut a gash through Adaria’s wrist.

From somewhere in the distance behind him, there was a scream of shock and disbelief. Erendel wasn’t sure, though, whether it was merely an echo of the surprised scream that ripped from Adaria’s throat. She stumbled back, clutching her bloody wrist as green flames encased it. Her lurid eyes flared with such malice then, that Erendel took an involuntary step back. He quickly recovered himself, though, and repositioned himself directly before the border. He knew that if he took one step-even an accidental one-across the border, he was lost.

In the meantime, Adaria also recovered from her own shock. She whispered a few choice curses, then a train of unintelligible jargon, after which her wrist healed itself. Erendel was dismayed. He was incapable of magical healing, or any magic at all for that matter. Adaria did something then, though, that made the situation seem even bleaker for the elfling.

With one hand, the elf gripped a tuft of dead grass and yanked. The grass crackled in protest, but gave in quickly to the increased strength of the possessed elf. Then, Adaria tossed the tuft, roots, dirt and all, up into the air and hurled a spell at it. Electricity tore from her fingers, caught the grass, and engulfed it in an angry swirl of blue charges. The grass was morphed slowly-changing, stretching, and melting- until it become like a blade. The transformation completed itself and the newly formed rapier dropped to the ground with a dull thud.

Erendel looked at it with utter shock. The hilt was pale and spackled with brown, for it had once been the roots. The blade was a light brown tint that reflected the sky and sparkled at its keen edge. Adaria calmly reached down and retrieved it, turning to Erendel and remarking, “Now we are on even ground, fool.”

The two took up appropriate positions, Erendel on the offensive. It was a new situation for the elfling-one that he did not particularly like either. He had always been on the defensive side of things when confronting the enemy. Now, he realized, it was his duty to kill these demons, and that made him shudder. But how could he, when his enemy was in the form of one of his wisest friends? No! Erendel berated himself. She was no longer human. She was possessed, and only the empty shell that was her former body remained! This torrent of thoughts brought a horrible sense of grief to the elfling, and he knew not how he could continue.

The only solace Erendel felt was in knowing the adversary could not kill him; only entice him into crossing the border.

Erendel’s dagger shot out in an attempt to pierce Adaria’s heart. It was easily swept aside, and Adaria returned the stab with one of her own, though aiming for the shoulder instead of the heart. Erendel dodged it, watching his feet carefully to be sure that no errant step sent him to his doom, and responded with a feint, followed by a backhand aimed for the throat.

And so began Erendel’s first true battle.

The two combatants moved with increasing speed as the battle intensified. Blades sang as their edges met and clashed. Feet danced quickly but with care. Neither elf took eyes off the other as they battled. Erendel watched the red eyes staring back at him and tried a complex flurry of moves. Unfortunately, Adaria’s enhanced speed and agility kept her ever bit as fast as the elfling, and all attempts to break her defense were warded off.

Erendel ducked a high side-swipe and lunged for her knees, hoping to cripple the elf and gain at least a little time. Adaria saw the attempt and leapt into the air, twirling around as she did so, and landed with another wide swipe. Only barely able to fend off this new attack, Erendel stumbled back a step and tried to catch his breath.

“Come now,” Adaria chided, “we have but only begun to fight. Why not save yourself the trouble and come with us? You will be doing yourself a great favor.”

“I’d rather die!” Erendel responded with venom, echoing the words he had spoken to Kroakh in the stone chamber so long ago. He lashed out angrily, his dagger going wide and too high to do any damage.

“Most people would,” Adaria said in a gratingly calm tone, attacking low, but swiftly being blocked. “And if you were any other elf, I’d be glad to oblige. But-” Adaria paused to block a blow to the face, then one to the side-”you are different, and Kroakh wants you alive.”

“Why?” Erendel yelled launching a heavy rain of furious blows from all directions, then ducking and leaping to avoid a kick swipe at both his legs and face.

“He did not say,” Adaria said with a cryptic smile, “but I am sure that if you were to come to us, we could-ugh!”

Blood spurted from a slice in Adaria’s left arm, and she fell back to heal it before resuming the battle.

Erendel was rapidly losing strength now, and it was difficult to maintain the skill and energy that Adaria now possessed and had multiplied five-fold.

“You are foolish, you know,” Adaria said quietly. “I could fight you all for weeks and never become weary.”

“You are bluffing!” Erendel cried and swung again at Adaria’s head, though it was a half-hearted strike.

“Am I?” Adaria grinned and cleanly pierced Erendel’s right ear. The elfling cried out and he too stumbled back again to where he was safe from attack. He eyed Adaria as she continued to utter insults and pleas for his surrender. There was no way, he realized, that this could go on much longer. She was five times as strong as he, possessed magical ability, and neither of them could cross the border of the Darkloom Lands to get any effective damage dealt on the other.

It was hopeless…. The words rang heavily through Erendel’s pounding head, but he did not heed them. He must prevail. The fate of elvendom depended on him.

With a savage cry, Erendel renewed his attack, swinging, twirling, stabbing, parrying, in a desperate to overcome his enemies. He succeeded in truncating Adaria’s left forefinger, but the elf had only to step back and whisper the magical incantation and the finger was whole again.

“When this is over,” Adaria commented drawing a little blood from Erendel’s side almost casually. “I will be sure to tell Kroakh of your great ability. He will be impressed.”

“He already knows, fools!” Erendel shot back. “I fought him once before and defeated him.” This was not entirely true, but it had the desired effect.

Adaria’s eyebrows rose in surprise and she made a slight error in her parry, allowing Erendel’s blade to slip by and jam his blade into her wrist. The blade pierced through nerve, bone, and skin, and appeared out the other side of her wrist. Adaria’s eyes widened in agony as she stared down at the blade protruding from her wrist, Erendel’s hand still holding the hilt in an iron grip. Green flames wholly encase her arm in shining tongues. She tried to recite a spell to remove it, but the searing pain constantly distracted her.

Erendel dug the blade in deep when the possessed elf tried to yank his hand off the blade. Realizing that he would not budge, Adaria tried a different tactic. She grabbed Erendel’s extended arm with her left hand and pulled. If she could not release him from her grasp, then she would at least force him across the border.

But Erendel had expected this. He slowly twisted the dagger, sending more blood flowing and the flames spurting up her arm again. A howl of pain shot from Adaria’s mouth, and she gave a hard tug. The elfling was yanked off his feet and flew across the border….

The dagger was pulled free from Adaria’s arm as the elfling barreled into her stomach. Before the elf could react, Erendel was on top of her, slashing and cut at her throat. Blood splashed on flesh and earth as the biting power of the magic dagger severed the life from Adaria. The elfling knew that he had to kill her now, for there was no way that he could survive if she regained any sort of focus.

“Die, demons!” Erendel suddenly heard himself yowling. His blade had moved from the throat to the eyes and mouth, stabbing and slicing with terrible rage. The green fire completely covered Adaria’s prone and mutilated form, but still Erendel did not stop. He hacked and slashed while tears fell from his eyes, trickling down his face and causing the magic fire to sputter sharply. Through the blur, Erendel could not see the white demonic mist that escaped through Adaria’s eye’s nose, and mouth and dissipated in the air. Nor could he hear the agonized screeches of the dying demons as their souls were removed from the earth.

“Die, evil ones! Die! Die…Die.”

The dagger was jammed through Adaria’s right ear, and Erendel tried to pull it out in vain. He sobbed angrily and pounded the dead elf’s now unrecognizable face. But he was weak. After a few more curses and the crying of the word “die,” Erendel felt himself growing faint. He slid slowly off Adaria’s motionless chest and collapsed onto the grey earth.

And there, upon the cold and heartless gravel of the Darkloom Lands, Erendel wept bitterly. Then darkness mercifully took him.

Interlude

How long had he been asleep? Erendel opened his eyes and surveyed the roof of the cottage with ritual curiosity. He ruffled his curly hair and rubbed his eyes. Then, sitting up, he looked around the darkened building.

It was all in order: the fireplace crackled with golden and red life, the floor was well swept, the kitchen area was lit with pale moonlight from the single window, and the Orrel’s bedroll was made. Erendel closed his eyes again and felt the warmth, that familiar feeling of security and serenity. He loved it here. No matter how long he lived, he decided, he would never tire of waking to see the thatched roof and old wooden crossbeams.

A loud groaning creak startled the elfling, and his eyes fluttered open to find Orrel entering the cottage with a basket of fruit in his hands. The elven hermit bustled to a table and dumped the apples and pears unceremoniously onto a large platter. He then proceeded to slice them. The soup in the small cauldron hanging above the fireplace began to bubble, and Orrel looked up.

“You’re finally awake,” Orrel muttered as he made his way to the fire to check the water. “I was beginning to think you’d been enchanted with eternal sleep.”

Erendel smiled. “Nay. I was only very tired. Is it lunchtime already?”

“It’s nigh dinnertime,” Orrel corrected him with an edge of sternness.

The elfling’s eyes widened for a moment. Had he really slept all day? He didn’t see why he should have. There had been no arduous task the day before that could have fatigued him. He wasn’t sick, he knew. What, then, was the meaning of this?

With graceful motion, Erendel arose and sat at the table with Orrel, who was pouring the stew into wooden bowls. Erendel waited patiently and politely for Orrel to finish asking the gods’ blessing over the food, and then began to dig into the meal with tenacity.

“It’s been a while since you’ve had a good meal, hasn’t it?” Orrel observed with a small chortle.

“Aye, it has,” Erendel answered with feeling, and a full mouth.

“So,” Orrel began after another long silence. “How have you been feeling lately?”

Erendel paused in his consumption of a slice of bread and cocked his head Orrel’s way. What did he mean by that? “I feel fine,” Erendel responded aloud. “Why?”

Orrel shrugged. “It’s nothing. Just curious. I mean, you’ve been going through some tough times lately. I thought you may want to discuss it.”

“What is there to discuss? Life has been nigh perfect here.”

“But has it, Erendel?” Orrel persisted, fingering a wooden cup of water. “Has it?”

“Of course!” Erendel was confused. Why the sudden interest in his well-being?

“That is good,” Orrel nodded, though his voice didn’t sound nearly as convinced as his approving smile looked. “I just feel that there is something different. I mean, you’ve slept nearly seventeen hours today. Perhaps, I thought, something was wrong.”

Erendel sighed. He had been about to respond in the negative, but the more he contemplated, the more he realized that something was wrong. He couldn’t put a finger on it precisely, but it was there nonetheless. It was a nagging feeling of hopelessness. Why it was there, the elfling had no idea, and he didn’t want to think about it.

“Perhaps there is something,” Erendel finally said. Orrel watched him carefully, awaiting the next words. “You see, there is a strange sense within me that I can’t go on with life. I don’t know why, but it is there.”

“That is strange indeed,” Orrel agreed. “To elves, such thoughts are nonexistent. But you are not the same as most elves, so perhaps I shouldn’t wonder at it.” Erendel frowned, and Orrel hurried on. “I would suggest to you, though, that you can go on. You may reach days when all is hopeless. There may even be days when death seems preferable to the life you live. But that is no reason to want to cease existing. With the Maennol’s strength, you can carry on.

“And you may also want to know that your life is important. You affect those around you more profoundly than you may think sometimes. Despite your size, there are people who love you, care for you, and honestly want that you succeed.”

“I know,” Erendel said softly. “You have told me this many times over.”

“And yet,” Orrel said. “I felt that now was the time in which you needed to hear it most.”

“Perhaps,” Erendel shrugged. “But I cannot see why. After all, I doubt I will be leaving you or this dell any time soon. It is too perfect here. I couldn’t just up and leave.”

“Is it your fear of others that causes this?” Orrel inquired. Normally, Erendel would have been offended. Today, however, he felt different.

“Maybe it is,” Erendel answered. “I know I’m different, and I know that no one cares for my size. In fact, only you and Andriss have ever treated me with true respect.”

“That is because we are older and wiser than most elves,” Orrel laughed lightly. “But despite that, you will have to leave my home some day. It is the will of the gods’ that and elf leave the home of his caretaker to become an independent being. You will have to face your consternation some time.”

“I-I don’t know if I can,” Erendel stuttered. A chill of fear was slowly beginning to crawl through him.

“You must,” Orrel said. “Remember what I said. Life is precious, and no matter what, with Maennol’s strength, you can make it through anything.”

“I will remember that,” Erendel said. “Thank you.”

“I’m only doing what I felt was necessary, Erendel.”

“I know you were. But all the same, I thank you. I may one day take up my dagger and leave, but I don’t want it to be this day.”

“And I don’t expect it to be this day,” Orrel placed an affectionate hand on Erendel’s shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Erendel placed his own hand over Orrel’s and smiled. The old elf was right.

All of a sudden, a breeze trickled into the cottage. Erendel shivered and looked past Orrel toward the door. The door was closed. The breeze grew stronger, and he looked to the window. It was closed as well. What is happening? Erendel thought, panicking suddenly. The breeze became a light wind, then it grew heavier and heavier until it whistled as it moved through the house. Objects in the cottage toppled over under the push of the wind-now a gale-and the roof began to come apart. Erendel jumped to his feet, his hair whipping across his face. He looked to Orrel in terror as the cottage door was hurtled off its hinges. The old man sat smiling at him, and, to the elfling’s horror, he was fading!

“Orrel!” Erendel cried. The walls were now cracking and being flung aside in the torrent of howling air. “Orrel!”

“Remember what I said,” Orrel smiled affectionately as he became less and less visible.

“What is happening?” Erendel yelled over the wind. Tears stung his eyes. The house was now only a skeleton. The dark forest could be seen outside the beams of wood.

The wind grew ever louder, pounding in Erendel’s ears. It suddenly became darker too. Strangely, Erendel felt as though his eyesight was dimming. All he saw now was the crossbeams and side beams of what was once the cottage. Orrel had disappeared entirely, and still the wind did not abate.

Everything was darkness now. Everything was nothing, having faded into oblivion. Erendel was alone with the howling wind. He could neither see nor feel anything.

Erendel tried to cry out, but his voice was lost. What was happening? Why to him?

“Remember what I said,” a soft voice said, drifting on the wind and finding its way to Erendel’s ears.

Erendel shut his eyes as tightly as he could. It was all a dream, he tried to convince himself. This was not happening. Any moment now, he would awake and find himself back on his bedroll, and Orrel would be there. The cottage would be fine, he thought resolutely to himself.

Then he opened his eyes.

****

It was probably the worst sensation he’d ever felt. To open his eyes after having dreamt of a better life, and find himself lying on his back in the Darkloom Lands. Erendel hated his life for a brief moment when his eyes fluttered open and saw the land whose name meant Misery and Death. All his memories returned to him, as well as the crushing reality of his mission. But only one thought pervaded his mind.

He had murdered!

Erendel had killed one of his own kin. And he had done it in cold blood. Fresh tears worked their way out of his eyes and down his cheeks. How could he go on? First he is chased by an archdemon, then he brings disaster to both Daermia-Saliío and Nellscalon, and then he murders one of his companions! Erendel felt hopelessly lost and horribly evil. What had he done to help the elven race? What was there that he could say that he had done right?

Nothing.

Only then did Erendel actually look around him. There was no doubt that he was still in the Darkloom lands. However, he could not see beyond several feet, for the rest of the world was obscured in a thick brown-gold cloud. This cloud, he realized, was sand. He felt the ferocity of the wind that was propelling the sand through the air and wondered why he had not been blinded or stung by the trillions of granules. The answer came when he looked to his right. Dryn stood, holding his staff upright. From the tip of the staff shot a red light that refracted out and downward, creating a protective dome several yards wide around the travelers.

Erendel groaned as slight pain in his side lanced through him, and he struggled to sit up. In the midst of this action, his left hand wandered to the side, and he felt a soft obstruction.

Adaria! He thought with horror, drawing his hand back immediately and falling back to the ground.

In an instant, Aeriena and Cedriel were at his side. Dryn would have been too, but he was the only one holding the staff up and keeping the dome from dissipating.

“Finally,” Cedriel muttered, though there was a tinge of something in his voice that seemed to belie his impatience. Erendel wondered whether it was relief.

“What have you done?” were the first words from Aeriena’s lips. Her cheeks were stained with tears and her eyes reddened. “What have you done?” she repeated through sobs.

“How long was I out?” Erendel wanted to know.

“Only four or five minutes,” Cedriel answered. “Here.” He reached out and handed Erendel the dagger that the elfling had lodged in Adaria’s ear. It had been cleaned, Erendel noted as he accepted his weapon.

“That was…um…brave of you, I suppose,” Cedriel struggled to say.

“No it wasn’t,” Erendel shot back, more sharply than he should have. “It was cowardice.”

“Eh? Is the little elf up?” Dryn’s voice cut in. Erendel sat up fully and looked to the old man. “Well, now! Seems I won’t have to resuscitate you after all!”

“How can you say that?” Aeriena cried. “Erendel just…he just…” She couldn’t finish her words, but gesticulated wildly in the direction of Adaria’s corpse.

“Aye, I know, Aeriena,” Dryn said solemnly. Erendel thought the old man would say something comforting to the female elf, but he only turned away and looked out at the blinding sandstorm.

“How could you?” Aeriena accused, her grief turning to anger. “What had she ever done to you?”

“You don’t understand!” Erendel began.

“Don’t I?” Aeriena cut him off vehemently. “Don’t I? I saw the whole thing!”

“Then you saw the demons that took control of her body.” It was not a question.

“We did,” Cedriel agreed.

“But…but-”

“It was necessary,” Dryn interrupted, “Foolish but necessary.”

“Please!” Aeriena broke down again, “I do not understand!”

“I do not either,” Erendel admitted, then began to explain what had transpired between himself and Adaria at the Brodr-Ojiia fortress.

“I suspected as much,” Dryn remarked when Erendel had finished. “It was a foolish thing for her to make such promises to the demons.”

“But it was the only way she could ensure my safety,” Erendel said defensively. He did not even want to consider the fact that he could possibly have killed Adaria uselessly.

“For a short time, yes,” Dryn conceded, “but in the long run, you are never safe. Demons are persistent-persistent and patient. They’d hunt you down no matter how long it took.”

“Then what can be done?” Erendel lamented. “We are only elves and men! How can we overcome this force?”

“Only the gods know that. And only with the gods strength will we make it to the Gate.”

With Maennol’s strength, you can make it through anything. Those words echoed faintly in Erendel’s memory. The very words that Orrel had spoken to him in his dream were now vocalized by his aged friend.

But he did not believe in the gods, Erendel insisted to himself. Why should he? Had anything gone right for him in his life? If they were truly loving gods as Aeriena claimed, and powerful gods as Cedriel had so often asserted, then why didn’t they care for him? No, they didn’t-couldn’t-exist.

“Come,” Cedriel said, breaking Erendel from his thoughts, “we must at least give Adaria a burial worthy of her sacrifice.”

“I agree,” Dryn nodded. “But until this storm lets up, or my energy gives out, we’ll not be going anywhere.”

The sandstorm finally broke four hours later, around mid-afternoon. As soon as Dryn deemed it safe, he terminated the dome’s spell and assisted Erendel and Cedriel in carrying Adaria’s bloody and mutilated form back across the border to the Watchtower Mountains. There, they used what was left of Dryn’s magic to dig a shallow grave. They placed Adaria’s form reverently into the hole and covered it with rocks until there was a reasonably-sized cairn above her.

Each one spoke a few words in honor of the elf that had sacrificed her whole being to the success of their quest, and then melancholically returned to the Darkloom. By nightfall, they had traversed enough ground across the barren wasteland that the cairn was invisible to even the elves’ eyes. And in those long hours, no one spoke. What could they say? What could they do but walk and reflect on the horrific story that they had woven in this treacherous journey to the Gate? It all seemed so useless to the group. Here they were, trying to save their race (save in Dryn’s case), and all they’d succeeded to do was bring about death in their wake.

Or…at least Erendel had. Aeriena looked sidelong at the elfling and wondered. Who was this elfling, really, that he would kill another of his kin? Was he truly even an elf? After all, he had seemingly flown, saw visions of which Aeriena knew nothing, and as a direct result of his arrival at their village, it was destroyed. And he was unnaturally short….

Erendel was in front of Aeriena, and though he could not see the female elf watching him, he sensed her eyes piercing his back. He bent his head lower in shame. Of course, the elfling could not tell what her thoughts were unless he reached out with his mind-and he certainly wasn’t going to do that. Nevertheless, there was a pervasive feeling welling up inside him that she did not trust him. This, coupled with his already despondent mood, sunk him into a state of depression. He wished he were back with Orrel so much, back in under the shade of Lianiia’s Woods, helping the old elf fix the cottage or experiment with the local plant-life. Erendel fervently longed to see the warm red glow of a fire on a hearth, to sip the various sweet brews that Orrel concocted, and to read one of the epic poems that Orrel had in his collection.

