Occasionally a wounded warrior would appear, either staggering in alone or being helped by another, who would turn and trot back into the forest to the south towards the faint red glow. The elves in the camp attended the wounded, dressing injuries, providing food and water, or simply letting them rest. Once an elf with a bandaged leg rose from his rest, picked up his weapons and hobbled off down the trail leading to the south.
Time passed and suddenly three elves walked purposefully toward them. Martin stood up. The two flanking elves were obviously warriors, bedecked in the white-and-pale-blue uniforms he had seen mixed in with the other warriors, and the one in the centre wore an ornate blue robe, but one now stained with mud and blood. He sported a large bruise on the left cheek as well as a heavily bandaged right arm.
‘You’re a prince of Kesh or the Kingdom?’ he asked Martin.
Fighting back the need to explain, Martin simply said, ‘Kingdom. Yes.’
If the elf had reservations, he kept them to himself. Instead he just said, ‘Come,’ and turned to walk away.
Martin nodded to the others to accompany him and they all followed the elf, who glanced back at them. ‘I am named Tanderae. I am by rank Loremaster of the Clans of the Seven Stars. There is something you must see.’
They followed him into the woods, along a dark path through the boles. There was just enough light from the fires behind and the red glow ahead that they could make their way.
Abruptly the path widened and deepened and they found themselves in a broad down-sloping ramp, hastily cut into the soil to allow quick escape to what Martin decided could only be called a rear-echelon rest area, a place where the wounded could be tended to and exhausted soldiers could eat and sleep as much as circumstances permitted. This route was not hollowed out by tools wielded by hand, driven by muscle and sweat. It was perfectly cut as if by some giant gardener’s trowel, then smoothed by a sculptor. In the alien light it was without seam or flaw, almost as if the rock had been made liquid and fashioned like soft clay, then made hard again.
A soft glow came from a series of stones set upright along the pathway every ten feet or so, a pale-blue light that made travelling up and down the slope easy at night. The distant red light was becoming brighter as they walked down the ramp to a flat terrace, bordering on what had been a ridge line before the magical excavation behind them had moved tons of soil, trees, and boulders.
Suddenly they were out in the open, and they all stopped and gaped.
Miles in the distance, down in the deepest part of the valley stood the city of E’bar, the ancient elven word for ‘home’.
Martin could barely credit his eyes. Even at this distance the city was massive. Rumours had begun to circulate during the war with Kesh that the elven city had been constructed by arts beyond human understanding. Seeing it, Martin counted the rumours as true.
Graceful towers dominated the heart of E’bar, but from what could be seen at this distance, the entire city was a work of art. Looking down at the magically transformed stone beneath their feet, Martin imagined the walls of the city would be smooth and seamless. But it was hard to tell: tantalizing hints of what was awaiting a visitor were masked by a scintillating bubble of energy which surrounded the entire city, starting a few yards beyond the great circular city walls and rising up above the loftiest pinnacle. Intermittently, random glimmers of brilliant white-yellow diamonds seemed to flow across the surface, erupting into lances of blinding light that shot out for dozens of yards before vanishing, leaving the eye blind for a moment from the brilliance. Except for those bursts, the dome was a transparent red shell, pulsing with energy and giving off the ruby light that had illuminated the night sky.
A ring of elves, thousands from what Martin could judge, encircled the massive city. Shafts of light erupted from dozens of points in the line every second and magicians or priests cast magic at that barrier. Where the magic struck, tiny lightning-like bursts rebounded from the surface, then faded.
Tanderae said to Martin, ‘Behold the last home of my people.’
Martin was silent for a moment, then glanced at his companions who looked equally perplexed by the scene before them. At last Martin said, ‘You were driven from your city and now you attack a magic defence?’
Tanderae smiled slightly. ‘We fled from our city, but that energy shell is not that city’s defence. It’s ours. Many of my people are giving their lives to prevent what’s inside from escaping.’
Thinking about the number of exhausted and wounded elves he had seen, Martin began to form a question. But then he saw a tiny breach in the shell surrounding the city. Instantly a score of dark forms exploded from the gap before it closed. Those creatures of inky blackness moved straight for the line of magic-users and silver-and-white-clad soldiers threw themselves before the magicians, slashing frantically.
They were too far from the fight to see details, but eventually the black figures were gone and the elves reformed, a few limping back to their line.
‘What were those?’
‘We call them the Forbidden. They are an ancient species, so hateful they make their demon servants appear benign. They have found a way into our city and if they escape that barrier, life as we know it on this world will rapidly cease.’
Martin was aghast. ‘How long can you hold?’
‘Until the last of us,’ said the loremaster. ‘We brought this horror to our home world and we will die here protecting Midkemia.’
‘Why haven’t you sent for help?’ asked Martin.
‘Because every man, woman, and child not killed in the explosion that brought those horrors here has been fighting them, holding them in.’ Tanderae looked at Martin. ‘So now you are here we don’t have to send a messenger.’ He nodded to Martin. ‘Prince of the Kingdom, we seek help.’
Bethany said quietly, ‘Now we know why someone wanted every army in the west as far from here as they could manoeuvre them.’
Martin could only nod.
The elves provided them with food, though not a great deal of it, and filled their water-skins. Tanderae walked with them to the original clearing in which they had been held and was silent until he reached the large lean-to where they had been left after first being captured. He was impassive, though Martin saw what he thought were hints of fatigue and perhaps even hopelessness in the way he spoke.
The Loremaster of the Clans of the Seven Stars said, ‘Rest here until sunrise, human. The few hours will make no difference and while there is little chance of you encountering any danger, falling down the mountain and breaking your neck would serve neither of our causes. If you move downslope from here for an hour, you’ll find the game trail upon which you were taken.’ He looked at Martin. ‘I know little of you humans. Others among us have visited your cities and understand your politics and might be better able to convince you, but at this time I have nothing more to show than what you’ve already seen, and I can only tell you this:
‘For centuries we of the Clans of the Seven Stars have battled the demon legions across worlds, and only at the end have we come to understand those demons were no more than the servants of a far darker evil. Once we numbered in the millions, more than all your nations of man on Midkemia, but now we are as you see us.
‘It is bitter to say, but we were betrayed by our own leaders. I was a member of the Circle of Light. We were scholars
