shriek of pain and he doubled up as Miranda yanked free her blade. A cascade of crimson told her she had reached the artery deep in the groin and the mercenary was doomed to death in moments.
The sound of approaching hooves signaled that Miranda also had but a few minutes to live if she did not act quickly. Hurrying into the cave, she knelt before the elven woman. ‘What is your name?’
The woman, crouching before the two boys, replied, ‘Ellia.’
‘I can save you and the children, but I cannot take you to the Jeshandi. Will you come away with me?’
Hearing the riders entering the glade, she said, ‘What choice have I?’
‘None,’ said Miranda. She leaned across Ellia, as if embracing her, and put her hands upon the boys’ heads, then suddenly everything around them spun into darkness.
A moment later, the air shifted, and it was warm night. The woman gasped, and said, ‘What …?’
Miranda fell backwards awkwardly and sat hard upon damp soil. ‘We are …’ she began, and it was clear she was disoriented.
Ellia glanced around as Miranda fought the confusion of the transition. They were in a large clearing surrounded by thick forest, with a broad stream or small river hurrying through it. The merry sound of water splashing over rocks was a startling alternative to the sound of men dying.
Ellia stood and took a step to Miranda’s side, bending to help her to her feet. The dark-haired woman shook her head to clear it.
A sizzling sound in the distance caught their attention, and both looked for its source. A faint glow of green appeared in the night sky; then it turned into a point of light.
‘Quickly, into the water!’ commanded Miranda, and without hesitation, Ellia turned and scooped up her two children, carrying one under each arm. The river was shallow but running rapidly, and the elven woman had to struggle to keep her feet on the slippery rocks. ‘Don’t look back!’ shouted Miranda, and Ellia obeyed silently as she waded hip-deep in the stream. The two boys clung tightly to their mother, remaining silent despite the sudden darkness and the cold of the river.
The searing sound grew louder and soon the boys had their faces buried against their mother’s bosom, as if in refuge against the harsh sound. Ellia thought her ears would begin to bleed, and the children finally could endure it no longer and began to wail.
A shattering explosion hurled Ellia forward, and for a panic-stricken moment she thought she would lose the children. Water closed over their heads, but she rolled to her backside and forced herself to her knees, holding her children close the entire time. The boys sputtered and coughed as their heads came out of the icy water, but neither had let go.
The stumble and fall had turned Ellia around and she couldn’t help but look where Miranda stood. A brilliant orange light fired down from the heavens, a long line of energy that engulfed the young woman. Miranda raised her arms as if warding off the harsh energies. A sudden blast of hot air struck at Ellia, hot enough to dry much of her head and shoulders above water. Miranda moved her hands suddenly, and a latticework of purple-tinged white energy appeared and began to spread along the column of orange light, racing back toward its source. As it passed up the length of orange energy, it burned brilliant white, too brilliant to watch. Ellia turned as rapidly as she could in the water, shielding the boys as much as possible from the heat.
Wading forward, she reached the far bank and half lifted, half pushed the boys up onto the grass. Then she struggled to get herself out of the waist-deep water. Suddenly strong hands reached down and lifted her easily out of the river.
Three men in green leather watched the fierce display across the water. One leaned upon a longbow and spoke to Ellia in a language alien to her. She placed reassuring hands upon her boys’ shoulders and said, ‘I don’t understand.’
The man glanced at the other two and raised an eyebrow in surprise, then looked back at Ellia. ‘You speak Keshian, but not your own tongue?’
His accent sounded odd to Ellia, but she could understand him. ‘I speak the language taught to me by my parents.’
The harsh light suddenly vanished, leaving the clearing suddenly inky in contrast. Miranda swayed in the darkness, as if drunk, then she steadied herself and turned. Across the river, she saw Ellia and the boys standing with three elven warriors. ‘May I enter?’ she called weakly in the King’s tongue.
‘Who seeks Elvandar?’ answered one of the warriors.
‘One in need of counsel with Lord Tomas.’
‘Cross if you are able.’
Dryly Miranda said, ‘I think I can manage.’
She waded to the far side and the elven woman said, ‘What magic is this?’
‘These are your people, Ellia. These are the eledhel, and this is the boundary of Elvandar.’
‘Elvandar?’ She looked confused. ‘That is a legend, a tale told by old ones to children.’
The leader of the three warriors said, ‘I judge there are many questions to be answered, but this is not the place, nor is it the time. Come, we have two days of travel to reach the Queen’s court.’
‘The little ones are tired,’ said Miranda, ‘and they are frightened.’
The elf looked down and saw the boys. His eyes widened slightly, a gesture that would have been lost on most humans, though Miranda marked his surprise. ‘Twins?’
Ellia looked at Miranda, who answered, ‘They are.’
Another elf warrior said, ‘I shall go now and carry word to the court.’ He turned and vanished into the woods.
The first elf made a gesture and the remaining elf nodded once and followed after his companion. To Miranda the first said, ‘I am called Galain. My companions are Althal, who is returning to our campsite to prepare food for you, and the other is Lalial, who will take word to the Queen and her consort.’
He shouldered his bow, then, without asking leave, knelt and picked up the two boys as easily as he might have picked up two kittens. The boys looked at their mother, but neither child voiced protest. Miranda touched Ellia’s shoulder, then motioned with her head that they should follow their guide.
Miranda used her natural sight to keep the others in view. Her arts were depleted by the battle on the riverbank. It had been a short struggle, but no less vicious for its brevity. Through her exhaustion, Miranda felt the satisfaction of knowing that on the other side of the world the Pantathian magician who had thrown that tracking energy after her had not expected her counterspell. With grim pleasure, she knew he was now a smoldering corpse.
They reached camp without having spoken a word. The fire was burning brightly as Althal placed more wood on it, and rich smells of smoke and crisping game reached Miranda’s nose.
The boys were now asleep and Galain gently set them down upon the ground. Softly he said, ‘It will be light in a few hours. They can eat when they awake.’
The elven woman sat heavily upon the ground, and Miranda knew she was exhausted, emotionally as well as physically. Her home had been destroyed and certainly her husband was dead, and suddenly she was in