But no, he was here instead, walking across the rocky terrain of an unforgiving and evil realm, traveling to an unknown place with only the weakest hope in succeeding. Life seemed so ephemeral at that moment. Why, he remembered vividly his childhood. And now, not even a century old, he was traveling to his doom. An unknown in a place unknown to him.

Erendel stopped short. The others, confused by his sudden halt, stopped as well.

“What is it?” Cedriel queried for the rest of the company.

Dryn, who had taken the lead, turned to the elfling, “Aye, what is it?”

“Dryn, do you even know where we’re going?” Erendel asked.

The old man’s eyes widened slightly, and then relaxed as he sighed wearily. “No, actually. I mean, I know the general direction we’re supposed to go, but after that, I guess hadn’t considered it.”

“You mean we’re lost?” Aeriena whispered, her voice having been lost after she had shed many tears for Adaria.

“No,” Erendel answered firmly just as Dryn was about to respond affirmatively.

All eyes turned to him. “We are not lost,” he continued in explanation. “Adaria-before she…-anyway, she showed me how to find the Skraeling tunnels.”

Cedriel’s ensuing sigh of relief allowed the party to relax momentarily.

“Well then, what am I doing leading the way?” Dryn wondered, “please, Erendel, do show us where to go.”

“But it is getting late, don’t you think?” Aeriena protested.

“Aye, I suppose so,” Dryn relented rather reluctantly, “We’ll camp here tonight, then continue on bright and early in the morning…that is, assuming….”

“Assuming what?” Cedriel pressed.

“Assuming we survive the night out here.”

Forgiven

“What do you mean?” Aeriena wanted to know, and obviously fearing the worst.

“I thought we were safe from the demons now,” Erendel agreed.

“What makes you think that it is the demons we need to fear?” Dryn asked cryptically as he dropped his pack to the ground and began rooting through it. “You seem to think that the Darkloom Lands is the land of the demons. Well, that’s where you’re wrong. The demons are not of this world, remember?” The others nodded; they were beginning to understand. “Thus, while they may have come through a gate that happens to be in the Darkloom Lands, this is not where they live. Neither is their goal to destroy the Darkloom. There aren’t any elves in it, after all. If there are any demons here, it’d be because they’re passing through toward Lianiia’s Wood.

“So that’s one less worry,” Dryn concluded. He tossed the others some blankets that he had pulled from his backpack before continuing. “I’d say all we need to worry about are the sudden changes in weather, spontaneous grass fires, the vicious nocturnal creatures, roving bands of goblin raiders, skraeling hunters, poisonous bugs, the lack of any food or pure water, and-my least favorite-uncomfortable ground to sleep on.”

“Oh, is that all?” Cedriel’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Yup,” Dryn nodded happily and flung out his blanket over the ground. The others then followed suit. Dryn then collected some dried tufts of grass and built a mound of them. He instructed Cedriel to build a ring around it with some rocks.

“But a fire of grass won’t last long,” Cedriel pointed out as he grudgingly obeyed Dryn’s order.

“Ah, but you have never seen grass like this before,” Dryn countered, holding up a brown stalk. “Feel it.”

Cedriel reached out and gingerly touched the stalk. “It’s very rough,” he said to the others after a moment.

“Aye, and thick too. Even a powerful flame would have a tough time burning through a single stalk of this grass. Don’t worry; we won’t have a shortage of heat.”

“What is it called?” Erendel asked. He had yanked a stalk from the ground and had been feeling it with interest.

“Oh that? Grass,” Dryn shrugged. “No one has ever cared enough to call it something interesting.”

And that was the end of the conversation. The camp was finished, and Dryn distributed some of the bread that had been given him at the Brodr-Ojiia fortress to the elves. He told them that their supply would be limited from here on out, and they would have to be careful how much they consumed.

By the time they finished the meal, the sun had set. Erendel noticed that the sunset here was not nearly as breathtaking as one over the mountains. He could vividly remember the beautiful golden rays, the streaks of pink clouds, and the transiton in the sky from a ruby red to a deep purple. And he remember sitting beside Aeriena, sharing the sight with her, alone for the first time since they had met.

But the sunset here was anything but beautiful, Erendel thought, moving his thoughts to the present. For one thing, the sky was mostly overcast, the dark clouds always shifting in color, from a dirty brown to an ominous green. The sun was blood red, and rather than having a glow to it, it emitted a searing light that burned one’s eyes to look at. This only succeeded in coloring the sky a hazy mix of yellow and red. Why, Erendel wondered, could the same sunset be so different in two places that were only a few leagues apart?

“So, who wants to take first watch?” Dryn asked rather abruptly.

“I will do it,” Cedriel offered grumpily. “No sense in having to be awakened in the middle of the night.”

“Aye,” Dryn agreed. “I’d have to agree with you on that one.”

“What exactly are we looking for?” Erendel asked. “You know this place more than we do, Dryn.”

“That I do,” Dryn laughed. “I’d suggest you look for anything at moves, and then kill it.”

“Oh stop it!” Aeriena suddenly burst out. Everyone quieted and looked her direction. “How can you be so…so happy?” Aeriena cried to Dryn. “We’re in the middle of a quest that could get us all killed, we’ve just seen a murder, and your making jokes?”

“Aeriena-” Dryn started to say.

“No,” Aeriena cut him off, her voice was choking now. “I am sick of all of this, sick of you! You all don’t seem to understand what we face; you’re still making merry as if you’re at some celebration! I just…I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off. She rose, stomped away a few yards, and then sat down with her back to the group, staring south toward her homeland.

The others looked at each other awkwardly. No one was certain whether it would be wise to go to her. And to comment on the problem, or even ignore it and change the subject, would be equally imprudent. In the end, the three decided to leave the situation hanging. Dryn and Erendel lie down on their blankets and struggled to sleep while Cedriel took up the watch.

“Erendel,” A voice, accompanied by a rough shove, said to the elfling a few hours later.

Erendel slowly sat up and rubbed his eyes. It was his turn for the watch, apparently.

“Did you see anything?” Erendel inquired in a whisper.

“It depends on your definition of sight,” Cedriel replied. “I did not see much, but I thought I saw quite a few things…and almost constantly felt as though something was watching me.”

Erendel, even in the dim light of the fading fire, could see that Cedriel had passed a restless vigil.

“And Aeriena?”

“She is still sitting there….I’m beginning to worry, Erendel.”

Erendel was slightly startled that Cedriel had spoken something so sentimental, but he did not show it. “Have you tried to speak with her?”

“Nay. I’ve lived with her all my life, and I know well that when she does not wish to speak, she won’t.”

“Well, get some sleep, friend,” Erendel said, standing. “You’ve done enough for tonight.”

Cedriel said nothing, choosing instead to flop down on his own bedroll. Erendel, in the meantime, took up a position facing north. If anything were to attack, he reasoned, they’d come from the heart of the Darkloom Lands.

Time passed slowly here. The overcast sky admitted no light from either of the moons. And the stars were invisible to the sight as well. The only light came from the fire, and even that was not enough for Erendel’s elven eyes. This pervasive inky darkness proved to be more terrifying than Erendel had expected. He constantly thought he saw shadows of some large creatures. Every so often, he caught a faint breath of sound from somewhere in the distant, and a shiver ran down his spine. He even shifted positions often, feeling as though some poisonous creature was crawling beneath him. How was anyone supposed to keep an effective watch in these conditions?

Hours passed. Slowly, the clouds separated and moved west. A few stars could be seen through the breaks, though it wasn’t enough to provide any light. Erendel took to watching the faint sparkles in the night sky rather than the ground. He found that looking upward rather than northward provided a greater sense of calm. It was only a slight change, but it was enough. It was enough to allow Erendel’s rapidly beating heart to still, and he thought a little more clearly.

That was when he remembered Aeriena. He slowly turned to look over his shoulder. Even in the darkness, he could still see her form, sitting with knees drawn up, staring out toward her home. She looked so forlorn, Erendel couldn’t help thinking, so alone. She he go to her? Erendel looked warily at Cedriel, who was by all accounts fast asleep. That was enough to convince him. Erendel carefully and quietly went to his feet, cross the camp, and sat down slowly just a little behind and to Aeriena’s right. For a long time, he sat there, not exactly sure of what he should say.

“Aeriena?” he said eventually. His voice cracked as he said it, so he started over. “Aeriena…I’m sorry for what was said earlier…the jokes, I mean. Dryn did not mean to hurt you. After, he is just human. It was probably his way of coping with the situation….I just wanted to apologize for him.”

There was a long silence, but Erendel felt better for having said something. He sat there, looking toward Aeriena’s back, watching it slowly and gently rise and fall as she breathed. She still hated him, Erendel thought with a sinking feeling. He wished he could apologize for murdering Adaria as well, but he knew that he had done nothing wrong. Certainly, he had hated every moment of the battle, and he wished that it hadn’t been Adaria that he had had to kill, but in the end, was it truly Adaria’s soul that he had killed? What if it was just an empty shell then, filled by the forms of the five demons? Then, technically, he had not killed Adaria at all, but rather her shadow. She had died at the hands of the demons, Erendel knew now, as soon as she had stepped over the border.

“How do you do it?” Erendel was shocked to hear Aeriena’s voice. She hadn’t turned to face him.

“How do I what?” Erendel managed to ask.

“Cope. How do you cope with all this?”

“I don’t know,” Erendel was forced to respond after a pause. “I guess misfortune has just been a part of my life. There were only five years when I didn’t live as an outcast. I was taught to tolerate it then, so perhaps that is how I do it now. Perhaps I see it as just another misfortune in a life filled with them, so there is nothing I can do to change it.”

“Oh.” There was another long pause. “I…I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

“But you have come this far,” Erendel pleaded. “You should be proud of that.”

“But maybe I should have taken Adaria’s offer to stay in Nellscalon. Maybe…maybe I should have stayed behind.”

“Aeriena-”

“I thought that by coming with you, I could do something important. And after Daiymel read my hand…and Adaria gave me the gift….I thought I was sure. But now, looking back, I can see that I have been no help at all. What have I done? What have I accomplished that gave us any more a chance of success? Adaria sacrificed her life to buy us time, Ne’anithel helped save Dryn’s life. Dryn brought us this far, for the gods’ sake! But I’ve done nothing.”

“You were my friend.” Erendel replied quietly.

“What?”

“When no one else would accept me, when everyone decided to make snide comments, or just stare at me like I was a freak, you alone befriended me without reservation. You have been here for me since the beginning. You have been constantly encouraging to me, just by your presence. By proving to me that not all elves are the same, you have provided me with the strength I needed so many times. I…I don’t know if I could have made it this far without you. You have to keep going, if only for me.”

“Oh, Erendel, I had no idea,” Aeriena stifled a sniffle, whirled around, and wrapped Erendel in a tight embrace. The elfling had not expected the action, and nearly fell over, but he returned the hug. Tears filled both the elves’ eyes.

They could make it through this, Erendel decided. They would survive the evils of the Darkloom together. He, Aeriena, Cedriel, and Dryn; all of them would do this together.

Aeriena and the elfling stayed the rest of the night, keeping a silent vigil over the distant Watchtower Mountains. Neither of them would have been able to sleep anyway. Erendel was too overjoyed for that. He had been forgiven, had found a new reason to hope. And when the sun at last peaked over the horizon, bathing the land in a sickening yellow light, the two still sat and were not tired at all.

Night Among the Dead

“Why did you not wake me?” Dryn yelled at Erendel a few hours later. “You needed your rest!”

“Not as much as you, friend,” Erendel responded levelly. He was not that concerned about his well-being anymore.

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. You see this ring?” Dryn held up his hand to display the sparkling ruby ring. “I can get as much energy as I need from this. But you can’t! You should have let me take my watch!”

“Be glad that you got the rest, Dryn. I know you think you can handle anything, but you are, in fact, much older than we are.”

“Ha! I’m twenty-five years your younger, Erendel.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Please,” Aeriena stepped in, “can we eat our breakfast instead of ranting like this? All we are doing is drawing attention.”

“Out here?” Dryn asked incredulously, waving his arms about to indicate the wasteland. “Even if we were standing absolutely still, this place is so flat that the barbarians from the Crags of Norgon could spot us!”

Erendel knew Dryn’s words to be true. The Darkloom Lands were the flattest lands he had ever seen. Where they stood was grassland that stretched out in all directions, and thin line that was the horizon was only punctuated by the dark form of that single mountain that sat in the middle of the Lands. The short grass beneath their feet was dried and grayish brown, and it crackled loudly with every move they made. It also made running difficult, for the grass grew in thick tufts, and where there wasn’t grass, the ground was dried and cracked as though there had never been rain.

“Are you feeling well?” Cedriel asked, standing from his previously crouched position where he had been tending to the morning fire.

“Of course I’m feeling well!” Dryn snapped. “Never felt better in my life, in fact!”

“And yet you seem to be in a foul mood this morning.”

“I am not in a ‘foul’ mood! You’re the one in the foul mood!”

“Dryn,” Aeriena said calmly, stepping forward and taking his shoulders in her hands so that he faced her. “I think you need to relax a bit.”

“Why?”

Cedriel stepped forward as well and firmly forced Dryn into a sitting position. “I think the Darkloom Lands is causing you some discomfort.”

“You think? I spent the whole night on uneven ground, and now my back aches something awful!”

“And therein lies the problem,” Erendel said in a low voice, a small smile creasing his lips.

“Here, let me help you,” Aeriena knelt behind Dryn and reached into her pack, pulling out two smooth stones about the size of Erendel’s fists.

“You brought those all the way here?” Cedriel wondered with apparent surprise.

“Why not?” Aeriena returned dispassionately. “I knew we’d need them.” She brought the stones to her lips and spoke some of the magic language into them. Then, she began to rub them across Dryn’s back, one stone in each hand. Dryn visibly relaxed as she did so. His muscles seemed to unwind, and his scowl even transformed into a pleased grin.

“What did you do?” He asked when Aeriena stopped and returned the stones to her pack.

“It is a special technique my mother taught me,” Aeriena explained. “You see, when the stones are placed in specific areas of the back…”

Erendel couldn’t help but smile.

The four were on the road again within the hour, if such a phrase could be applied to their situation. There technically were no roads, and Erendel had to rely heavily on the mental map Adaria had given them. Luckily, it was not too difficult, and Erendel found that he almost did not even have to think consciously in order to know where to go. Not that it would have mattered anyway, he thought with a wry smile. The land was so featureless that he’d only to choose a direction, and they would be able to travel straight for days, or even weeks, without encountering a single landmark. No wonder people went insane here, as the stories told.

The day came and went, and the travelers again stopped for the night. They chose the watches for the night, and then went to sleep. The following morning, they began the journey anew after a meager breakfast. Food was virtually nonexistent in the Darkloom Lands, so they had to conserve as much of their supply as they could.

It was late afternoon when the land started to change, though in an unexpected, and rather gruesome way.

“What is that?” Aeriena asked, squinting at the horizon. Even her elven eyes could not quite tell what it was that she saw.

“What does it look like?” Dryn asked. “Remember, my eyes aren’t as good as yours.”

“I don’t know if I could describe it.” Aeriena faltered. “It’s as if the land was speckled with white…like snow, but only in small drifts. And some of it isn’t entirely white…it is faintly darker.”

“I see it too,” Erendel agreed, and Cedriel nodded.

“Hmm,” Dryn muttered, stroking his goatee thoughtfully. “I think I know what it is….”

“And that is?” Cedriel queried impatiently when Dryn did not continue.

“Oh!” Aeriena gasped.

“What?” Erendel said in alarm.

“They’re bones!”

Erendel strained his eyes and discovered that Aeriena was right. In the distance, heaping piles of bones dotted the wasteland, and even more bones littered the ground. Some were human, Erendel saw; some animal; and some that were unrecognizable. All were bleached a sickly white from the harsh sunlight.

“Must we go through them?” Aeriena asked.

“No,” Dryn answered simply, but when Aeriena let a brief smile of relief show, he added, “We could spend the next few months going around them, if you want. Sure, all the demons will have killed elven-kind by then, but at least we won’t have had to go through the Skull Plains.”

“So that’s what this place is called,” Cedriel muttered.

“Aye,” Dryn nodded, “but this is only the out tip of the plains. Luckily, if we go straight through, we will make it to the Icefire Desert quickly.”

“Only the tip?” Erendel gasped. “Do you mean to say that the entire land is filled with bones like these?” He waved his hand into the distance vaguely, knowing that the bones were still too distant for Dryn to see.

“Yup. At least, the whole of the western ends of the Darkloom Lands.”

Erendel was amazed, and wanted to inquire further, but Dryn continued to speak, cutting the elfling off before his even opened his mouth. “Let’s wait until we set up camp for the night before you ask any more questions. I’m getting rather tired.”

Erendel shot a quick look at Dryn’s ring, as he had become wont to do of late. The ruby glow was somewhat darker than usual. And if that was any indication of Dryn’s current state, then Erendel knew he should respect the old man’s wishes.

Twilight covered the land when the four finally stopped for the night. During the rest of the afternoon, they had covered a good amount of ground, and had made their way well into the Skull Plains. Now, they set up camp amidst the mounds of bones. Of all the places to sleep for the night, Erendel thought to himself, this was the worst. The ground was cluttered with broken bones, making the ground very uneven, and often painful, to walk on. There was also a faint coldness that seemed to portend of evil. It made sleep nearly impossible, and it made everyone shiver despite the thick cloaks they were wearing.

As usual, Aeriena unrolled the mats, Dryn made the fire-adding, of course, a pinch of the special powder that got rid of the smoke,-Cedriel scouted the area (a singularly unnecessary job, Erendel grumbled inwardly), and Erendel prepared the meal. He couldn’t help but note that his task seemed to get easier and easier, for the meal seemed to consist of less and less food. They were down to only a few loaves of bread, about a dozen dried fruits, and four skins of water.

“I am starting to grow worried about our water supply,” Erendel remarked to Dryn as he passed out everyone’s portion of food on some of Dryn’s handkerchiefs, and their water in small pewter cups.

“Well, I did warn you that there wouldn’t be any water out here,” Dryn returned, taking a sip from his cup.

“Are you sure there’s absolutely no water out here?” Erendel pressed. “Don’t all living things need water?”

“Have you seen a living thing out here yet?”

“Point taken.”

“So tell me, Dryn,” Cedriel spoke up after swallowing a chunk of bread, “How come there to be so many bones here? Surely they came from somewhere.”

“Must we talk about this?” Aeriena whined, “This place is frightening enough without any of your horror stories making it worse, Dryn.”

“Then don’t listen,” Dryn stated flatly. “I understand how you feel, Aeriena, but the journey is not going to get any less gruesome, and there’s nothing I can do to make it less so.”

“Well?” Erendel asked. “What were you saying about the bones?”

“I think I’ll tend to the fire,” Aeriena said, clearing her throat and moving away.

Dryn waited respectfully for the elf to leave, and then lowered his voice to a husky whisper. All of a sudden, the flickering shadows the bone mounds cast from the fire seemed much more ominous. “There are a lot of legends as to how the bones got here. Nobody can say for certain how the bones came to be here, but everyone knows that it was for no good purpose that they came to be. When I was a younger-oh, about your ages in human terms-I heard a few of these rumors from my friends. Some of them said that there was a massive battle between good and evil on these very plains…long before humans were created, of course. They say not a single person survived that battle, and no one was able to bury any of the bodies. So, they rotted away until only the bones were left.

“Another legend has it that there are huge creatures that stalk the plains. Whenever a foolish human, elf, dwarf, animal, or any living creature dares to travel through its territory, the creatures come out of the ground where they hide and eat the unsuspecting soul, spitting out the bones.

“There is yet another tale that says that, whenever someone dies before his time and is buried, his spirit is forced to carry his body’s bones to the Skull Plains and place them on a certain pile before he will be allowed to go to the other side.” Dryn leaned in closer to the two wide-eyed elves. “I’ve heard that it can take hundreds of years for these souls to find the pile into which they must put their bones, and sometimes they grow frustrated. When this happens, they become visible and can be seen walking between the mounds of bones when the moon is full with a scarlet sack slung across their back. I’ll give you one guess what’s in the sack.”

“Their bones,” Cedriel whispered hoarsely, and Erendel shuddered.

The elfling knew it was foolish to be afraid of these silly stories, but in the darkness, and among the very bones that Dryn was describing, he could not help but feel a little fearful.

“Well,” Dryn laughed, sitting back and spreading out his hands in a gesture of conclusion. “That’s what us ignorant mortals say, anyway. It’s all hogwash, of course, but it is fun to speculate. Now let’s decide who gets first watch and get some shut-eye.”

Erendel reluctantly took his position of first watch a few minutes later. The fire burned low and everyone went to sleep, leaving the poor elfling all alone amongst the ghostly mounds, the yellow-white bones almost glowing in the moonlight. A light breeze added to the doleful atmosphere, sending chills up the elfling’s back and whistling through the bone piles, which created a sound akin to a mournful cry. Erendel’s eyes found no rest as they jerked here and there, afraid that they might catch sight of some huge serpent-like creature or a ghostly figure walking over the boney fields.

Needless to say, the elfling was glad when it was Dryn’s turn to take up the watch.

The Mountains of the Desert

Erendel dreamt that he was being stoned. In his dream, he was standing in the center of the dell just outside his former home. He was surrounding by demons, some that looked like Kroakh and his kin, and some that reminded him of the reptilian skrites. The skrites were beating their wings and screeching indecipherable insults at him while the humanoid demons threw small rocks at his head. Erendel screamed for them to stop, falling on his knees, begging for mercy. But the rocks kept flying, cracking against his head and body, stinging with burning.

Just when Erendel felt he could take no more, he saw one of the demons that looked like Kroakh heft a large rock, about the size of a watermelon. Erendel cringed and renewed his agonized pleas. It was to no avail. The demon let out a horrible choking laugh and sent the boulder flying.

Erendel’s eyes flew open. He sat up, his head pounding, heart racing, and brow in a cold sweat, and looked around. It took him a moment to remember where he was: the Skull Plains. It took him an even longer moment to realize that he was still being pelted by small projectiles. He rubbed his eyes to clear them, and then held out his hand palm up. Several small, icy objects plopped onto his palm. It was hailing. All around him, the small white pellets fell thickly. They bounced off the hard dry ground, creating a thin sheet of what looked like snow, and glanced off the bones with a sound akin to someone shaking a wooden cup filled with beans.

The elfling snatched up his cloak and held it spread out above his head so the hailstones wouldn’t hit him nearly as hard. Only when he had done that, and the pain from the stinging stones had subsided, did he look for his comrades. Aeriena and Cedriel were by the ashes of last night’s fire, trying to pack up their things, eat a few bites of bread, and keep sheltered from the hailstones all at the same time. Dryn was nearby, casually studying one of the bone piles. In his hand was his staff, and above him was a repulsing field only large enough to protect his head and shoulders.

Erendel stood and approached Dryn. “Why don’t you share shelter with the rest of us?” He asked.

Dryn looked up from a skull he held. “Eh? Oh, you’re awake, finally. You know, Erendel, I’m beginning to think you could sleep through anything.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“No, I’m afraid I can’t share. I need to preserve the energy in my ring as much as possible.”

“Then why did you do it during the sandstorm? You seemed perfectly willing to shelter us then.”

“Ah, but that was different. Sandstorms are deadly, hailstorms are not. At least, this one isn’t. The stones are too small to do any lasting damage.”

“When do you think this storm will pass?” Cedriel’s voice asked.

Dryn’s eyes returned to the skull and he thoughtfully jammed a finger in its eye-socket. “Hard to say precisely, but definitely not more than a few hours. Malstaag has a short attention span.”

Cedriel chuckled.

“Alright, everyone,” Dryn announced, tossing the skull pack into the bone pile where it clattered hollowly, “we should start moving now. The storm’ll slow us down for sure, but if we wait it out, we’ll only be wasting more time. I want to reach the Icefire Desert by evening.”

True to Dryn’s word, the storm dissipated just before noon. Erendel was infinitely grateful for the reprieve, for he was sore and nearly covered with little red bruises. The other three travelers weren’t in any better a state, save for Dryn, whose magical canopy had largely protected him.

Even after the end of the storm, however, the four still were not out of the Skull Plains. Erendel decided that he hated the place. It was sickening to see so many bleached bones, and the lurid snap of bones beneath his feet nearly caused him to retch several times. Hunger pangs didn’t help ease the elfling’s misery either. (Contrary to popular opinion, elves do not have a high constitution as the dwarves do.) His pangs came and went all too often, and he was hard pressed to avoid giving in to the temptation to nibble on one of the loaves in his pack.

After a while, with the aid of some conversation about magic with Dryn, Erendel was able to ignore his hunger and bide the long hours of travel. Several more hours passed, and then Erendel finally began to see a change in the scenery. The mounds of bones were smaller and fewer. The sound of cracking bones underfoot also lessened in frequency. Even more encouraging, however, was the apparent growth of irregularity in the terrain. Whereas the land had been utterly flat before, now it was uneven. Small hills seemed to sprout like mushrooms from the ground before the travelers. There was still no flora, and the earth was gray, chalky, and mostly dirt and pebbles. Erendel knew that this was only a sign that they were getting closer to the Skraeling tunnel system, but he had to admit that he was glad for the change.

It was twilight when Dryn allowed everyone to stop. Cedriel let out a loud sigh of relief as he plopped to the ground and began to nurse his bruises. Aeriena did the same, though with much more grace than her brother. Dryn too looked fatigued, but he decided to scout the area for any beasts.

“I thought you said no living creatures could survive in the Darkloom,” Aeriena argued.

“Well, that’s technically true,” Dryn said, taking on the tone of a schoolteacher, “But that doesn’t stop them from traveling through it. There could be Skraelings or goblins anywhere, not to mention any number of monsters that live beneath the ground.”

“Beneath?” Cedriel wondered, unconsciously gripping the hilt of his sword.

“Aye,” Dryn nodded. “Serpents, large moles, slimy insects, and other monstrosities may be living under our very feet.”

“Must you be telling us this?” Aeriena asked, her eyes wide with fear.

“Sorry.”

“In any case,” Erendel broke in, changing the subject. “I agree with Aeriena. You shouldn’t be the one to scout. We need you here.”

“But-”

“No,” Aeriena interrupted. “You’re staying here with us. Erendel will do the scouting.”

Dryn put on his best “you’ve insulted my pride” face, but conceded and sat down.

There was not much to see, Erendel thought. He looked around him; even with the hillocks obstructing his view somewhat, there was still very little area for anything to hide. Nevertheless, Erendel decided he had to at least look like he was doing something useful. He drew his dagger and started to walk away from the camp. He crested several hills before deeming the area safe.

Erendel was about to turn back when a soft, almost imperceptible shudder in the ground caught his attention. The elfling dropped to his knees and leaned his head close to the barren land, listening. Sure enough, there was something vibrating the ground. From Orrel’s training, Erendel had learned to distinguish the different rates of vibration, and he decided that whatever was shaking the earth was very, very big.

With renewed apprehension, Erendel leapt to his feet and strained his eyes to see in the distance. At first, he saw nothing. But after a few moments, a dark splotch appeared over a hill, and then another, and another. Yet another one appeared, and others as well, until there were fully two dozen black splotches. They were too far away to distinguish, even for Erendel’s elven eyes. However, they were growing bigger and bigger, as if they were getting closer and closer. Then, in a sudden moment of clarity, Erendel saw the splotches for what they were.

The beasts were huge, furry things. Had Erendel known what a Lastaagi elephant was, he probably would have described them that way. They were bulky, thick, and brown. Their long hair cascaded over their bodies, veiling their four thick, cylindrical legs. There were no ears to speak of, at least, not from what Erendel could see. What he could see very clearly, though, were the beast’s snouts. It looked as if someone had taking their once elephantine noses and truncated them to about the length of an aardvark’s nose. There tusks, by contrast, were twice as big as any elephant’s, curling out and back around the sides of their skulls.

All this Erendel saw more and more clearly as the creatures, feet pounding, came rapidly closer. They seemed a single mass, moving together and yet singularly. The elfling was half frozen with terror and fascination. Never before had he seen anything so huge and imposing. And yet there was something majestic, something regal, about them. It took nearly a minute for Erendel to remember that he had to warn the others.

Everyone was on their feet in an instant when Erendel burst back into the camp, pointing wildly. “Creatures!” He cried. “They are headed straight for us!”

“Can you be a little more clear, Erendel?” Dryn asked calmly.

Erendel hurriedly described the beasts he saw. He watched Dryn’s expression carefully, and was taken aback when the old man showed no sign of alarm. Cedriel and Aeriena were another story. Aeriena’s face was a picture of horror and Cedriel yanked his bow from his back with a fiery determination in his eyes.

“What are these things, Dryn?” he asked.

“The Harim-Hul,” Dryn said matter-of-factly. “The Mountains of the Desert, as the Skraelings call them. How far off did you say they were?”

“A few minutes at the rate they’re going,” Erendel stammered.

“Good, then we have some time yet.”

“Time for what?”

“To plan our attack, of course.” Dryn’s eyes remained impassive, as though he knew well of what he speak.

“You mean-you mean we’re going to hunt them?” Aeriena had trouble forcing the word hunt past her lips.

“Only one, Aeriena, but it will have to be done carefully if we don’t want to get trampled.”

“Dryn, do you know what you’re doing?” Cedriel caught the man by the shoulder. “This is madness! If Erendel eyes were not deceived, then you cannot kill one of those!”

“I can and I have,” Dryn shot back. “Now, either do as I say or let them run you over.”

Erendel felt the earth shudder beneath him, and he shot Dryn a concerned look.

“Why can’t we just get out of their path?” Aeriena pleaded.

Dryn shook his head with a pitiful smile. “You don’t know these Harim-Hul, my dear. They only stampede when they are hungry, and since we are the only living things for miles that they can see, they’ll only run us down. There isn’t anything that can stand between a Harim-Hul and its food…except the food itself.”

There was another more violent tremor. Everyone felt it that time.

“Dryn!” Erendel barked as the beginning of panic overtook him, “what do we do?”

Dryn pulled his staff from his belt and grinned. “Follow my lead.”

Without another word the old man climbed the hill nearest them and looked out over the plains toward the oncoming Harim-Hul. They were much larger than before, Erendel noticed. Dryn stroked his goatee thoughtfully. “Five and a score, eh? This ought to be interesting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Aeriena’s voice rose an octave in fear.

“Cedriel, I want you to start heading north,” Dryn commanded, ignoring Aeriena. “When you see my signal, I need you to start firing arrows into the herd!”

“What is your signal?” Cedriel asked.

“Trust me you’ll recognize it,” Dryn returned. “Now go! Erendel, you head south and make a wide sweep east. I’ll need you to flank the herd and attack the last Harim-Hul.”

“How?”

“Don’t think about that now!” Dryn’s voice carried a tense edge to it.

“What am I supposed to do?” Aeriena whimpered.

“Stay here,” Dryn grunted. “Get behind me or something.”

Erendel and Cedriel looked at each other. The elfling was sure they were both thinking the same thing as their gaze broke and each one went his assigned direction.

Dryn was crazy.

The Harim-Hul were only several hundred yards away now, and yet they still looked gigantic. Erendel watched them approach Dryn’s position as he ran, and he wondered how in Dircraag’s depths the old man planned to keep them from squashing him flat. The herd bore down on Dryn and Aeriena with a deep drum-like roll, building in volume as they came closer. It was like watching a tsunami coming toward you, rolling and climbing to a thunderous climax.

Now they were a hundred yards and even bigger than before. Their matted brown hair rippled out from their bodies. Their pupil-less eyes centered on the two figures in their path. Their short snouts were lifted now, and they blasted a warning trumpet that sounded like someone had stuffed a bugle with cloth.

Erendel began his sweep, his heart racing faster than his feet could beat the ground. He had no idea what he was doing, or what he was going to do. And although his mind told him that Dryn had lost command of his faculties, the elfling felt deep inside that he had to trust the old man. What else could he do?

Erendel swiveled his head around to look back at Dryn once more, and he nearly stumbled over a rock. He steadied himself and continued on. He was now running parallel to the Harim-Huls’ path, about fifty yards south of them. He was still impressed by their size.

In a swift moment, the creatures, all twenty-five of them had burst past Erendel, seemingly heedless of him. They were within a shortbow’s range of the old man now, and yet Dryn did nothing. Erendel prayed fervently that he would survive this hunt and swung back around so that he was now chasing after the Harim-Hul.

Just as he did that, Dryn leapt into action. He brought his staff up with lightning speed, aiming it at the Harim-Hul like a spear. Whispering a few words of the magic language, Dryn waved the staff around. Then all of a sudden, a burst of something thick and inky exploded from the end of the staff. The black substance sprayed out like a long jet of water, though much thicker, and Dryn pivoted around on his back foot to direct its flow. Soon, he had a huge half-circle of the substance bubbling and roiling in front himself and Aeriena.

Of course, Erendel could not see any of this from where he was, so he was startled when a rain of surprised trumpets ripped through the air from the Harim-Hul. The elfling also nearly forgot the Cedriel had a part to play in this venture as well. The elf had taken the inky substance’s appearance to be Dryn’s sign and had begun firing arrows randomly into the midst of the herd. This, as well as the sticky black substance, created panic among the Harim-Hul. The foremost of the herd tried to pull up short, but their momentum carried them onto the black, obviously hot, semi-circle. As soon as their feet landed in the goo, the black stuff snared them with its stickiness. The beasts, still being carried forward by their own weight, found their forefeet trapped, and they fell flat on their snouts. Unable to stop, the others collided with the trapped Harim-Hul, creating a massive mound of hairy bodies.

It was only the very last one, the one that Erendel was supposed to be pursuing, that was able to turn aside at the last second. This one, instead of joining the struggling mass of its friends (which would have been a humorous sight at another place and time), veered northwest and headed straight toward Cedriel. This change in direction inevitably slowed the beast down. That was all Erendel needed to catch up. Not knowing what else to do, the elfling lunged for the rear left leg of his prey and jammed his dagger in. Green flames tore up the Harim-Hul’s injured leg, and it let out a bellow of agony quite unlike its earlier trumpeting, then tried to turn about. In the meantime, Cedriel, in a panic, had desperately fired several of his arrows at the oncoming Harim-Hul. Thus caught between two sources of pain, the Harim-Hul berserked.  It reared up, letting out one last bellow, and rushed toward Cedriel.

Erendel’s dagger was caught in the Harim-Hul’s fatty flesh, and for a few seconds, Erendel was still hanging on to it. He never thought to let go. In fact, he almost couldn’t think at all. He was battered and jerked up and down as the Harim-Hul careened toward Cedriel. The elfling’s head was bashed multiple times against the beast’s leg as it came up and went down again. Once, Erendel’s lip got caught between his teeth just as his chin was thwacked. Pain stung the elfling’s mouth, and he tasted blood.

Just faintly, Erendel heard Cedriel shriek, “Dryn! Do something!”

Erendel turned his head laboriously, and the side of his head was knocked against the hairy leg, blurring his vision. But he was just able to see Dryn grab hold of Aeriena’s hand, mumble a few words, and raise his hand.

All of a sudden, the Harim-Hul went rigid, as if it had been frozen instantly. There was no painful cry from the animal. Every muscle just straightened and stayed that way. That didn’t stop the Harim-Hul from continuing to move forward, so great was its momentum. It tumbled face forward and slid down a hill for more than a dozen yards before friction got the best of it. Its head ground to a halt in one of the valleys, paused a few moments, then its body keeled over, displacing a thick cloud of gray dust.

In the ensuing calm that followed, Erendel slowly regained his senses, wits, and most of his composure. It still took him a while, though, to realize he was still obdurately holding the dagger’s hilt. Coughing, sputtering, and thoroughly dazed, Erendel pushed himself off the paralyzed corpse, rubbing the dust from his eyes and trying to focus on the area around him. He weakly turned around when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Come on!” Dryn said. “You can gather yourself later. We need to get behind this big guy now before the other Harim-Hul spot us!”

Erendel was too confused and dizzy to protest-he didn’t even remember that there were twenty-four more of these huge animals still caught in Dryn’s gooey snare-so he stumbled behind Dryn around the Harim-Hul and flopped onto the ground. Aeriena was at his side in an instant, asking if he was okay, feeling the bloody spots, and trying her best to ease the pain.

“My dagger…” Erendel stammered out after a few long overdue draughts of air.

“Here,” Cedriel said, coming around from the Harim-Hul’s hindquarters and tossing the bloody dagger at the elfling’s side. “Stuck hilt deep in fat,” he observed with a smirk.

Erendel was going to respond, but an odd sound caught his attention. Laughter. Surprised, the three elves turned to look at Dryn. The old man’s back was leaning against the Harim-Hul’s hairy back, and he was bursting with a mixed laugh and cough.

“What is this?” Aeriena asked sharply.

“That was great!” Dryn wheezed joyously, throwing his fist weakly into the air in triumph.

“Great?” Cedriel blurted, crossing his arms. “I was almost trampled! And Erendel here was nearly bludgeoned to death! You call that great?”

“Erendel could have died!” Aeriena cried in agreement. Cedriel was about to confirm her assertion that he could have been killed, but stopped short when he realized that his sister was referring to the elfling.

“Bah,” Dryn panted. “That little guy has a knack for surviving these sorts of-of encount-” The rest of the old man’s words were lost in a heavy fit of coughs.

“Dryn, are you feeling well?” Erendel asked worriedly.

“Never-n-never better,” Dryn replied breathily, then fell over.

“Dryn!” Aeriena leapt to her feet and rushed to the old man’s side. She felt his pulse. “He’s dying! Cedriel, help me!”

Cedriel was beside Aeriena immediately. They took each other’s hand and placed their empty hands on Dryn’s head. Erendel thought they looked beautiful together in that moment, the setting sun rimming their profiles, their hands clasped tightly, and their faces so consummately alike. The elfling had never noticed that before.

Aeriena, tears streaming down her cheeks, whispered magical words of healing, Cedriel doing the same. Their melodious voices wafted over the air as they chanted together.

It was odd, Erendel thought to himself, that this moment was so memorable. After all, why should it be? He had been through several epic battles, had seen Dryn closer to death than this, and yet none of those events had touched him as this one did now.

This thought and the sound of the magic language rocked Erendel’s weary mind slowly to sleep, and a dreamless darkness alleviated his present pain and his fear for Dryn. But just before the black void overtook him, the elfling’s eyes wandered to Dryn’s hand. He saw the ruby on the old man’s finger glow slightly, and he smiled.

Dryn would have some explaining to do when he woke up.

Under the Desert Sky

“No, a little lower. Ah…there it is.”

Erendel awoke to find himself lying flat on his bedroll-not the position he had been in the previous evening. Aside from a dull soreness in his side, the elfling felt rested and well. He sat up and took a quick stock of his surroundings to find that everything was just as it had been the night before, save for the weather. Once again the air had changed. Today it was uncomfortably warm and humid. The sky was an unusual mix of blue and yellow, changing between the two hues depending on how where the sun was in one’s line of sight.

The harim-hul’s corpse was still obstructing most of Erendel’s view of the landscape, and it was radiating a strangely floral scent. Erendel wrinkled his nose and frowned, confused.

Before he could ask about the unwonted aroma, Cedriel appeared from around the harim-hul’s hindquarters and announced, “The other harim-hul are gone now, and so is that black goo.” There was a hint of expectancy in the Cedriel’s voice, as if he wanted Dryn to explain how exactly the animals got away.

“Good,” Dryn’s voice responded from behind the elfling. “That means we’re safe to move on.” The voice paused for a moment. “Ah,” the old man continued. “It seems that Erendel’s up now.”

“That means you will tell us what happened yesterday now, right?” Aeriena’s voice-also at Erendel’s back-asked.

The elfling finally turned around. He saw that Dryn was sitting cross-legged on the ground, emptying everyone’s packs. Aeriena was kneeling behind him, rubbing her smooth stones against his back. Cedriel had moved to Dryn’s side and squatted down to assist him in removing everything from the packs.

“I suppose I can,” Dryn conceded with a feigned sigh, as though he were revealing a secret he’d rather not reveal. “But I’ll have to be brief; this desert weather isn’t going to make travel easy, and I want to cover as much ground as possible before midday. We’ll also have to get some of the meat from the corpse-”

Cedriel cleared his throat meaningfully.

“Oh,” Dryn cracked a smile, looking up from his task. “Sorry. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yes: the harim-hul. Well, I think I’ll begin with the actually hunt.

“When I sent Cedriel and Erendel off, I was employing a tactic that I had used once before when I was younger. You see, harim-hul will only attack the largest of their prey, because that is the one that will most likely provide the most sustenance for them. That is why they didn’t immediately go after either of you two.” Dryn motioned to the two male elves. “Together, Aeriena and I looked larger than you.

“Now, the plan was for me to draw the harim-hul’s attention, and then allow Erendel to flank them and Cedriel to pose a distraction. My job was only to keep the harim-hul from trampling Aeriena and myself.”

“I understand that,” Erendel broke in, “but how on the phlesa did you create that black goo? I had always been taught that only the gods-that it is impossible to create or destroy anything with magic.”

“Aye, but I wasn’t creating anything.” Dryn stopped sorting the items from the packs and hefted his staff. “You see that little black sphere inside the branches?” He pointed to the end of his staff where the wood branched out. Everyone crowded around to find that, hidden within the niche created by the short forked branches, was a small black object. It looked to Erendel as if someone had taken a thunderstorm and confined inside a large marble, for the blackness was swirling like a billowing black cloud.

“That, my friends, is a miniature gate to Sepheirias!” Dryn smiled broadly, but no one else seemed as enthused.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Aeriena wondered, an edge of fear in her voice.

“Not this one,” Dryn shook his head. “It’s too small for any demons to pass through, and it has wards cast upon it to keep anything that has a soul from passing through it.”

“Demons have souls?”

“Yes, but that’s another issue entirely.”

“What does this have to do with the goo, though?” Cedriel asked impatiently.

“Well, I simply cast a trans-dimensional propulsion spell that, instead of giving me magical energy, summoned up this special, Sepheirian goo. It is the stickiest stuff you’ll ever run across, though it’s very temporary. It needs demonic energy to live, so that’s why it eventually evaporated and freed the harim-hul.”

“Doesn’t it take a lot energy to do that?” Erendel asked.

“Yes, but I had quite a bit of energy stored in my ring.”

“Now what about that little trick with the last harim-hul?”Cedriel put in.

“Ah, that….well, that wasn’t originally in the plan. If I recall aright, the last two elves I hunted with were able to kill the beast without any magical intervention.”

“Thanks,” Cedriel muttered sarcastically.

“Originally, the elf in Erendel’s position was able to climb up its back and stab it through its ear.”

“What ear?”

Dryn shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen it, but it apparently exists.”

“What spell did you cast?” Aeriena asked, leading everyone back to the original direction of the discussion.

“I could have done something more extravagant, but after that stunt with the goo, I had lost quite a bit of magical…and physical energy. Because of that, I used a simple magician’s trick and pinched off the harim-hul’s vital neural pathway.”

“Its what?”

“Its neural-nevermind. I stopped its brain from telling its body to work. That paralyzed it and killed it at the same time.

“Now of course, we couldn’t just stand there and revel in our victory, for the twenty-four others were still mad with confusion. We had to hide behind the dead harim-hul so they wouldn’t see us; they don’t eat the bodies of their own kind, you see. Unfortunately, the exertion was a little more trying than I remember.”

“We noticed,” Cedriel remarked, and Dryn shot him a glare.

“We thought you were going to die!” Aeriena cried angrily.

Dryn wave a dismissing hand. “Humph, I’ve been closer to death’s gates than that before.” The old man winked at Erendel, who nodded knowingly. “Now,” he continued before anyone else could speak, “I need Erendel to help me get some meat from the harim-hul, and I want Cedriel and Aeriena to take inventory, finish organizing, and repack.”

About an hour and a half later-still two hours before noon-everyone was finished with their assigned chores and ready to set off again. Dryn had had Aeriena and Cedriel leave behind much of the group’s unnecessary items, both making room for the surprisingly large amount of harim-hul meat and lightening the load for the long journey yet to come.

After the luxuries like extra clothing and culinary utensils had been removed, the final list of items included Erendel’s dagger, Dryn’s staff, Cedriel’s sword and bow and arrows, Aeriena’s small chest, a cloak for each, the clothes on their backs, four half-full water skins, six loaves of bread, six or seven pounds of meat, eight dried fruits, four bedrolls, a satchel of flint and tinder, some of the special powders Ne’anithel had provided, and Aeriena’s two rocks. Dryn made sure that she brought the latter, despite Cedriel’s bantering protestations.

It was hot and sticky when they finally set out. The sun was in their eyes, and the heat had them sweating before they had even traveled a mile. Cedriel tried to get Dryn to summon a cool breeze, but the old man shook his head and held up his ringed hand. The red ruby on his ring finger was glowing, but it was much fainter than before. And so the travelers had to do without.

As usual, Erendel took the lead, relying on the mental images Adaria had engrained in his mind to guide him. Even now, as he walked confidently, albeit slowly, in front of the group, Erendel was amazed by his certainty. In truth, he could not consciously bring to the fore of his mind the directions to the Skraeling caverns. Even so, he found that he was able to ‘remember’ certain landmarks without being able to compare them to the exact images in his mind’s eye. And as always, the forbidding black smudge of the single mountain on the horizon helped confirm the direction they were traveling.

By noon, they had traveled slightly less than seven miles. About an hour into the trip, Erendel had begun to notice a subtle transformation in the composition of the ground. Whereas it had been solidly packed dirt before, it was now loose. Not only that, but the coloration was also beginning to change. Instead of a deep brown, the granules were getting lighter. There was no doubt that soon they would be in the Icefire Desert.

In fact, after their brief midday meal, it was only three more miles before the hillocks became full-fledged dunes, and the dirt became sand. And, unfortunately, the heat grew in intensity, as it was wont to do in the deserts of Cellestiem. Before long everyone had removed their cloaks and stuffed them in their packs.

“Are we there yet?” Cedriel whined after several more hours of slow travel.

“How old are you now?” Dryn asked dryly.

Cedriel shot him an unappreciative look.

Erendel let a now rare smirk cross his lips, and he hefted his pack, looking back at his companions. “According to Adaria’s directions,” Erendel faltered, Adaria’s name sending a sudden stream of horrible memories across his mind. He pushed them aside and struggled to continue. “According to her directions, we still have about three days before we reach the entrance to the Skraeling caves.”

Cedriel gave an exaggerated groan, to which Aeriena barked, “Grow up, Cedriel.”

Dryn suddenly burst out laughing, cutting off Cedriel’s scathing reply. It was the first time Dryn had let loose a full, sincere laugh, and it was contagious. Soon, the old man had everyone laughing-even Cedriel-and struggling to find their breath.

As soon as the sun’s lower hemisphere dipped behind the horizon in the east, Dryn called a halt and allowed everyone to set up camp. Erendel wasn’t particularly pleased with the thought of unrolling his mat in a valley between two large sand dunes in the middle of an open desert with no protection from either the elements or ferocious animals, but he trusted Dryn. At least, he mostly trusted Dryn. The elfling still wasn’t quite sure that the old man hadn’t lost his marbles with the hunt of the harim-hul.

Dryn used a little energy from his ring to start a magical fire with some of the small rocks that plagued the landscape, and set Erendel to work preparing the harim-hul meat. Aeriena and Cedriel staunchly rejected Dryn’s invitations to share some of the venison, choosing instead to nibble at a dried pear and a little bit of bread. Dryn shrugged, obviously not to disappointed. More for him anyway, he chuckled to Erendel.

Once the meat was cooked, Dryn and Erendel shared the fare while the other two elves did some needless scouting. Erendel decided it was the best meal he’d had in quite some time. The meat was tender and juicy, and it tasted more satisfying than any meat Erendel had hitherto eaten. He said as much to Dryn who nodded as if he had expected just such a response. “Some of the best meat you’ll find,” Dryn said. “It’s a pity that the harim-hul only live in the Darkloom Lands. It’s probably Malstaag’s way of taunting us.”

Aeriena and Cedriel returned to the camp soon after Dryn and Erendel had finished their meal. It was dark now, and very cool, a stark contrast to the afternoon’s heat. The cloaks came out of the packs again, and everyone huddled around the fire.

It was Dryn’s idea to start singing. From out of nowhere, the old man began a lay in the human tongue. It was a simple, lilting melody, but Erendel found that it was beautiful for just that reason. And had Dryn’s voice sounded better, it may have even sent goose bumps up Erendel’s arms.

After Dryn finished, Aeriena took her turn. Her voice was like a cool breeze after a warm day. It eased Erendel’s mind into relaxation as the song, Il Jasahn Rehanna, carried the elfling on its soft wings. There was an audible sigh from everyone when the last words floated from Aeriena’s mouth and were lost in the cold night air.

Dryn and Aeriena then pressed Erendel to sing something, but he held up his hands defensively and objected that he didn’t remember any off the top of his head.

Cedriel saved the elfling by offering to sing one of his old favorites. It was a ballad to the two elves Mirial and Lianiia, who became the elven wood’s namesake. Erendel was surprised by the equally moving voice that Cedriel possessed. His was much more masculine than Aeriena, but it bore with it that same haunting beauty and mellifluent cadences. It was a long song, and the fire had nearly died completely before Cedriel had finished, but no one wanted to stop him. Erendel was almost afraid to interject, as if Cedriel’s song was a thin glass vase that one touch could shatter.

There was a long silence after the last notes died away. Then, without a word, Cedriel, Dryn, and Aeriena lied down on their mats. Erendel remained seated near the fire, as he had offered to take first night’s watch earlier.

He remained motionless for much of his shift. His eyes darted around as though looking for an enemy, but his mind was elsewhere. He was thinking back through the long trip that had brought him and his new friends in the Darkloom. He was thinking of all those who had sacrificed their lives for this chance to be free of the demonic threat.

Almost without realizing it, Erendel’s eyes fell upon Aeriena’s pack. Sticking out of the top flap was a corner of the small gold chest, the chest that Adaria had given Aeriena with the warning not to open it until in dire need. Erendel’s eyes narrowed as he considered it. What was inside it? Did it have anything to do with Daiymel’s proclamation that Aeriena could wield a weapon unknown to elvendom?  Erendel reached out his hand, leaning over to grasp the corner of the box. It was cold to the touch. Carefully, gingerly, he lifted from the pack and held it up before his eyes. He considered opening it, taking a peek inside. His hand caressed the finely crafted lid. Then his fingers traced the latch on the front. It would be so easy just to undo the latch and lift the lid. Erendel’ curiosity was burning now.

Then, in a moment of clarity, he dropped the box back in the pack and turned away. He wouldn’t do it. He wasn’t that sort of person.

Door in the Sand

It didn’t take long for Erendel to learn why the Icefire desert was named such. After his turn at the watch was over, he tried to sleep, but found himself shivering uncontrollably. He was too tense and cold to find any rest, so he spent most of the night dozing, then waking and shivering, then dozing off again. At least, Erendel thought gratefully, Dryn had been wise enough to set up camp in a valley rather than on a dune’s crest. One could hear the chill wind whistling over the rocks and sand, but only a small fraction of it penetrated the valley. But even so, it was enough to make the elfling curse the cold.

The others seemed to share Erendel’s thoughts as well, for the following morning saw them bleary eyed and yawning. Dryn especially had not spent the night well, as his ruffled hair and almost dead appearance attested.

The sky was a muddy gray, hiding the sun, but the heat still came. Dryn lethargically hustled the troupe into motion, tossing them a little food to get them started. Only with his prodding were they able to set off before midmorning. By noon-the hottest part of the day-they had walked nearly fifteen miles over the rough terrain. After a brief swig of water and a rest, they continued on. By evening, the four had covered a third of the remaining ground by Erendel’s calculations.

The next two days followed much the same schedule: freeze during the night, wake up tired, travel fifteen miles, take a break, travel some more, then repeat. Hunger, fatigue, and dehydration were their constant companions. Furthermore, the lack of water kept them from being able to bathe or wash their clothes, as they had been able to do in Lianiia’s Woods. The perpetual stench of sweat and filth plagued them. Erendel wondered whether there would be relief even if they made it to the caves. And what about the return journey? The elfling’s head spun at the thought.

Just before twilight on the third day, Erendel’s mental images disappeared. The elfling stopped, confused. He recognized where they were, recognized the high dunes to the north, the large rocks scattered over the sand, and the shallow dip in the sea of sand where they were standing, but he did not know where to go next.

“Is anything wrong?” Aeriena asked when the elfling hadn’t moved for several moments.

Erendel was startled out of his thoughts, for he had been trying to draw out an image of some other landmark. “Aye. I can’t seem to figure out where we need to go next.”

“You mean we are lost?” Cedriel moaned despairingly?

“Shut up, Cedriel,” Dryn muttered, leaning heavily on his staff in his exhaustion. “We’re not lost.”

“I could easily find our way back,” Erendel confirmed. “I just don’t know where we need to go now.”

“Well, then, I suppose now’s as good a time as any to take a rest,” Dryn suggested, plopping down on the ground with a grunt.

Erendel took a few steps further into the valley and looked around him carefully. It was almost like a miniature ravine. The valley was between two high sand dunes, and it was walled on either side by unusually large boulders. The bleached rocks looked almost as if someone had stacked them gingerly to make two stone walls. The sandy path between the two masses was shaded and dark.

“Do you think that maybe we’ve reached our destination?” Cedriel proposed from atop one of the walls. He had circled the little gorge and climbed the rocks to have a better look around.

“Perhaps,” Erendel shrugged, moving himself under the shade of the rock walls. “The thought never occurred to me.”

“It wouldn’t,” the elfling thought he heard Cedriel say, but the wind had picked up slightly, and he couldn’t be sure.

“At any rate,” Erendel continued, “we can rest here tonight. It looks safe enough.”

“Yeah, famous last words,” Dryn said with a wan chuckle. At least his sense of humor hadn’t gone with his energy. “Always beware of ‘safe’ places in the Darkloom. That’s where most people find their deaths waiting for them.”

“What are we going to do, then?” Aeriena asked. “Wait until Erendel has a revelation? Turn around and retrace our steps?”

“Nay,” Dryn shook his head. “I think Cedriel’s right. This is where we need to be.”

Erendel warily stepped inside the gorge and eyed the walls. “But there’s nothing here,” he said. “No doors, no skraelings, no demons….”

“I have wondered about that,” Cedriel put in, leaping nimbly down from the rock barricade and landing next to Erendel. “Here we are, at the very gates of the…erm…gate, and we haven’t seen a single demon.”

“Search me,” Erendel shrugged.

“Good question,” Dryn remarked. “I’d guess that the battle at Nellscalon significantly reduced their forces and they haven’t yet gained more help from the gate. Perhaps all the demons that were at the battle were all the demons that had come from the gate.”

“They wouldn’t be that stupid,” Cedriel pointed out as he walked outside the ravine and sat next to Dryn and Aeriena.

“Aye, you’re right. More than likely, there’re multiple entrances to the skraeling caverns, and we just happen to be near the unused one.”

“That makes sense.”

“But wouldn’t the demons have sensed us or seen us coming? Why haven’t they tried to stop us? After all, they know we are coming,” Erendel mused. He continued to search the gorge with his eyes.

“Do they?” Dryn wondered. “As far as we know, Kroakh and his goons are the only ones.”

Erendel had not thought of that. It did make sense. He couldn’t recall a time when the demons that confronted him directly had not come in Kroakh’s name. Except for the possessed goat, everyone had mentioned Kroakh as having sent them. And the goat had been possessed by a skrite, one of the lower level demons.

These thoughts were an odd encouragement to Erendel. So all the demons weren’t after him after all!

Erendel again surveyed the gorge. Nothing. He felt the walls and drove his feet into the sand, digging little holes with his travel-worn boots. But it was all in vain, for no answer presented itself.

The elfling stepped outside of the shade and into the waning light. “What now?” He asked to no one in particular. “If we are here because we must be, then where is the way into the caverns?”

“Let us wait till the morrow to search, Erendel,” Aeriena yawned. “Searching in the dark won’t do us any good. Besides, we all need our sleep.”

As if to affirm Aeriena’s advice, a snore rumbled from Dryn’s chest, and the man fell forward onto the sand in his sleep. Cedriel smirked wanly, but he was too tired to make a remark.

Erendel humphed reluctantly and spread out his blanket, loathe to sleep when he knew that there had to be something he was missing, some clue that he’d overlooked. Hardly had the elfling’s head hit the head of his mat, however, before he was fast asleep.

Erendel woke in the early hours just before dawn and realized that no one had stood guard for the night. He quickly checked for any missing supplies and made certain that his friends weren’t dead or missing. Thankfully, they were not.

The elfling’s eyes then flitted to the mounds of rock. In the night, it was hard to see them clearly, but their austere forms were thick shadows against the violet-black sky and gray-black sand. Erendel stood slowly and approached them. He walked cautiously, almost gingerly; the rock walls seemed much more forbidding now than they had during the day. Nevertheless, he pushed aside his trepidation and entered into the pitch black corridor-like passage between the walls. Against his better judgment, he felt the rocks on either side, sticking fingers and arm into the gaps between the boulders.

For hours, Erendel felt, searched, and thought hard, trying his best to find any clues in his mind that might help him. But there was nothing-nothing, that is, until dawn came.

The gray light of morning had waxed slowly, but all of a sudden, as the sun peaked over the eastern horizon, the desert was flooded with light. And because of the construction of the stone walls, the sun’s rays also found its way into the corridor where it wouldn’t have at noon or sunset. Thus the whole of the inner corridor was struck with light. Every rock could be seen clearly now. Every grain of sand, every fissure and crack was lit with the harsh sunlight. It was only then that Erendel saw what he had missed the evening before.

A hand.

It was a grotesque hand, with long, clawlike fingernails, hair all over it, and pads on the palm like those one might find on a cat. In fact, Erendel thought that the hand looked quite like a cat’s. There were only two fingers and a thumb, and no sign that it ever had more than that. What surprised Erendel most was where the hand was. Near the far end of the passage, protruding only barely from a small crevice beneath a particularly large boulder and several feet from the ground, jutted the hand. Its pronged fingers were curled and stiff, as though grasping at something. The elfling gently tugged the hand. It was jammed hard into the stone. Or, more accurately, it was still connected to something that had been crushed beneath the boulder. Erendel guessed that the rest of whatever body this hand belonged to was flattened under the stone. Dried blood stains on the boulder underneath confirmed this.

Erendel yanked harder at the hand, but it still did not budge. Looking up at the rock then, Erendel saw something else on the face of the boulder. There was a symbol carved-or rather, scratched-into the front of the boulder. It was very small and shallow, but still clearly unnatural. It looked rather like a small X or backwards Y in human script. Erendel fingered it gently, glancing back at the hand. It didn’t take him long to put the two clues together, and when he did, a rush of excitement coursed through him.

Reaching out his hands, he gripped the boulder on both sides as best he could and tugged. Since the boulder was only three feet or so in diameter, Erendel had little trouble dislodging it. However, he found the heavy stone to be difficult to pull out. Straining himself, he grunted and tugged. Slowly, ever so slowly, and hindered by the friction created from the flattened corpse beneath it, the stone made its grinding way out of the wall. At last, the stone came loose and thudded to the ground as Erendel leapt aside. Where the stone had been was now utter darkness: a cave mouth just large enough for a man to crawl through.

There was a sound like metal falling, hitting stone in its descent, and Erendel guessed that whatever the hand had been attached to had fallen down some stairs when its crushed arm was freed.

Eagerly, the elfling jumped onto the rock he had just freed and crawled into the narrow space. It was musty inside, and reeked of death and blood. And it was pitch dark. Erendel could see nothing, could only feel the cold hard rock around him. He found that his guess about the stairs had been correct, for the crawlspace soon expanded downward and widened until the elfling found that he could stand. He still could see nothing, but based on his groping, he concluded that he was on a staircase that led downward into the skraeling caverns deep beneath the desert.

In his excitement, Erendel forgot that his friends needed to know about this. Without thinking, he took several striding steps downward. Then suddenly, there were no more stairs, only empty air.

Gold, Blue, and Red Fire 

A shock of vertigo hit the elfling as he fell. He twisted in the air and scrambled against the rock wall, but found no handhold. It was all unwontedly smooth and precipitous. Air rushed past him, and he was still falling. Then, with a thud, he bounced onto stone as the walls curved to an angle. Now he was sliding against the cold stone as it tunneled deep into the earth, twisting and tilted. The illusion of wind took Erendel’s breath from him. He sped down the subterranean slide at a frightening pace made all the more frightening by the sudden, unforeseen twists and drops.

And then it was over.

The tunnel bent till it was horizontal, and Erendel shot out of its mouth into open air again. He hardly had the ability to cry out as he tumbled into something that gave way to his weight and was prickly on his back. Then, sliding down to the ground, he landed on something metal that clanged dully when he hit it.

In the ensuing silence, Erendel found himself breathing heavily and his hearting racing. He waited until he had calmed a bit before attempting to take stock of his surroundings. He couldn’t, of course, for the whole cavern was pitch dark. Staring hard, but seeing nothing, Erendel felt a familiar chill of fear like the one that had percolated him upon being trapped by Kroakh so long ago.

When he finally stopped shaking, and his heart rate had reduced itself to a manageable level, Erendel stood. He cursed himself acting so impetuously. He should have wakened the others after he’d found the door, or at least brought a torch. Any other elf but him would have thought twice before entering a dark, probably demon-infested cave with no supplies and no light.

Still fuming at himself, Erendel took a single step forward and promptly tripped. As he landed face down on the hard rock floor, his boots felt the object that he had stumbled upon. It was fleshy, and rather furry from what he could feel.

A shock of panic coursed through Erendel and he scrambled away as fast as he could. Then he brought himself to his feet and sprinted a few steps further, only to find himself on his back after colliding with a something hard and slightly damp. Erendel guessed-hoped-that it was a stalagmite. He felt the newly formed bruise on his forehead and again cursed himself.

He needed to be calm. He needed to think through this situation. His friends would probably wake up soon, realize he was missing, find the tunnel, and make their way down. And of course, they would be wise enough to bring their packs and plenty of light.

So with that thought, Erendel closed his eyes, as if that made a difference, and settled back against the stalagmite to wait. After a while, though, the stalagmite grew uncomfortable, and he decided to scout out the area as best he could. So, on hands and knees, Erendel felt out the area around where he had entered from the slide. After about an hour, he decided that the room was much larger than he had anticipated. The only solid stone wall was the one from which the tunnel slide exited; the rest of the area was lousy with stalagmites. Directly across from slide’s mouth was what Erendel decided was a mound of old straw.

Even after this exploratory endeavor, Erendel was still unable to full find his way around. He was also loathe to move too far away from the slide, in hopes that his friends would find their way down.

Erendel was just about to feel his way back to the slide’s mouth when he froze. At first he thought it was his mind playing tricks on him, but when he listened, he heard it again. A soft scrabbling sound was coming from behind him, on the far side of the straw pile.  Without thinking, the elfling reached for his dagger and yanked it out of his belt before dropping to the ground. He lay there in the pitch dark, lying motionless and listening to the soft scrabbling noise.

The noise sounded like claws clacking against stone. And in addition to that, there was a quiet sniffling. From the noise, Erendel divined that whatever was down here was not too large, but he was too afraid to find out. He prayed that his friends would find the tunnel before this creature found him. He started shaking again, and his blade vibrated against the stone floor. The scrabbling stopped.

Erendel sucked in his breath and raised his arm slightly to keep his dagger from making more noise. A sniffing sound wafted through the darkness. The elfling didn’t dare breath. He shut his eyes tightly and tried his best to remain still.

      After a long moment, the soft clacking started up again. But, to Erendel’s horror, it grew louder, rather than fading off into the distance of some cavernous tunnel. The clacking became more pronounced, echoing off the walls. The sniffling sound grew clearer, becoming something half-way between a snore and a gasp. Erendel couldn’t move now. He wished he had a torch on him. There was nothing more terrifying than being unable to see your foe.

      All of a sudden, another sound joined the invisible creature’s. It was faint at first, but rapidly grew in volume. Erendel heard it from in front of him, echoing out from the tunnel. It thudded and clattered like a wooden object descended rapidly.

      The creature obviously heard it as well, for it stopped moving again. Erendel opened his eyes and looked to where he believed the slide’s mouth to be. To his surprise and joy, the tunnel was slowing lighting with a gentle orange glow. And the glow was get brighter, flickering.

      Then, without warning, a small wooden object, alive with flame, flew from the tunnel’s mouth and shot into the cavern. It landed against the straw pile, sparks flying. Within seconds, the pile was alive with flame, igniting the cavern in an incredibly bright light.

      Erendel leapt to his feet, squinting when the new light source met his eyes and blinded him. He heard a growl of surprise and pain from the creature, but still couldn’t see it. His eyes acclimated to the light quickly enough, though, and he caught a glimpse of a retreating form. It was humanoid, but it was covered in fur, had a stubbed tail, and long, feline feet.

      The creature turned to glance back at Erendel just before disappearing in a cluster of stalagmites, and the elfling saw red eyes. He was struck with horror, his own eyes locked on those of the possessed creature for that brief moment, and he forgot to look at the rest of its face.

      Demons! was the only panic-stricken thought that he could form clearly amongst the myriad of other wild thoughts.

      No sooner had the creature vanished than a new noise echoed through the now brightly lit cavern. Erendel leapt to his feet and whirled to face the tunnel mouth just as a form tumbled out and crashed headlong into his chest. The two forms were sent sprawling, but letting out surprised cries.

      Erendel hurriedly extricated himself from the tangle and jumped away, dagger outstretched and tense. He relaxed, however, when he saw Cedriel slowly and arduously getting to his feet.

      The elf massaged his head and looked around. “You know,” he grumbled, “there are infinitely many other places you could have stood that wouldn’t have been in my way.”

      “You’re welcome, and it’s nice to see you too,” Erendel responded dryly. He felt rather pleased with himself for saying something sarcastic-something Dryn might say.

      “You’re welcome? For what?”

      “Well, you could have landed in that bonfire you started,” Erendel thrust an arm toward the flames to which he was referring, “or you could have fallen hard on the ground.”

      Cedriel grunted and crossed his arms.

      Just then, another sound emerged from the tunnel, and Erendel and Cedriel moved quickly into the path of the sound. They were just in time to catch-or rather, forcibly thwart the velocity of-Aeriena, Dryn, and everyone’s packs as they tumbled into the cavern. No one was left standing after the collision, and it took longer this time for the newly reunited group to find their limbs and free themselves.

      At last, everyone was standing facing each other and laughing. Dryn, however, was rubbing his back slowly and painfully, glaring all the while. Then, seemingly for no reason, the old man approached Erendel and lifted a hand. Even Erendel’s elvish reflexes were not prepared for the ensuing slap that stung his cheek. Shocked, Erendel could only stare at the old man.

      “You idiot!” Dryn growled. “Of all the stupid, myopic, impetuous…” The old man’s voice trailed off into less seemly expletives. Finally he said, “You could have killed yourself!”

      “I’m sorry, Dryn,” Erendel said, though his surprise and anger at being slapped suddenly colored his tone.

      “You’d better be!” Dryn shot back. “And if I ever catch you jumping into dark holes again, I’ll…I’ll…I’ll just have to jump in after you and give you another slap!”

      That was too much; even Erendel couldn’t contain his laughter and the four once again fell into fits of uncontrolled mirth.

      “So now what?”Aeriena asked when everyone had settled.

      Erendel looked around the cavern to try and get his bearings as she said this. With the new light of the flaming pile of straw, the massive cavern was displayed for them in flickering, golden grayness. The chamber was literally filled with stalagmites and stalactites, which effectively obstructed a good view of the whole chamber. Where the four stood was the only flat area: everywhere else, the ground rose and fell and rocky paths wound their ways between the stalagmites. Other tunnels branched from walls of cavern, fading into darkness. Erendel could only wonder what Skraeling city lay at the end of each tunnel. And unfortunately, he had not the advantage of Adaria’s mental map to guide him.

      “First thing, we must secure another source of light,” Dryn said, his voice yanking Erendel from his thoughts.

      The old man hefted his staff and approached the fire, which was now waning. Dryn then stretched out his staff into the fire and let the carved end of it catch a spark. There was a blast of brilliant white, then the end of the staff burst into blue flame.

      “So that’s how they do it!” Erendel breathed, remembering the burning brazier back in Lianiia’s Wood. Then another thought struck him. Dryn’s staff housed a small gate to Sepheirias, and this burned with blue flame when set alight. What if that fire in Lianiia’s Wood had also been….

      Erendel nearly leapt to Dryn’s side. He then reached out his hand and thrust it into the blue fire, amidst cries from Aeriena. But Erendel only smile grimly when he discovered that the flame was cold.

      As cold as the flame from the brazier.

      So, Erendel thought with a pang of fearful realization, they were opening a gate in the woods!

      Suddenly it all made sense. Kroakh had been sent into Lianiia’s Wood to open up gates that would bring the forces from Sepheirias closer to their enemy! That also explained why Kroakh grew angry when Erendel picked up the brazier.

      Another thought occurred to the elfling that sent shivers through him. Was that the only gate in Lianiia’s Wood? Had other demons of Kroakh’s status also set gates in other areas of the Wood? Perhaps near the elven capital, Sheeliana? The horrible implications of this ran through Erendel like a torrent of freezing water. If that were the case, then closing this gate would be less than futile!

      “Shh! Did you hear that?” Cedriel’s voice came as a whisper.

      There was silence in the cavern as everyone listened. Erendel heard nothing, and could see little, for the light from the straw fire had died, and Dryn’s blue light was much fainter. His eyes roved the cavern carefully, looking for the source of whatever sound Cedriel had heard.

      Then suddenly, he saw it. The red eyes were peering at him from behind a stalagmite, and he could just make out the glimmer of sharp fangs glistening with saliva.

      Ever so slowly, Erendel move toward Cedriel and pointed in the direction of the eyes. Cedriel nodded in acknowledgement.

      “It’s a skraeling,” Dryn whispered from behind them. “It’s a possessed skraeling. Don’t move. Maybe we can kill it before it can alert any others of our presence.”

      As if Dryn’s words had been the cue, another pair of glowing red eyes appeared from nearby. Then another and another. Suddenly, the whole cavern seemed to be transformed into a conservatory of red dots of light.

      Erendel could count the eyes he saw, and he felt his hand quivering at his side. His mind flashed to the fleeing form he had seen just before Cedriel had crashed into him.

      “Then again, it may be too late,” Dryn muttered, bringing his staff to the ready.

Onslaught

“What are these creatures?” Aeriena asked softly. She had Cedriel’s bow in her hand, an arrow already nocked and quivering along with her hands. Cedriel held his sword, and Erendel, his dagger.

      “Skraelings,” Dryn whispered back. “Probably skrite possessed.”

      Erendel’s eyes flitted around the chamber in search of an escape route. They couldn’t very well go back up the tunnel down which they had come. And of the many passages were blocked by the presence of the skraelings. Only one route, the one down which the first skraeling had fled, remained passable. And even getting to that would be difficult, for there was little maneuvering room between the stalagmites.

      “What if we escape down that passage?” Erendel nodded his head in the direction and kept his voice low.

      “Deeper into the caverns?” Cedriel asked, a tinge of disbelief on his voice.

      “That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?”

      “Aye,” Dryn nodded. “We’ll take that tunnel, if we can get to it.”

      The old man backed up one step then began inching to his left, toward the open tunnel. The others followed suite, their eyes never leaving the glowing red ones that stared out at them.

      “Why aren’t they attacking?” Cedriel wondered.

      “They’re skrites,” Dryn said, as if that explained everything. When blank looks met him, he added, “They want to be sure they have the upper hand before they attack.”

      The four were almost at the first of the stalagmites that blocked their path when suddenly, a screech half-way between a lion’s roar and a woman’s scream pierced the cavern, echoing and re-echoing off the walls. The ground vibrated, and the red eyes burst into motion. It was as if a torrent of blood-red lights came rushing down on the small band.

      It wasn’t long before the creatures were inside the area of Dryn’s staff’s light. Their red eyes glimmered like jewels, but with dark evil. Their faces were finally clear for all to see, and what they saw was a horrible mix of cat, rodent, and human. The fangs protruding from the skraeling’s snouts were dripping with saliva. Scraggly hair fell haphazardly from the rest of their head, around their cat-like ears.

      And they moved quickly. They moved as though they were flying, launching themselves easily over the stalagmites, dodging obstacles with easy, and ever rushing onward toward the four trespassers. The moved on their hands and feet, one hairy arm extended to clutch a wicked looking rapier.

      Dryn took one look at onslaught and yelled, “Run! We can’t fight them here!”

      Erendel knew that it was impossible to obey Dryn’s command, seeing as they would have to weave their way through the stalagmites, and the skraelings were nearly upon them. Panic surged through the little elfling. Everything seemed to slow down, time seemed to pull back. He whirled his head around, first looking at the tunnel entrance, then at the incoming skraelings. He felt removed now, as though what he was seeing couldn’t be really happening. And he knew then that what he was feeling was hopeless resignation.

      He knew they were going to die here. And if not here, then further in the caves.

      That didn’t stop him, though, from slashing the neck of the first attack as it bounded to him and leapt at his face. From beside him, he absently saw Cedriel beset in the same manner, though the taller elf more easily dispatched of the creature. The skrite demon escaped from the dead body at Cedriel’s feet only to be disintegrated by one of Dryn’s magical bolts.

      After that, everything was a blur. Erendel was in a flurry of twirls and leaps, dodging around stalagmites, using them for cover against the thrusts and slashes of the rapiers of the demons, then leaping around and forward to stab them or cut their throats neatly. His dagger was in constant flame now. The green light reflected off the fangs of his attacks in a green-red glow.

      Only occasionally could Erendel glance at the others. They were brief, but enough to see that there was little hope. At least, the elfling thought, they were now in a position to be pressed into the open cavern. That would funnel the skraelings into a more manageable line.

      All of a sudden, pain lanced through the elfling’s leg, and he looked down to find a skraeling jaw clamped around his left calf. The elfling released an agonized cry and stabbed downward, piercing the skraeling’s skull and brain. But even in death, even as the blood and juices sprayed out, the jaw still remained clamped. The pain was horrible, and Erendel felt his gaze dimming. He barely parried a sword thrust, then threw a punch from the left to knock the next attacker off balance. Using the momentary relief as the skraeling staggered back, Erendel thrust forward as best he could with the dead weight on his leg and killed the skraeling with a hard slash.

      But the next thing he knew, the elfling was kneeling. He fought off several more skraelings, sustained a few minor cuts, and felt the pain in his leg increasing. His sight blurred for a moment, and he almost didn’t see a skraeling leaping at him from the right from atop a stalagmite. Erendel grunted and threw up his dagger at the last second, hoping to catch the rapier before it sliced him.

      He never got that chance, though. Even as the skraeling was coming down on the elfling, an arrow appeared in its chest and its force threw the descending skraeling back into a straight drop. It fell only a few inches from Erendel, and the demon leapt out of the body. That was when Erendel slashed, and caught the skrite in its beak. The creature screeched any collapsed to the ground in a swathe of flame.

      Delicate hands grasped Erendel’s arms and pulled him backwards, dragging both him and the skraeling along.

      “Don’t stop fighting,” Aeriena cried in his ear. “We’re almost to the tunnel!”

      Even though the pain was staggering him, Erendel obeyed. As he was being dragged between the stalagmites and backwards toward the cavern, he thrust and slashed and cut away his attackers. Every so often, Aeriena would let go of him long enough to launch another arrow, then resumed pulling the incapacitated elfling.

      At long last, the stalagmites cleared away and the lower ceiling of the tunnel closed in over the elfling. He saw Dryn to his left and Cedriel to his right. Both were still hacking and firing bolts of fire and lightning as fast as they could.

      But it wasn’t enough. The flood of skraelings, now crammed within the passageway, still came, scrambling over one another to get to their prey. There were probably hundreds of them there, Erendel thought.

      He saw one skraeling break away from the rest and leap for Dryn, who was now grappling with yet another skraeling.

      “Dryn!” Erendel cried. But the old man could not hear him. Not knowing what else to do, Erendel hefted his dagger and flung it at the approaching skraeling. The blade buried itself right between the skraeling’s eyes. There was a cry of death, and the skraeling slumped over. The momentary excitement Erendel felt at having killed the skraeling was lost when he realized that he no longer had a weapon. And with that sinking feeling, the pain in his leg redoubled.

      “Leave me here!” Erendel yelled up at Aeriena.

      “But-”

      “Dryn and Cedriel need you!” he interrupted.

      “I can’t leave you, Erendel.”

      “You can’t save me by staying here! Go!”

      Tears stung the elfling’s eyes, and he felt his mind go numb with pain. Even through his blurred vision, he saw Aeriena nod, wipe away a tear, and turn to join Dryn and Cedriel, bow in hand.

      Erendel saw his three friends standing before him, defending him once again. He saw them cut down the ever coming enemy, saw their regal figures standing between him and a hopeless cause, and he felt tears of shame rush down his cheek. Here they were, saving him yet again, and he could do nothing but watch.

      No, he thought, I will not be the helpless one again!

      Frantically, he grabbed at the dead skraeling jaw around his mouth and started to pull it away. He grunted and strained, for the jaw refused to let go. At last, though, he felt the fangs sliding out of the puncture wounds in his leg. The pain was horrific, and he ground his teeth in order to keep from screaming. Finally, the teeth were out and the elfling thrust the body aside, falling back dizzily. But he refused to stay prostrate. He rose slowly to his feet, heedless of the fact that he had no weapon, and stumbled to his friends.

      The three were now in all out melee combat. Dryn could no longer use projectiles on the attackers, and was forced to use his staff as a club. Aeriena had fallen back slightly to keep firing her arrows, but she was fast running low, and the skraelings were pressing closer.

      Erendel, his eyes glazed, looked for his dagger, and found a burning green body lying near Dryn. He rushed to it, grunting at every step, and yanked the dagger out just in time to block a downward swipe from one of the skraelings. He counterattacked, was blocked, then thrust aside another stab. Quickly finding an opening, the elfling kicked the skraeling’s chest and leapt forward to bring the death stab. Having done that, he rolled back and quickly dispatched another skraeling.

      Only after he killed five more skraelings did he realize that they would not stop coming. He looked to his friends and found them stumbling back, retreating from the mass of skraelings. Erendel followed them as best he could, fighting off the skraelings and his pain simultaneously.

      He broke into a plodding run and reached his friends just in time to see Aeriena stumble and fall to the ground. Then Cedriel was knocked over by a leaping skraeling, and Dryn was fell to the ground in fatigue.

      “No!” Erendel screamed, his voice hoarse. He reached Dryn’s side and rolled the old man onto his back. Dryn was alive, but unconscious.

      The elfling looked at Aeriena, who was struggling to regain her feet. The two suddenly locked gazes, and they each saw the despair in the other’s eyes.

      The skraelings had finally overcome them. The surge of cat-like bodies fell upon them. One leapt for Aeriena. The elf, in her panic, cried out a strange word and thrust out her hands as if to stop the body.

      Suddenly, a sound like rushing wind burst forth and sent the skraeling flying back. It crashed into its fellows and fell dead to the ground. At the same time, the wind whistled through the cavern and beat against the skraeling forces. The skraelings tried to fight it, but the pounding wind was too strong for them, and they too, found themselves hurled back. It was almost as if the wind had built a wall in front of the four companions, blocking off any attacks.

      Utter shock made Erendel freeze, eyes locked on the spectacular image. He heard the wind, and felt it rushing past him, yet was untouched by it. Confused, bewildered, and utterly dumbstruck, the elfling turned to look at Aeriena. She was lying on the ground, breathing heavily, her eyes closed.

      Erendel’s gaze fell on Cedriel, and he saw that the elf was just as awed as the elfling.

      What just happened? The elfling thought. What did Aeriena do?

      The wind kept up its pounding force until all the skraelings had either been blown against a wall, or had suffocated. Only then did the wind begin to die. And then, only then, did the silence come. And with it, the cold darkness.

      Somehow, Erendel knew that there would be no more battles today. Somehow, he knew that they had overcome the impossible. A thought entered his mind, and he smiled despite his pain.

      Perhaps there were gods after all.

Daughter

When the pain become less agonizing, Erendel yanked his pack from his back, pulled out some cloth that had been saved for emergencies such as this, and carefully wrapped his leg, wincing every time shot of pain lanced through him. That done, he slowly stood and limped over to Dryn. The old man was still unconscious, but breathing and largely unharmed, save for a few bruises and cuts. Erendel was impressed, to say the least, that the oldest of the travelers had sustained the least amount of injury.

      Cedriel, on the other side of the tunnel, had also bandaged his wounds, and had picked up Dryn’s staff, holding the light out to illuminate as much of the tunnel as possible. The blue light flickered off Aeriena’s prostrate form, casting shadows every which-way as she moved.

      Erendel was by her side in an instant, as was Cedriel. All thoughts of Dryn were forgotten.

      “What happened?” Erendel blurted before thinking. “What did you do?”

      Aeriena moaned and slowly got herself into a sitting position. She was rubbing the small of her back painfully.

      “What do you mean?”

      “What did you do?” Erendel repeated a little more firmly.

      Aeriena didn’t say anything for a long while.

      “Aeriena,” Cedriel said in a low voice, lower and softer than Erendel had ever heard him speak. “You need to tell him.”

      Those words caught Erendel completely off guard. A burst of shock rushed through him, and when that had subsided, a torrent of questions filled his mind. And amongst those thoughts, there was a small feeling of anger and betrayal, though Erendel couldn’t say why.

      Aeriena had unshed tears glistening in her eyes when she turned to Erendel. “I didn’t mean to do it!” She cried suddenly and burst into tears, covering her face with her hands.

      “Do what?” Erendel said more sharply than he had intended, and bit his tongue.

      “Call it,” Aeriena replied as though Erendel should already know what she was talking about.

      “You mean…,” the words die on Erendel’s lips when he suddenly realized what she was say. Everything suddenly made sense, and the thought sent the elfling reeling mentally.

      Aeriena nodded at Erendel’s words. “I…I called the winds.”

      “But…how? Why? I do not understand.”

      Before Aeriena could respond, a piercing scream rent the air. Everyone’s heads whirled around to where Dryn was lying. In an instant, Erendel was on his feet again despite his pain and rushed to where the old man lay, arms outstretched toward the tunnel ceiling and eyes wide with terror.

      “No!” The old man croaked. “No! Don’t take me!”

      Erendel’s heart pounded against him in panic and fear. He looked to the other, who had also made their way to Dryn, but they could offer no answers.

      “What’s happening?” Erendel asked into the air. “Dryn, what’s happening?”

      “No! No! Don’t…take…me…heeheeehee! Ha!” The old man’s eyes crinkled with mirth and he heaved with laughter.

      At first, Erendel was even more startled, but it didn’t take long for him to realize that Dryn had just played a cruel joke on them. The elfling was more angry than amused, though.

      “Ha-ha! That was priceless!” The old man chortled, getting up and snatching his staff from Cedriel, while the elf gaped. “I’ll never forget your faces as long as I live!”

      “Now had to be the worst possible time to do such a thing,” Aeriena sniffled, her face a mixture of frustration and weariness.

      “Then let’s forget I ever did anything and allow you to go on with your explanation,” Dryn said, unperturbed.

      “It’ll take some time,” Cedriel cut in. “We need to be out of here before any other enemies come. Maybe there is a safe place down the tunnel.”

      “Well, we sure as Maennol can’t go back,” Dryn grunted, looking at the mound of dead skraeling bodies with more than a little surprise. It was like a tangled wall of fur, blood, and bones that blocked off the passage. The stench was unbearable. “You could have done better work, Aeriena,” the old man added.

      “Wait a moment!” Erendel angrily snapped. “You knew about this too?”

      Dryn glanced at Erendel and winked, but said nothing. Instead, he pushed past the others and set off down the tunnel, his pack bouncing on his back as he walked.

      “We’re not going to find that gate by standing there!” He called back to his friends without turning around.

      “Would someone please explain to me what is going on?” Erendel asked in exasperation.

      “Later,” Cedriel said. “Right now, I think we should do as Dryn is doing.”

      Reluctantly, Erendel agreed. The three followed the rapidly disappearing old man down the winding tunnel. There was silence between the four save for the tramping of Dryn’s feet. The elves were much more nimble and did not make any noise at all.

      The walk seemed to last for eternity. The tunnel was featureless in every way, its smooth stone walls curving up into each other and forming a large semi-cylinder. There was nothing but gray on all sides, and not even a stalagmite or loose rock to give Erendel something to look at. There was only Dryn’s bobbing blue light and the others.

      The elfling hefted his pack and grimaced as pain was ignited in his leg. He had forgotten about it for the last few hours while he had been brooding. So much had happened so quickly; he hardly knew if he really knew Aeriena anymore. Or Cedriel and Dryn, for that matter. They all seemed to know something about the beautiful female elf that they weren’t telling. And, if the strange wind were any indication, Aeriena was much more powerful than she or anyone else had ever let on. This did not sit well with the elfling. Doubts fluttered his mind and betrayal kept him in a foul mood. Hadn’t he a right to know with whom he traveled?

      To take his mind off these rather depressing thoughts, Erendel looked around the tunnel and wondered at its unnatural smoothness. It obviously hadn’t been carved by the skraelings. Perhaps it had originally been carved by dwarves in the centuries before the skraelings appeared. Or perhaps there had been an underground river that had eroded the walls before it dried up. A sharp pain in his leg caused Erendel to grimace and reach a hand down to massage the wound.

      The blue light stopped bouncing along at the beginning of a sharp turn in the tunnel and waited for the other three to catch up.

      “Why are we stopping?” Erendel asked when he and the others were beside Dryn.

      “You wanted an explanation didn’t you?” Dryn said cryptically. When Erendel gave him an ungrateful look, the old man sighed and continued, “I think we’ll be safe enough here if we stop and rest, and you’ll have time to get your explanation.”

      “Why? What is different about this particular place.”

      Dryn said nothing, only pointed.

      Erendel followed his finger, looking around the bend, and saw at what the old man was pointing. Just around the curve sat a crude wooden gate spanning the width of the tunnel. On either side of the gate were two tower-like turrets of equal crudity that extended up to the ceiling and overlooked the tunnel. It almost looked as if the skraelings (who Erendel believed had built this structure) had haphazardly nailed planks to each other to make a misshapen gate.

      “How did they get the wood to build that?” Erendel wondered, pointing.

      “You forget, Erendel, that tunnels underground span as far as the land above,” Dryn explained. “The skraelings merely cart the wood from Scourgewood to the north through these tunnels. It’s not that difficult.”

      The four soon found themselves at the dilapidated gates, and Dryn lifted his light higher so everyone could see. Erendel now saw the dead bodies of skraelings half hanging over the sides of the turrets as if they’d fallen asleep on guard and had leaned forward too far.

      “We’re going to rest here?” Aeriena asked in disgust.

      “I don’t see why it should bother you,” Erendel muttered bitterly. “After all, you’re more powerful than any of us.”

      Cedriel shot the elfling a sharp look, as did Dryn, and Aeriena looked hurt.

      “What is wrong with you?” Cedriel barked as he unslung his pack and sat down against the gate doors.

      “What’s wrong with me? You don’t think there is something wrong with embarking on an impossible quest with who you thought were friends, only to discover that they’d lied to you the whole way? You wonder what’s wrong with me? Ha!” Erendel crossed his arms and glared at the taller elf.

      “And who are you to decide what we should and should not tell you?”

      “I deserve at least some truth from the people I trusted! Not betrayal!”

      “Betrayal?” Cedriel growled out the word. “Ha! We didn’t betray you. You betrayed us! If I recall, it was you who led the demons right to our doorstep. Our Daermia Soliio would still exist if you hadn’t betrayed us!”

      The memory of what he had done pierced Erendel like an icy dagger. And the last thing he wanted to think of now was the failures of his past.

      Pure hatred rushed into his eyes and he lunged for Cedriel, fists held high. The elfling was too short to reach the other elf’s face, so his fists found Cedriel’s chest instead. It was surprise enough, though, for Cedriel, and the two fell to the ground in a struggling heap. They rolled on the hard ground throwing punches at any open area they could find. Several times, Erendel’s fists found Cedriel’s face. Blood soon began flowing.

      Then all of a sudden, they couldn’t move. It was as if an invisible object formed to their exact shape had encased them, paralyzed them. Erendel tried to cry out, but found that his vocal chords wouldn’t work for him either. He was able to move his eyes, though, and he saw Dryn approaching, leaning heavily on his staff. There was no twinkle of humor in the old man’s blue eyes now.

      “Listen to you,” He growled, his voice low and oddly frightening. “Listen to yourselves. Listen to your stupidity! This is neither the time nor the place to fight over what is past. Both of you should know that, fools!” Dryn paused, out of breath, and coughed.

      Erendel immediately felt shame. He had not only hurt Cedriel, but Dryn as well by his mindless fighting. The fight had also done nothing to help his wounded leg, which had begun burning with renewed pain.

      “Now,” Dryn continued when he had recovered his breath. “You must put aside all this foolish enmity between you. We are on the doorstep of the gate, and if we can’t even control ourselves, what effect will we have on the demons? Apologize!”

      Erendel and Cedriel looked at one another like chastened school boys. They both knew that they had gone too far. Erendel worked his mouth and found that Dryn had released his magic grip on his voice.

      “I’m sorry,” the elfling intoned slowly.

      “As am I,” Cedriel agreed somberly, and with those words, the magic paralysis subsided and the two found themselves free to move again.

      Embarrassed, chastised, and more than a little unhappy, the two extricated themselves from each other’s death grip and stood.

      “Here,” Dryn said, tossing each of them a half loaf of bread. It was one of the last loaves.  “Eat this. It’ll at least keep you from saying anything else stupid.”

      Erendel and Cedriel obeyed, sitting with their backs against the wood gate. Aeriena sat across from them, as did Dryn, and the four ate in silence for a while.

      When the meager meal was concluded, Aeriena leaned back on her hands and looked up at the cave ceiling. “I suppose I owe you an explanation,” she said, returning her gaze to the ground, and then looking at Erendel.

      Erendel said nothing, but the expression on his face spoke volumes. Aeriena flashed a wan smile, then said, “I’m sorry about all of this, Erendel. I truly meant to tell you. Things just happened so fast that it slipped my mind. And when we were at Nellscalon…but I’m getting ahead of myself.

      “I suppose it would be best if I start by saying that I am not who appear, that I am not the spry young elf you know. I’m in fact very old…. I’m a Daughter.”

      “A Daughter?” Erendel breathed in disbelief. All angry thoughts were immediately forgotten like a raindrop splashing on the ground. Aeriena was one of the Children of the Stars! The elfling had heard of them: they were the first elves, the first sentient beings, to set foot on Cellestiem after being pulled from the stars by the gods. There had been many of them in the first years, but when mankind came to dominate the world, most of the original Children ascended into the heavens to again become stars. Only seven had remained, and those had been blessed by the gods with great power and eternal youth.

      Aeriena was one of them! The thought was all that filled Erendel. To say he was shocked would be a grave understatement. He didn’t realize his jaw had dropped until Aeriena told him to shut it.

      “Please, Erendel, don’t look at me that way. I’m still technically the same Aeriena you know. I am only much older than anyone in Lianiia’s Wood and much more powerful. And my power is that of the air. I control the wind.”

      “Is that the weapon that Daiymel saw in your hands back in Nellscalon?” Erendel asked.

      “Yes, he saw it, but he didn’t recognize it. That is because he has never seen one of the Children.”

      “Why didn’t you tell me? If Cedriel (if he is your brother) and Dryn knew, why couldn’t I?”

      “I couldn’t say anything, Erendel. I could not. I wanted to, but my secret had to remain untold. You see, as a Daughter, I am prized as a weapon amongst the elves. They don’t care about me as an elf, as one of them. They only want the power I can offer. If I let them know where I was…my life would never be normal.

      “As for Cedriel…that, at least, is true. Even as stars, we elves could have parents. My mother and father were also among the Children who came down It was while on the phlesa that they gave birth to Cedriel. He has grown to be my beloved brother and protector over these years, even after our parents returned to the stars. That may help explain to you why he has been so jealously protective of me.”

      Erendel looked at Cedriel, and the other elf shrugged, though the look in his eyes belied his uncaring gesture.

      A thought came to Erendel suddenly. “So it was you who caught me when I was falling from the cliff?”

      “Yes.” Aeriena bowed her head in apparent shame. “I couldn’t bear to see you die, Erendel, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

      “And Nellscalon? Did you use your power then?”

      “Only a little. I did not want to draw too much attention to myself.”

      “Wise move,” Dryn grunted.

      “And what about the Nakhri attack? Was your hand in that as well?”

      Aeriena shook her head. “Adaria told me not to use my powers until absolutely necessary, so I didn’t.”

      “I still don’t understand. If all these people knew, why could I not? Am I so different? Do you not trust me?”

      Tears had returned to Aeriena’s eyes. Her voice was broken. “Oh, Erendel,” she breathed, “I do trust you, I trust you completely. But I couldn’t tell you…not when you felt the way you did about me.”

      Erendel felt his cheeks redden. He averted his gaze from the elf and bit his lip. Berating himself for being foolish, he locked his eyes on the ground. He hadn’t thought that he had been that overt. And besides, Aeriena had seemed to encourage it.

      An overwhelming sense of weariness suddenly flooded Erendel. It was as if a great weight that he had been carrying had been lifted off his shoulders, and now he was being bidden to rest.

      “I think we should probably spend the night-or whatever time it is-here for now,” Dryn counseled, pulling out his sleeping mat.

      “I’ll take first watch,” Cedriel offered and nobody argued with him.

The Gate

The constant looming threat of a demonic attack was only a small part of why Erendel could not sleep. So many thoughts of the previous transpirations were fighting for prominence in his mind, and he could not suppress them no matter how hard he tried. Among these thoughts was mingling a multitude of contrasting feelings. Anger and betrayal mixed with surprise and excitement to find that Aeriena was, in fact, one of the last seven Children of the stars-the original elves brought from the heavens by the gods (or so the story went). But the strongest of the emotions was hurt. The elfling was hurt by Aeriena for not telling him, for letting him believe that she was a normal elf. He was hurt by his friends, for they too had known the truth, but had hidden it from him.

      The elfling tossed and turned on his mat all night, rolling the thoughts and emotions around in his mind, but finding no place for them to rest.

      At last, Erendel couldn’t take it anymore. He arose from his mat and stood, not knowing what to do. Dryn was now taking the watch, so the elfling decided to relieve him. It took some doing, for the old man had hardly been at the watch for twenty minutes and was loathe to retire, but Erendel appealed to his age, and the old man grumpily agreed to relinquish his command of the watch.

      Except for a small candle, the cavern was utterly dark, a land of shadows. Erendel could see very little beyond the glow of the candle, and wondered what the use of a watchman was, seeing that he wouldn’t be able to see the enemy until it was nearly upon him anyway. But strangely, the elfling didn’t fear an attack as much as he had on the surface. He couldn’t explain the feeling and didn’t try; it would just be another unwelcome addition to his already tumultuous emotions.

      To take his mind off himself, the elfling took to surveying the shadowy gate and turrets before him. He looked at the towers on either side of the gate and wonder if he could climb one of them.

      Erendel waited until Dryn had settled into a stertorous sleep before standing and walking over to the large wooden gate that blocked further passage through the tunnel. He then felt his way to one of the bookend turrets. As he had expected, there was no ladder on this side of the tower, but there were enough cracks and handholds on the crude wall for the elfling to make his way up.

      It was more difficult than he had expected, what with having to negotiate both his candle and his body. The wood had not been sanded (why should it have been?) and Erendel received many splinters in his hands on the way up. At last, though, he pulled himself over the wall and onto the platform at the top of the turret. The elfling was thankful for his short size when he realized how close the tunnel ceiling was to his head.

      The area beyond the gate was, to Erendel’s dismay, rather unremarkable. Had he been able to see anything, he would have seen the tunnel bend to the left and disappear into more darkness. As it was, though, all the elfling could see were shadows and inky blackness.

      From his new vantage point, Erendel turned to overlook the gate, and wondered how such a thing was opened. It didn’t take long for him to find the answer. Skraelings were not very clever, he decided, when he saw the simple latch on the opposite side of the gate and the even simpler hinges.

      A short time later, Erendel dropped nimbly to the ground on the side of the gate opposite his sleeping companions and hefted the wooden beam that served as the lock. The beam was heavy, but Erendel was able to lift it just enough to free it from its position and toss it aside. That done, the elfling started to push the gate open. It was even heavier than he had expected, and it took all his energy to shove the gate outward a few inches. With every inch, the gate grinded against the stone in protest.

      There was a cry from the other side of the gate, and Erendel heard scuffling. Suddenly afraid for his friends, the elfling squeezed himself through the gap he had created…and nearly met his end at the point of Cedriel’s sword.

      “It’s me!” Erendel yelped, ducking from the oncoming blade.

      Surprise written across Cedriel’s face, the elf withdrew the blade. “A little warning next time would be nice,” Cedriel counseled, scowling. “I nearly took your head!”

      Erendel shrugged and said dryly, “I didn’t want to wake you.”

      Cedriel gave him an odd look.

      “Well, look who came through the gate to Dircraag!” Dryn laughed, stepping into view from behind Cedriel.

      “You startled us, Erendel,” came Aeriena’s voice.

      “So it seems.”

      Dryn lit his staff with the familiar blue light and raised it high to survey the gate. “Well it seems like out problem of getting through the gate has been speedily solved. I was just wondering what we were going to do about it. I suppose Erendel saved us the trouble.”

      Erendel bowed, a small smile on his face.

      “Now that we’re all awake,” Aeriena said, “I think we’d better get some food before we set off. I have a feeling that this is it….”

      Her words struck an ominous chord in Erendel’s chest, though they were casually spoken. He had hadn’t thought of that. Was this the last day?  Were they soon to reach their destination? Erendel shuddered. The fact that, once they reached the Gate, he would not know what to do scared the elfling more than the prospect of facing an army of demons.

      He was brought back to reality in time to catch a dried apple and his water skin. For a moment, he debated whether he should finish the last of his water, or save some for the return journey. Erendel lifted the skin to his mouth and drained it. There was no coming back.

      Hardly had the group stepped through the gap between the gate doors when Cedriel piped up, “How do we know we are going the right way? What if the gate is nowhere near here?”

      “We’re going the right way,” Erendel said without hesitation. “Can’t you feel it?”

      What Erendel said was fully literal. Ever since they’d reached the gate, the elfling had felt a faint but undeniable chill, a demonic chill that pierced his clothing as if it was not there. And now it was getting stronger. He had a feeling that the Gate they sought was just around the bend.

      Renewed trepidation flew into Erendel. Until this moment, this moment when his journey came to an end, he had felt only a surreal fear. It was a fear that he knew he should have, but couldn’t honestly feel, like he was in a dream. Now, though, those fears became real, living fears. It was a fear that made him shudder, look over his shoulder constantly, or raise the rate of his heart for no reason at all. It was true fear that Erendel felt.

      Then, all of a sudden, the four turned the corner, came around the bend, and found themselves faced with what was to be one of the most awesome sights Erendel would ever see. It took his breath away, partly from the burst of cold demonic air, and partly from awe.

      The tunnel ended abruptly, widening into a cavern that was at least half a mile in diameter and perhaps even higher than it was wide. The stalactites from the ceiling were nearly invisible to the elves’ and old man’s eyes, and there were no stalagmites to speak of. Instead, the flattened floor of the cavern lay under a grand skraeling city. Wood houses clogged the ground, and tall towers pierced the empty cavern air. On the surface, the city would have seemed mediocre, but here in the darkness of the cavern, it seemed incredible.

      But much of the city had been destroyed. The roads between the buildings were cluttered with debris and detritus. There were only skeletons of some buildings, and some were still burning. Bodies, skraeling corpses, were strewn about in sickening heaps. It looked as if something had exploded in the center of the city and destroyed all in its path.

      And that something was still there, holding the gazes of the travelers. In the very center of the city swirled a black lake of fire. Thunder and lightning crackled from its cloudy depths, and a ring of blue fire encircled it, lighting the city with a sickly bluish glow. Sometimes, the black swirling clouds would escape from the lake-the Gate rather-and shoot up into the air like smoke from a fire.

      Erendel felt true terror grip him. The gate was much bigger than he had imagined. Of course, he hadn’t had the time to imagine anything, but if he had, the gate in his mind’s eye would have been much smaller. This gate was huge.

      “Look!” Cedriel whispered hoarsely, pointing toward the gate.

      Erendel narrowed his eyes and looked hard at where Cedriel was indicating. All around the gate, there was a massive army of skrites, humanoid demons, and other demonic races that he didn’t recognize. They were congregating in the streets of the skraeling city. More were coming from the gate, leaping out of the cloudy tumult with a burst of smoke.

      They had found the Gate!

      Without thinking, Erendel’s eyes wandered the amassing demonic forces, searching for his nemesis. Kroakh was nowhere to be seen, though.

      “What do we do?” Cedriel whispered.

      Erendel was wondering the same thing. What did they do? They were here, but now what? How could they possibly hope to close this gate? For some unknown reason, Erendel’s mind went back to the vision he had had in Nellscalon, the vision that had simulated the Rift, the land between Sepheirias and this world. He heard Kroakh’s voice laughing at him in his mind, and then it came to him.

      He knew what he had to do.

      “I have to go in,” he said.

      No one spoke for a long while, though all their eyes were focused on the elfling. Then, suddenly, Dryn burst out, “Dash it all, he’s right!”

      “What?” Aeriena asked.

      “Someone has to go in and close the gate from the other side.”

      “I don’t understand.”

      “It’s quite simple really: whoever opened the gate in the first place has the key to shutting it. And since we can assume that the skraelings did not open this gate, it stands to reason that the demons opened it.”

      “But that goes against the laws of magic!” Cedriel protested.

      Dryn smirked, “You don’t realize how foolish that sounds, do you?”

      Cedriel stammered, trying to find words, but realized that Dryn was right.

      “How are we going to get into the Gate?” Aeriena wondered, changing the subject.

      “Not ‘we’…me,” Erendel corrected her solemnly.

      Aeriena looked at the elfling, her eyes filled with profound despair and sadness. “You can’t go in by yourself!” she choked out.

      “I must. Your job is to help me get in.”

      “Aye,” Dryn nodded. “If he’s to get into the Gate, we’ll have to open a path for him.”

      Cedriel drew his sword and nodded his agreement. “We’ve come here for a reason. Let us see it through.”

      Then Aeriena burst into tears and wrapped Erendel in one last embrace. “Goodbye, Erendel,” she sobbed into his shoulder. “Goodbye. I will seek you out when I return to the stars.”

      Erendel let the hug linger longer, not wanting the moment of farewell to end. He did not want to go into the Gate, nor did he want to face Kroakh in his own realm. But he had to. That was why he had come. That was why they had all come. They all knew that there was no other way, and after traveling so far, they were too far to give up now.

      At last, he released Aeriena from his grip, tears forming in his own eyes. He nodded to Dryn and said quietly, “Let’s attack now while we have the chance.”

      Dryn’s twinkle was gone from his eyes, replaced with a cold determination. It was apparent that he knew there was no coming back from this. He, Cedriel, and Aeriena were to give their lives to get Erendel into that gate. It was a bitter end, they all knew, and one that would probably not receive the honor it deserved. But it was an end that would save many at the expense of a few.

      “Let us go,” Dryn said huskily.

      “Wait,” Aeriena cut in. All eyes turned to her, but her own eyes were fixed on Erendel. From the pack that she had removed from her back, she withdrew the box that Adaria had given her. Slowly, gingerly, she offered it to Erendel. “I want you to take it with you.”

      Erendel wanted to say no, that would have at least been polite, but no words could come past the lump in his throat. He reached out and accepted the box. He gave Aeriena what he hoped was a grateful look, then strapped the box to his belt.

      The moment had finally come.

      Everyone stood and looked down into the city. Then, with a savage cry, Cedriel burst into motion, sword upraised. Dryn let loose a howl and leapt after the elf. The two careened down the hill and into the city. Only Erendel and Aeriena stayed where they were.

      Erendel looked to Aeriena one last time, and found her eyes closed and her arms held high. Noiseless words were coming from her lips. She was calling the wind again, Erendel thought grimly.

      With much effort, he tore his gaze from his friend and drew his dagger. Then, with a loud cry of his own, he followed his friends-albeit with a greater limp-into the skraeling city, and toward the Gate.

      This was it.

      Pain lanced through Erendel’s leg at every step, but he couldn’t feel it anymore. With his eyes fixed on the gate, his mind resigned to the fact that he went to his death, he felt a great lightness in his heart now. Each limping step alleviated a bit more of the mental anguish he had been hitherto been feeling toward his coming doom. He didn’t care what happened to him.

      Ahead of him, he could tell that Dryn and Cedriel felt the same. They rushed on down the streets of the skraeling city with unwavering determination, calling out their own war cries. The demons were immediately startled, and before they had a chance to figure out what was happening, the two were in the midst of the melee. Dryn shot a massive ball of flame into the demonic hoards and instantly killed several of them. Cedriel did not hesitate before jumping in after the ball of fire and cutting down some of them. His silver blade gleamed against the light of the fires from dying demons as it came down heavily in quick successions.

      In the meantime, Aeriena had use her gift as one of the Daughters to call upon the air. With a rolling thunder, the wind picked up and blew past Erendel as he ran. It fell upon the demons with incredible might and sent them flying back, some into the ruined buildings and some back into the gate from whence they had come.

      But even with this great advantage, and the surprise attack, the demons were not easily destroyed. Fighting the wind with their own magic, they moved in on Dryn and Cedriel, assailing them with all sorts of magical attacks. Dryn was able to fend off most of these with his ring’s energy, but Cedriel was left to his own devices. Erendel could tell that the elf was hard pressed, and knowing that Cedriel knew not offensive magic, he would not last long.

      Erendel longed to help the elf as he barreled into the combat, slicing down a few skrites as he went, but he knew that that would only delay his own purpose. He had to get into that gate.

      Another burst of wind swept through into the ranks of the demons, knocking some away. This time, however, most of them had prepared for it and held their ground against it. They then closed in on Cedriel and Dryn, coming in from behind as well, and forcing the two to turn back to back to maintain the small passage they had opening for Erendel.

      It was a race now, Erendel knew as he rolled forward to dodge an incoming flaming missile. He had to get to the gate before the demons inevitably overpowered his friends. He leaped over dead bodies, sliced aside any nearby attacks, and made his way toward the roiling, inky black darkness that burned before him.

      Something hit his leg and agony forced him to slow down. He almost collapsed, but he brought himself to his feet at the last moment, stabbing into a skrite’s head.

      Erendel had almost reached Dryn and Cedriel when a demon he had never seen before jumped in front of him. This demon had the head of a crocodile, but stood on two scaly legs and had four long, tentacle arms. It uttered a gurgling growl that shook the ground and whipped out at Erendel with one of its arms.

      Erendel skidded to a halt, falling back just in time to avoid the oncoming arm, and then leapt forward again before the demon could bring its tentacle back around. The elfling ducked and rolled between its legs in a flash, coming up behind it. The demon whirled around, its tentacles flailing, only to get caught by Erendel’s green dagger. Green flame exploded on its arm and it cried out in pain.

      When the reptilian demon regained its control, Erendel was off again nearly a hundred yards from the gate’s rim. Erendel now understood just how big the gate was. From the exit of the tunnel, it had seemed large enough, but now, he realized that the gate was big enough for several full grown dragons to pass through comfortably. The thought chilled the elfling.

      There was yet another burst of wind, and again the enemy, mostly skrites, was forced to stop attacking to hold its position. Dryn and Cedriel used this chance to clear out some more of the path. They were almost at the gate now, close enough now for the blue light of the fiery ring to bounce off their faces.

      Erendel’s feet pounded the ground as he rushed toward them, down the open path. He was delayed again by other demons, but he dispatched of them as best he could and kept moving forward. He dared not look back, though he knew that there were some demons just out of reach of him. Both his eyes were fixed firmly on his friends and, past them, the Gate.

      Almost there! Only fifty yards to go. More pain shot through the elfling when his leg rammed into a dead skraeling carcass, but the elfling couldn’t afford to stop. He was almost there.

      He reached his friends soon after, passing between them then into the oncoming demons. Lights from magical missiles flickered through the air, and Erendel found himself dodging several with mindless instinct. There was no longer an open path to the Gate’s edge, but Erendel no longer needed one: he was close enough now.

      All of sudden, there was a booming voice. Erendel almost fell over at the power in the voice. He barely steadied himself and brought his eyes up, looking toward the gate. There, in the very center of the Gate, rose a figure.

      Kroakh was here.

      The demon was levitating above the Gate, a gruesome smile on his twisted features, his black eyes locked on the elfling. He seemed to be laughing now.

      Time slowed for Erendel. It seemed as if the demons had suddenly stopped blocking his way. The sounds of the battle were distant, removed, as if Erendel’s mind was not with his body. All he could see was the archdemon floating before him, staring at him.

      “Welcome, Erendel,” Kroakh boomed, his voice much more powerful than before. “Welcome to my victory. I have waited for you for so long, and now you are here. Come, Erendel. Come to me now that we may finish what should have ended long ago.”

      Erendel couldn’t take his eyes off of the demon before him, until he remembered his friends. Turning, he saw them completely overwhelmed by the demons. He could hardly see them beneath the sea of demonic creatures.

      “You friends cannot aid you, Erendel,” the demon said with an ugly smile.

      “No,” Erendel whispered, the knowledge making him want to suddenly stop, turn around, and run away. But he kept going. “They already given me more than enough help,” he shot back at the demon, who laughed maniacally.

      He knew he did not have much time now. There were only a few feet between him and the Gate. The cold flames rose up before him.

      But Erendel couldn’t see what was happening now. He had again turned his eyes on Kroakh to find a strange, almost nervous expression on the demon’s face.

      “Kroakh!” Erendel called. “Kroakh, I am coming!” The words sounded strange to the elfling, threatening. He was surprised to find such a hate in his voice, hate that he hadn’t felt since he was a child. Kroakh’s eyes jerked to the elfling, then his face broke into a grin and he lowered himself into the Gate, disappearing in its churning black depths.

      Erendel put on a burst of speed, crossed the remaining few feet, and dived headfirst into the Gate.

The Beast: Part 1

It was like a block of solid ice had crashed into Erendel’s body. The cold flames that ringed the Gate felt bathed in cold Nefroth water. Then it was suddenly over; Erendel was through the flames and falling, falling into the black abyss of swirling cloud and darkness. Nausea and vertigo clung to him as he fell. The clouds swallowed him without noticeably changing, but Erendel felt the evil air as he came in contact with the blackness. The air was perpetually cold now, and chills ran up and down his spine.

      Then there was darkness. Everything was black, and the sounds of battle suddenly disappeared. It was like Erendel had lost all sense of hearing, and for a moment, he wondered if he had. In fact, the elfling wondered if this was what death felt like. He heard nothing, saw nothing, and felt nothing. He was just floating, and yet not moving. Was he dead?

      For no reason, the elfling looked down at where he thought his hand was, and was shock to find himself blinded for a moment. The dagger in his hand was bursting with a pastel green light. The light seemed so bright that it could light a whole city, but here in the darkness, its light did not extend beyond the source.

      “Welcome to the Rift, elfling,” Kroakh’s voice rent the darkness and sent Erendel’s heart thumping. A terrible fear and hatred gripped him, and his mind flew back to the vision he had had in Nellscalon. Those words were the very same that Kroakh’s apparition had said then.

      “Come to us now, elfling, and let us use your power to its greatest extent,” Kroakh continued.

      Erendel’s head snapped up, searching wildly for the source of the voice that seemed to come from all around him. He finally found it: the horrible glowing red eyes that pierced through the darkness and into his being. The elfling tried to raise his dagger, tried to attack Kroakh, but found that movement forward was impossible. There was nowhere for him to set his feet. Kroakh laughed.

      “Don’t try to move that way; you won’t go anywhere.” The eyes moved closer, and Kroakh’s bulbous head materialized from the darkness, then his robeless body. He was horribly bent and wrinkled. Erendel cringed at the sight of him, or would have if he had had the use of his facial muscles.

      “You must use your mind to will your body to move,” Kroakh instructed in his guttural voice. “If you think to move forward, then you will.”

      Erendel obeyed mechanically. He focused his thoughts on movement, imagined his feet taking small steps forward. Nothing happened at first, and Erendel redoubled his efforts. Then slowly, he felt himself-or rather saw, for he felt nothing-draw closer to Kroakh’s ugly form.

      To his surprise, Kroakh smiled almost approvingly and started to back away. “Come now, elfling! We have much to discuss before you join our ranks.”

      Erendel wanted to say something scathing to the archdemon, but he could not speak and maintain his forward motion at the same time, so he followed after the retreating demon in silence.

      “Come!” Kroakh reiterated, “Let us go to my world and leave this dull place behind.”

      The darkness, as if on cue, began to move like clouds. It twisted and roiled, swirling around and dissipating. Erendel saw new colors peak through the spaces where the darkness had drifted away, strangely vibrant colors. When the cloudy darkness pulled away completely, a strange vista met the elfling’s eyes.

      They were approaching what appeared to be a suspended platform, only the platform had walkways extending from it to other platforms, and those extended to others, and those to others until they faded into the distance. And these platforms appeared as though they were natural formations. They bore sickly purple-green color and were textured like large rocks. From the tops of these platforms grew a strange red grass that waved about violently even though there was no wind.

      But it was the sky that drew Erendel’s attention. It was a menagerie of color. Everywhere one looked, it seemed as if the entire spectrum of color collided with itself in the sky. The whole sky, above and beneath the floating platforms, was constantly shifted with streaks and clouds of colors. It was as dizzying as the pervasive magical heaviness in the air, and Erendel would have been sick if not for the fact that he wasn’t physically there.

      They drew closer to the platforms and were soon on top of them. Erendel could now see skrites flying about in the sky aimlessly, their webbed wings beating against the airless atmosphere. Sometimes, if any two came within several feet of each other, they’d start to fight, clawing and scraping at each other, for no apparent reason. Erendel shuddered and turned his eyes back to the endless platforms to see demons of all shapes and sizes occasionally appearing on one platform, walking to another, and suddenly disappear as though they’d fallen off the edge.

      Kroakh drifted to the platform’s floor. As soon as the demon touched the ground, it felt like he had released a magical hold on the elfling, and Erendel instantly regained control of his senses and muscles.

      Gravity also took control, and the elfling fell to the ground.

      He leapt up in a split-second, shining dagger at the ready. But Kroakh had made no moves to attack him.

      “Welcome to Sepheirias, Erendel, or at least a small part of it. There are millions of worlds in our universe that all form our home. You will soon learn of all of them.”

      “I will never live here!” Erendel spat, thankful that he could speak now.

      “Ah, but you have no choice,” Kroakh countered, unperturbed. “Once a humanoid has gone through a gate, there is no way out. And besides, I’ve spent so much time trying to catch you that it would be a shame to let you go now.”

      “If I recall,” Erendel shot back, “You sent your underlings to chase me down. Apparently you couldn’t keep up yourself.”

      The elfling inwardly smiled with satisfaction when he saw the demon wince ever so slightly.

      “You misunderstand.” Kroakh shook his head. “I could have chased you to the ends of the phlesa, could have caught you easily, if Malstaag had not summoned me.”

      “That’s a weak excuse from the master of lies.”

      “And yet it is the truth. Malstaag did not approve of my scouring the land for a single elf when there was havoc to wreak on all the elves.” Kroakh darkened even more than usual. “He called me to his dragon throne to punish me…until I showed him your value.”

      Kroakh paused. Then he looked at the elfling through his pupilless black eyes and was about to say something when a terrifying, half growl, half scream pierced the otherwise soundless air. Erendel whirled to his left and dodged aside just as a tall, long-clawed, bear-like demon lunged for him.

      “Die, elf!” The demon growled in its deep-throated voice.

      Erendel was up in a flash, dagger out and ready for the next attack, but, as the bear demon started to charge again, a flash of red rammed into the demon’s side and sent it flying out over the platforms and plummeting into the interminable depths. As the demon’s surprised cries grew fainter, Erendel looked to Kroakh.

      “The Drauy are stupid animals,” Kroakh said in explanation. “It did not realize how important you are, nor does it recognize that I am its master.” The archdemon paused to remember where they had been before the interruption, and then continued as if nothing had happened. “I believe it’s time you know the full extent of your power. Follow me.”

      “No!” Erendel shot back, bringing his dagger up in an attack stance. “You know I cannot trust you. Let’s finish this now!”

      “Come now,” Kroakh said, holding his arms out wide. “Aren’t you the least bit curious to know why I’ve hounded you this past month?”

      Erendel had to admit that he was curious. And his logic also told him there was no way to close the gate from here. The best he could hope for was to kill Kroakh, and he couldn’t do that unless he was near the demon. Slowly, the elfling lowered his dagger.

      “I will follow you,” he conceded reluctantly, then added, “on one condition.”

      “Well?”

      “You must swear to answer five questions that I ask you truthfully.”

      “Five? That’s hardly fair. I say two.”

      “Three.”

      “Done. I swear to answer three of your questions.”

      “Truthfully,” Erendel corrected him.

      “Truthfully,” Kroakh repeated as though the word were a curse. “Now you must follow me.”

      “Wait!” Erendel stopped the archdemon as he was turning to go down one of the walkways. “How do I know you won’t break your oath?”

      “Because I cannot break it, fool,” Kroakh growled. “Just as you cannot defy gravity in your realm, neither can I defy the laws of truth and falsehood here. Now come! We are wasting valuable time.”

      The two moved down the walkway to another floating platform, then continued on. At the fifth platform, Kroakh stopped and pointed to something near the edge of the rocky platform. Erendel followed his gaze and saw a large puddle in the platform. It seemed to be boiling, and little blue flames were spouting from it occasionally.

      “What is that?” Erendel inquired.

      “It is a portal,” Kroakh said. “It is the gate to the Great Beast.”

      A shuddered ran through Erendel’s spine at the name. It was a simple, unremarkable name, but the elfling somehow knew that this beast was probably the most evil being in the universes, if even the demons called it great.

      “And you have just asked your first question,” Kroakh added, breaking Erendel from his reverie. “Two more.”

      Erendel cursed himself. He looked at Kroakh with a glare that said he refused to say anything more. Kroakh crossed his mangled arms and nodded his head in the direction of the portal. “Go in.”

      “You go first,” Erendel stated levelly. “I still don’t trust you.”

      Kroakh sighed and stepped forward. With a swift motion, he skipped and fell into the portal, getting swallowed by the goo. Before he could change his mind, Erendel followed, jumping in with his eyes squeezed shut.

      He was floating when he came out from the portal. All around him now closed in a dark green expanse. There was nowhere for him to set his feet. Wildly, he sought Kroakh, and found the archdemon grinning at him from a few feet away.

      “Now we come face to face with your destiny,” he intoned, looking over the elfling’s shoulder.

       Confused, Erendel slowly turned. He mouth immediately dropped open at the sight he beheld, and he grew faint with sudden terror. The Great Beast was far away, at least a mile, but the massive creature’s body took up most of Erendel’s vision. It was a huge dragon of the purest black. Its scales were pure black, as though they were darkness itself. The wings, too, were black, and even the enormous claws were a shade of black. And the size of it! It was so big that Erendel estimated that one of those wicked claws, just one, could bury a whole house beneath it. All around it writhed clouds of darkness that dared light to touch them. It was truly a horrifying sight.

      Erendel was infinitely thankful that the Great Beast was sleeping. At least, he thought it was asleep, for its eyes were closed. It was perfectly still, though, and there was not even a breath from its nostrils to indicate life. Its form stretched out across a dais that was supported by a single, long pillar beneath it. The pillar reached down into the depths of the demonic realm until it disappeared in the distance.

      “What is this evil?” Erendel croaked out when he found his voice, and realized that he had just asked his second question.

      “It is the Great Beast,” Kroakh answered from behind the elfling, and Erendel knew that the archdemon was grinning evilly. “That is a glimpse of what you will become!”

      Erendel whirled on Kroakh, his eyes burning with confusion, anger, and terror all at once. He resisted the urge to ask what the demon meant, for that would have been his last question. Luckily, he didn’t need to ask.

      “I am amazed, elfling, that through all this, you have not discovered your power. Is it true that you don’t know what you are?”

      Erendel gaped, not responded to the demon’s question.

      “You really don’t know, do you?” Kroakh smiled horribly and leaned closer to the elfling. “You,” he said emphatically, “you are the Great Vessel.”

      Erendel’s eyes widened. He gasped as realization flooded through him. “I am to hold the Great Beast!” he cried.

      “Now you understand!” Kroakh said. “You see, you hold within you the essence of magical energy. You hold enough of it to do anything imaginable! You could open a Gate the covers the whole phlesa…or you could contain the spirit of a creature so large that the entire world will see its awesome power and be afraid! They will know their doom is coming when Erendel, the Great Vessel for the Beast, comes back to the world. They will know that the demons have come for their revenge, and none will stand against us!

      “With your energy flowing from you, no longer will the demons have to return to Sepheirias to regain lost strength. No longer will we have to open portals all across the corporeal world! You will be the energy that sustains us, and we will be unstoppable! And you cannot refuse us, for you are trapped here. You cannot fight me, cannot hope to defeat me.”

      Erendel felt despair crash into his very soul. What if Kroakh was speaking the truth? What if there was no hope of victory? The elfling looked back at the Great Beast, the great demon that would possess the elfling, and knew that there was no way out. There was no escape now. He had failed.

      Then he thought of his friends, and suddenly, it was like a dash of cool water had doused the coals of hopelessness in him. Dryn, Cedriel, and Aeriena were counting on him. Even Adaria had died in hopes of his success. And the deer! Erendel remembered the deer all too well, and how it too sacrificed its life that Erendel might succeed. How could he let them down?

      With growing confidence, Erendel remembered all the near-death experiences he had faced on his journey, and how he had always survived. No matter what the demons had done, the elfling had overcome their obstacles. And even though he faced the biggest obstacle now, he realized that it was no different from any of the other trials he had confronted before. He could do this! He would do this.

      “I beg to differ,” Erendel returned coolly, hefting his magical blade. He was afraid, terribly afraid, but he knew what he had to do. After hearing all this, after realizing what he had been given by the gods (if they truly had been the ones to give this power to him) he knew he must find a way to close the Gate. He also knew what his final question would be.

      Kroakh gave a rather confused look to Erendel. “What do you mean?”

      Erendel ignored the question. “I’ve asked two questions already, demon, but I have one left. How did you open the Gate?”

The Beast

Kroakh did not respond immediately. He beckoned Erendel to follow him and rose up through the air to the portal that was bubbling above them. Erendel followed, and they found themselves back in the platform world. Kroakh then lead the elfling over the maze of platforms to another portal and bid the elfling enter. This time, the elfling lost no time in jumping into the portal.

      He now found himself in a cave, or something that looked rather like a cave. It had a floor, rounded walls, and an uneven ceiling high above, but stone was unlike any stone Erendel had ever seen before. It almost sparkled when it refracted what little light illumined the area. There were no stalagmites or stalactites to speak of; in their places were translucent, slimy cocoons of crystal that hung from the ceiling and clung to the walls at odd angles. They pulsated with light and Erendel fancied he could hear a faint hum emanating from them.

      In the center of the huge chamber lay the Gate. At least, it was the other side of the Gate, for it swirled with black cloudiness on the floor and a ring of blue fire surrounded it. Erendel looked at it with renewed awe, surprised that even now he was still stunned by the size of the portal.

      There was something different about this one, though. At first, Erendel wasn’t sure what that thing was, but when you looked to the perimeter of the Gate, he saw tongues of electricity shooting into the gate. He gasped when he saw from what the electric pulses were coming: seven huge, robed and hooded figures stood at equal intervals around the Gate, hands upraised and heads bowed. They were at least ten feet tall, Erendel thought-twice his height. And they did not move. Their robes did not even shift in the air. They were absolutely still, and Erendel wondered whether they were dead.

      But they couldn’t be!

      “They hold the Gate.” Kroakh’s hissing voice from behind caused Erendel to jump.

      The elfling had not realized that he had taken several steps past Kroakh to get a closer look at the strange figures. He whirled around and gave the archdemon a confused look. Kroakh wordlessly pointed toward the ceiling of the cavern just above the center of the Gate.

      Erendel turned his eyes toward the indicated location, and he felt a profound chill course through him. It was like looking at ghosts….A massive cocoon, like the ones on the walls elsewhere in the cavern, hung from the ceiling. This one, however, was clear, and Erendel could see through its slimy membrane. There was a white mist swirled around and around inside the container, pounding against the sides as if trying to escape.

      From this cocoon coursed seven bolts of electricity that few into the outstretched fingers of the seven hooded figures, then into the Gate itself. Erendel began to understand, and wasn’t surprised when Kroakh continued, “That mist is the physical energy that your kind has been giving us over two thousand years…. Two thousand years!” Kroakh ground his teeth when he repeated the words. “For two thousand years, we have been slaves to your whims, giving up our black energy for an unequally small amount of your despicable, white energy. But what your ancestors never realized is that energy can be stored. We stored your white energy away in this egg, for we knew that only white energy can open a gate between the worlds. For two thousand years, we took the meager amounts of energy you gave and stored it here, so that, when the time came, we could open a gate large enough for the Great Beast.

      “Of course, now that we have you, we don’t need it to be that big anymore. The Great Beast needs only to possess you, and it will be free to destroy you and all your kind!” Kroakh paused to cackle victoriously. “It is over, elfling! Give in; you cannot win.”

      Erendel was hardly listening anymore. He felt sick, looking at the white energy being used for such an evil purpose. If only the elves knew what was happening here! Now the elfling knew why Ne’anithel and his tribe chose to use magic sparingly, though they may not have understood exactly what they were doing.

      The elfling could do naught but stare at the huge egg, the energy bolts going into the robed figures, and the blue fire. Then he realized that Kroakh had gone silent. His ears pricked up slightly, and he heard-or thought he heard-a nearly inaudibly swish, like wind blowing a leaf.

      Instinct told Erendel to move, and the elfling whipped up his dagger and whirled around. He half expected to stop a blade from slicing his skull in two, but what he got instead was an explosion of sparks and light and energy. For a moment, the elfling was knocked off balance, confused and blinded by the sudden light.  He heard Kroakh mutter a curse and, blearily, he saw the demon’s hands shoot forward, a burst of blue fire streaming from them. Not knowing what else to do, the elfling brought up his shining dagger again. Again, sparks from the impact of the magical blade and blue flames exploded before the elfling’s eyes.

      “That is indeed an interesting weapon,” Kroakh muttered and made as if to shoot another bolt of flame. Suddenly, though, he changed his mind and said, “Why don’t you give me that weapon, elfling? It is dangerous to carry something with the ability to block magic.”

      “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Erendel growled, dropping low into a fighting stance. Kroakh roared and sent a long tongue of fire at the elfling, but Erendel’s blade dissolved it again with a burst of light and noise.

      “Fine!” Kroakh snarled, “We’ll play your way; it matters not. I’ll still have your body in the end.”

      The archdemon’s right arm flew out to his side, and he shouted some words Erendel could not understand. Sparkling particles appeared in the air by Kroakh’s ugly hand, and they flew toward it, coalescing into the form of a black broadsword. Almost as soon as the blade had finished materializing, Kroakh lunged.

      The lunge was so blindingly fast that Erendel hardly got his own blade up in time to parry the blow, and a shower of sparks exploded from the contact. Erendel was thrown off balance and stumbled backwards, closer to the Gate. He stopped himself and leaped to the side just in time to avoid Kroakh’s down-swinging sword. Kroakh growled and swung to the side. He brought his sword up again and brought it crashing down on the fallen elfling, but Erendel again evaded the demon by rolling to the right, once again coming closer to the Gate.

      Even as Kroakh was bring his blade back up, Erendel was coming to his feet. The elfling used the moment to thrust his dagger inward. At the last moment, though, the elfling swung it up and left, knocking Kroakh’s broadsword back and giving Erendel time to again lunge. Kroakh was fast, and he easily avoided getting stabbed in the chest, but got caught on the arm as he spun away. The injured area burst into white flames, and Kroakh cried out with a curse. The archdemon redoubled his efforts, and he slashed several times at different angles to confuse and frighten the elfling. Erendel was ready, and was just out of reach of the sword’s tip by the time Kroakh finished his maneuver.

      But the elfling wasn’t ready for the demon’s next trick. Kroakh threw both his arms out and lunged, feinting with an inward thrust, but suddenly bringing his left arm over his swiping sword and shooting out a ball of fire. Erendel was too busy trying to avoid the sword blow and got caught right in the chest.

      The breath flew from his lungs. Erendel stumbled back and fell to the ground, his face a picture of shock and pain. He couldn’t breathe, his muscles refused to get him back to his feet. Kroakh laughed and moved in with a devilish smile.

      “You are a fool to think that you can beat me, elfling,” the demon chortled. “You are weak. You are small. There is nothing you can do that I can’t, and there is everything I can do that you can’t. Face it: you are mine.”

      Erendel grimaced and felt pain in his wounded leg. He was surprised, for he hadn’t felt it since he had entered Sepheirias. But now the pain was renewed, as was his sense of hopelessness. He realized that Kroakh must be sending these sensations into his mind to cause him to give up, but Erendel could do nothing to push it away.

      Kroakh brought his hand up to cast another bolt. “Did you really think that you, a deformed creature, could hope to defeat a high demon?” He asked.

      Erendel glared at him, hatred rushing through him and eclipsing the hopelessness that Kroakh was feeding him. He felt the pain recede then, and saw a perplexed frown cross Kroakh’s bulbous features for a moment. I am not a deformed creature! Erendel thought, letting the righteous hatred of evil overcome his depression. I am not helpess!

      A grin turned the elfling’s mouth and he laughed at the demon. Kroakh, obviously disconcerted, jumped toward the elfling, chopping down with the sword. Erendel knew that was coming and rolled to the side just in time.

      The box! Erendel couldn’t believe that he had forgotten it. Only when he had rolled and had felt the hard thing under his side did he remember its presence. The elfling scrambled to his feet and set a few yards between himself and Kroakh. With that little bit of time, the elfling yanked the box from his side, flipped the latch aside, and thrust back the cover.

      A bright white light illuminated the area, blinding Erendel and drawing a surprised and pained cry from Kroakh.

      “Stardust!” The demon yelped angrily. “Where did you get that?”

      Erendel knew what the white powder filling the bottom of the golden box was already, and he knew how it could be used. With a swift motion, the elfling lifted the box over his head and dumped the powder over himself. He felt the tingle of the powder as it touched him, felt the magical rush of the rarest of treasures, and felt a thrill of energy rejuvenate his muscles. Kroakh cursed and, more from desperation than anything else, sent three bolts of fire at the elfling.

      But Erendel did not move to block or avoid them. He stood with his arms wide and accepted the blows. As each flaming ball collided with his stomach, they were absorbed by the stardust’s properties and transferred the magical energy to the elfling’s body.

      Kroakh’s lidless eyes widened and he tried to renew his attack. But with so much energy rushing through his body, Erendel was now a terrible force to be reckoned with. Broadsword and dagger clashed, ringing out and sending sparks flying. Erendel easily parried each of Kroakh’s attacks, and the elfling was soon on the offensive, pushing ever forward. He relentlessly pounded Kroakh, forcing the demon backward now toward the Gate’s maw. Every time Kroakh tried to thrust and push Erendel back, he was met with resound clangs as his blade felt the dagger’s bite.

      “The tables are turned now, Kroakh!” Erendel cried out sending his dagger toward Kroakh’s head, which the demon barely ducked.

      “You cheated!” Kroakh screeched. “You cannot defeat me! Malstaag will overcome all! He has promised this to us all!”

      “Where is your god, demon?” Erendel scoffed confidently. “I see no help coming from Malstaag!”

      Kroakh’s sudden grin took Erendel aback, and he faltered in his attack. “Malstaag comes even now! Help me, my father!” Kroakh yelled out, his voice raising several octaves.

      Erendel was even more confused now, and he almost forgot to block when Kroakh’s sword flew at his head. Then, suddenly, he felt-more heard than felt-the ground tremble beneath him. Erendel spun away from a sword thrust and looked back down the cavern tunnel from whence they had entered. The trembling grew louder and louder, becoming more audible. Soon it was a thunderous rumble. Erendel, frightened, turned back to see Kroakh smiling triumphantly at him.

      “You cannot escape now!” the demon cackled.

      Erendel nearly stumbled at the next thud, but he maintained his balance and rushed the demon. He knew he was running out of time. If he did not close the Gate soon, he would fail. The elfling absorbed several magical bolts from Kroakh, and then lunged for the demon with desperate ferocity. He scored a hit on the demon’s shoulder, but was slashed in the side. Actually, the blade hit his side, but since the stardust repelled all magical attacks, the broadsword did not cut the skin. Erendel still had the breath knocked from him, though.

      Another heavy thud sent both attackers to the ground. Erendel sent a glance down the tunnel, and saw a shadowy form approaching. He could not see it very well, so dark was the tunnel, but he could definitely make out a humanoid form larger than the seven that were holding open the gate. He also saw horns protruding from the head.

      A chill wind icier than he had ever felt pierced Erendel with cold fingers, and he felt panic wash over him.

      Erendel turned his eyes back to the Gate. He looked up at the cocoon of physical, white, energy and decided that that was where he needed to be. Scrambling to his feet, Erendel dodged Kroakh’s sword and stabbed the demon in the side as he spun away. The white flames licked at the demon’s wounds, and Kroakh shrieked in agony. That distraction gave Erendel enough time to reach the closest of the robed figures.

      The elfling paused just long enough to whisper a desperate prayer to whatever gods were out there, then jump up onto the robed demon’s back. He was slightly surprised when the demon did not move to shake him off, and wondered if the creature was alive at all. There was another loud rumble from the approaching giant (Erendel assumed it was Malstaag himself). The elfling hurriedly scaled the robe and reached the ten-foot-tall demon’s shoulders. Another thud almost sent Erendel back to the ground, but he grabbed the hood on the demon’s head just in time to stop himself. His grip, though, yanked the hood from the head, and a horribly pale skull was revealed.

      It was at that moment that the giant began to move. Erendel almost fell off again when the demon shuddered and swiveled its head around to see what was on its back. Glowing red eye sockets met Erendel’s gaze, and the elfling couldn’t keep a screech of fright from escaping him. The electricity that had hitherto been passing through the giant demon ceased, and the Gate grumbled like thunder, shrinking by about two feet.

      “What are you doing?” The voice came from Kroakh, who had regained his footing and was racing toward the elfling. “Come down now!”

      “Never!” Erendel shouted, holding the demonic skull in a death grip. He had to reach the energy sac!

      Not matter how much he tried, though, he could not get into a standing position so he could jump up and grab the egg. The demon on which he was standing kept trying to grab him and throw him off with his hands. And Malstaag was still approaching! The god’s form was clearer now, and much larger. The thunderous steps shook the whole chamber, and even made the energy sac shake.

      Then a whisper floated over the air. It was soft and barely audible amidst the turmoil, but Erendel could hear it almost as clearly as he might hear a thunderclap. The voice which spoke the whisper was a strong, gentle voice, but it was evil. It was purely evil, and Erendel felt it piercing into his mind. Come to me, Erendel.

      Erendel looked at the shadowy form approaching and saw red eyes shining back at him.

      Come to me, Erendel.

      “No!” Erendel screamed allowed in an attempt to get the voice out of his head. “I will not!”

      Don’t resist. Come.

      Erendel almost fell off of the skeletal demon’s shoulders again. This time, he gripped the skull hard and stabbed one of its eyes. The white flames engulfed the head and a high pitched screeched was released into the air. Erendel took the chance to get his feet onto the demon’s shoulder and stand.

      Come, Erendel. You belong to me.

      The elfling balanced himself as best he could and gripped his dagger. His eyes were on the energy in the sac.

      Do not fail me, Erendel. Come to me.

      With a final cry of “No!” Erendel jumped. He pushed himself off the flaming demon’s shoulders with his feet and drew up his dagger to stab. Time seemed to slow. The air stilled and the sounds faded into the background. All sounds, that is, except one final cry that split the air.

      Curse you, elfling! You were mine!

      The short elfling felt ecstasy rush through him. He flew through the air and thrust his dagger into the sac.

      BANG!

      The cavern exploded in a shower of light, sound, and pure, uncontained energy. The sac shattered into a thousand pieces, the membranous bits dissolving as they fell away. The white energy burst forth and quickly fill the cavern. A pure, clean wind also came from the sac and sent Erendel flying to the ground. The elfling landed just out of range of the Gate. He saw the energy burn into the hooded demons, setting them alight and reacting with their dark energy. One by one, they imploded as the white energy ate them. Little by little, the Gate shrank. Then, almost instantly, there was no longer any gate. The flames that had surrounded the Gate were extinguished, the black smokiness of the gate was compressed, and the robed demons were destroyed.

      The ground shook as a loud cry tore from Malstaag’s throat and shook the cavern. It was cry of profound realization. It was great keening of failure and anger and hatred al rolled together.

      And Erendel reveled in it.

      The elfling lie on his back on the ground, every bone in his body broken from the impact, and his senses fading, but he could still hear the cry. He listened with joy as his life force was sucked away by the physical energy that filled the chamber.

      He was dying. He was dying just like the robed demons, just like Kroakh. And yet Erendel was not afraid: he did not cry out in fear as had his enemies. All that he had set out to do, he had done! The Gate was closed! Kroakh had been destroyed, and the elves had been saved! No longer would the demons be able to kill the elves! They were free!

      These thoughts and more delighted Erendel, and even as he felt his body dissolve, and even as the pain overloaded his senses, he smiled.

      And when Erendel’s life was extinguished in that moment, he died with a broad grin and great and perfect peace in his heart.

      He had succeeded.

Epilogue

It was absolutely perfect. The sky was a brilliant blue, unmarred by clouds. The ocean was crystalline, and the reflection of the sky above it only made it more azure. The waves came in smoothly and washed upon the white sand with soft crashes. A cool, clear sea wind rustled the palm trees, causing them to sway as if they were dancing to the music of nature.

      The elf stood on the beach, staring distantly out at the endless sea, looking to the horizon where the blue sky met the deep ocean. He was robed in a snow white tunic, belted with a crimson girdle. There was no sun here, and yet the belt reflected some sort of mystical golden rays.

      The elf drew in a deep breath and smiled. He was happy, purely happy. Nothing, it seemed, would be able to steal this deep joy and peace from him. He was where he belonged. This was his home, he knew, and he was here to stay.

      A sparkle in his periphery caused the handsome elf to turn, and he beheld and approaching star. At least, that was all he could equate it to, for the shining object approaching was too bright to see clearly. And as it got closer, the elf realized that he would be blinded if he stared at it much longer. As dazzling as the light was, though, the elf found that he could not draw his eyes away. They remained locked on the star until, with a burst of glory, the light shone right before his eyes.

      And inside the light, shining with equal glory and greater beauty, floated the image of a woman, more glorious than anything that the elf had ever seen. Her eyes were like flames, and the elf could do naught but drop to the ground and bow before her when he saw them. He was not worthy, he realized, to stand before this person.

      “Arise, my son,” the woman said, bending to place a hand on the prostrate elf’s shoulder.

      “I cannot, my lady,” the elf answered. “You are too beautiful to behold, and I am unworthy to stand in your presence.”

      “You are more than worthy, my son,” the shining woman said. Her voice was the very personification of music, so mellifluous and smooth was it.

      Slowly, reluctantly, the elf stood up and did his best to look into the woman’s eyes. “If it pleases you, my lady, could I know the name of the one who’s glory surpasses all understanding?” The elf was surprised that he did not stutter.

      “It would please me greatly.” the shining woman smiled. “I am Maennol, Wife of Mastagna the Magnificent, Mother of Alaron and Alucia, and Matriarch of the elves. I have manifested myself to you in only the meanest form of my glory, for if I were to show you the true extent of my power, your mind would be destroyed.”

      Somehow, though he did not know how, the elf had known what Maennol would say, knew who she was.

      “You have done great things, my son,” Maennol continued after a brief pause. “You have seen more than anyone’s share of pain and suffering; you have seen evils that no elf or man should ever see; and you have overcome all of this with the power we gave you. And yet you did not do so in our name. Indeed, my son, you have cursed our name more than an elf ever has.”

      Tears burst into the elf’s eyes. He knew he had committed a sin too heinous for forgiveness. He was, indeed, unworthy to stand before perfection. Again, he fell to the ground and sobbed uncontrollably, so ashamed of his act. Even though he had done great things, he had done the unforgivable: renounced his own creators’ names. He had even refused to believe in their existence. But now that he stood before one of the gods, now that he saw the truth, he felt himself dwindle into a wretched, horrible creature who deserved judgment.

      “I have failed you, my lady,” the elf croaked in the midst of his tears, “It would be less than I deserve if you were to send me away to Dircraag in this very moment. I have no excuse.”

      “Indeed, we are sorry that you have chosen this path, son.” Maennol’s voice sang out a profound sadness that transcended sincerity, almost as if she herself was feeling the elf’s pain. And the elf did not doubt that she was feeling it. “But we are willing and wanting to forgive you of this. You have failed us, yes, and death has come to you, but your life on the phlesa is not over. Our plan for you has not come to its conclusion.”

      The elf raised his head, confused. “But is it not written that all creatures must die, and in death never return to life?”

      “Indeed, it is written such in the tomes of the elves,” Maennol conceded. “But our will overrules all, and if we wish you to return to your mortal life, then that is what we shall do. The Tribune has spoken long of your fate, and we agree that, although you forsook you, you shall be given a chance again to live and live for our glory.”

      “I am more than honored!” The elf cried dropping again to the ground. “Your forgiveness knows no limits, and that I am the unworthy recipient of your grace gives me great thankfulness.”

      “Let us hope that you remain so when you return.” Maennol’s words cut deeply into the elf, and he feared for a long moment that he would fail again when he was returned to the phlesa to live a mortal life.

      “We cannot tell you what you will find when you return,” Maennol continued, “but we have decided that you shall receive our blessings. Mastagna will give you the ability to use magic, though you were unable to use it before. Alaron and Alucia have decided to remove from you the burden of the power that we bestowed upon you. And I…I will give you a single wish, whether it be to be as tall as my other sons and daughters, or whether it be to receive great riches in your mortal life.”

      The elf was overwhelmed. He could hardly think straight now for all the joy and gratefulness that flooded him. Yet one thought entered his mind, and he was shocked that he had not remembered it before. “If it pleases you, my lady Maennol, I would wish that my friends and all those who helped me to succeed in my quest would be blessed greatly by you with long life and happiness.”

      “A truly selfless wish, that,” Maennol said, nodding in approval. “I will grant it. Aeriena my True Daughter, Cedriel her brother, Dryn the man after Alaron’s own heart, Adaria your kinswoman, Daiymel the great weaponsmith, and the deer who willingly gave itself to fulfill our purpose for you shall all be blessed, both in their earthly and heavenly lives.”

      “I thank you, my lady,” the elf said. “But if I may ask, have any of my friends survived the great conflict?”

      “I understand your anxiety, my son. And yes, Dryn, Aeriena, and Cedriel have survived. When you entered the Gate to Sepheirias, we sent our servants to protect them, and the demons were destroyed even as they stood. Do not worry, my son; your comrades will see long life yet on the phlesa.”

      “Thank you, my lady. Truly I do not deserve what you have given me.”

      “And thus our grace is made more gracious,” Maennol said. “Are you ready to return?”

      “In truth, my lady, I do not wish to leave the heavenly realms. But I know that your will is for me to live again on the phlesa, and I will gladly follow after your plan.”

      “It is such an attitude that we desire in all our children.” Maennol smiled and slowly held up her hands. “Rest now, my son and receive against the gift of mortal life. May you live it to the utmost and for our highest praise, and may you find the joy and peace until you travel the road to the Heavenly Spires.”

      Erendel closed his eyes, as smile on his lips and a song in his heart. He felt the wind more strongly now. He felt the light fade from his eyes, and delighted in what he had seen. Although he was leaving eternity for mortality again, Erendel could not say that he was disappointed. In fact, he was ready now to go. He resolved that the life given him by the gods would be used to the fullest, and that they would receive praise and glory in everything he did.

      He was ready.