John muttered a silent curse as he stumbled face first into a tree. Despite him not being able to see his hand in front of his face, Udoriol had barely slackened his pace.

“Are you still there, Udoriol?” John asked as a sudden fear gripped him. What if Udoriol had abandoned them? They’d be trapped here forever. Did Udoriol even know a way out of the mists?

“I am,” his reply sounded muffled, even though he was only about a yard away. “I think it’s safe for us to stop for a bit.”

“Tell me you know a way out of here,” John pleaded.

“As a matter of fact, it is fortuitous that we encountered these mists,” Udoriol remarked, “although circumstances must be dire indeed for them to appear this far out.”

“Why are these mists here?” Grimald asked.

“It means that Effulian is under attack,” the elf replied.

Grimald let off a long, weary sigh. “I was just about to suggest we go there instead of meeting up with Jeffrey and his boys.”

“Why?” Udoriol asked.

“I’ve been doing some thinking, and it occurs to me that we’ve been set up from the very beginning,” Grimald replied. “The Doppelganger. I can’t help but think it was meant to copy you and make it look like you assassinated the king.”

“That would explain why the baron sent us to that manor,” John mused. “The prince is a Ratri worshipper, that much is clear. Perhaps the baron is too.”

“It also means we have no idea who we can trust in Darnos,” Grimald continued grimly, “Their general, whatever his name was, could well be a part of their plot.”

“You have a point,” Udoriol conceded. It was then the elf’s turn to let off a tired sigh. “It appears that I have no choice but to return to my homeland.”

“We can ask your people for passage through the Southward Expansion and return to Corrington that way,” Grimald suggested.

“It would be good if things worked out that way,” Udoriol said absently.

“You sound confident that you can get us to Effulian now,” John remarked, “mind sharing why that is?”

Udoriol began chanting something in a strange language and soon, the mist immediately in front of them cleared, revealing a path.

“It appears that I am still counted as a son of Effulian,” Udoriol remarked dryly. “Wonderful.”

“Why did you wait so long before doing that?” John cried.

“Hush laddie,” Grimald warned, “Our pursuers might still be out there.”

“Oh they won’t hear us,” John said with a wave of his hand, feeling talkative now that things finally seemed to be going their way, “I could scarcely hear the two of you right next to me.”

“To answer your question, this path will lead us straight into Effulian,” Udoriol said, “It would be disastrous if one of our pursuers happened to stumble across it by chance.”

“Then let’s put a little distance between them and us, eh?” Grimald suggested.

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As they set off down the narrow lane that had appeared in the mist, John looked over his shoulder and saw the path was persisting behind them. Then, a thought occurred to him. “Getting back to Corrington may be a little tricky, lads.”

“What makes you say that?” Grimald asked.

“The Darnosian army should still be marching to their staging point,” John replied, “So they aren’t the attackers. That leaves…”

“Orcs,” Grimald breathed, “And they’re probably invading through the Southward Expansion.”

“Then we should hurry,” Udoriol said worriedly, “The situation is more perilous than we’d thought.”

“Can orcs or the Darnosian army even get through this?” John ventured, waving his hand in the air at the mists that surrounded them.

“I’m afraid I am not familiar with the Night Goddess’ magic, but the orcs did try to breach the Enchanted Forest without success long ago,” Udoriol replied. Then, his face fell as realization dawned upon him, “Our enemy is a Drow, and an old one at that. They once shared our home, and he will know how to activate the paths…”

“Well, he’s dead,” John pointed out, “And even if he isn’t, he’d be with the orcs, wouldn’t he? Perhaps the Darnosians won’t join the attack. They’re marching away from the Southward Expansion, after all.”

“The mists will disappear if Findendor falls,” Udoriol muttered absently.

“I thought that place was a legend,” Grimald remarked.

“It’s real,” Udoriol replied, “And an important part of Effulian’s defences.”

“Should we go there?” Grimald ventured.

The elf shook his head. “What are the three of us going to do if an army of orcs is laying siege to the city?”

“Quite right,” John agreed enthusiastically. He had no desire to walk deliberately into harm’s way and couldn’t help but feel excited that he was finally going to see the elven homeland, even though he was disappointed that Sarah wouldn’t be with him.

“Besides,” Udoriol continued, “This path leads to Effulian.”

Grimald looked ahead worriedly. “How far?”

Udoriol shrugged, “A few hundred miles at least. However, we’re sure to come across a few sentry posts on our way.”

“Sentry posts?” John scoffed, “What are they going to be able to see but mist?”

“The water priests can sense everything that moves in these mists,” Udoriol replied, “They have probably already noticed our presence.”

“Then this mist is mighty convenient,” Grimald remarked, “Why don’t they leave it up all the time?”

Udoriol looked off into the distance as though distracted by something. “Because it can only be summoned by the Water Speaker in time of great need,” He said at length, “It chips away at the life of Varuna’s Chosen.”

“Don’t tell me the proud elf race can’t fend off a few orcs,” John scoffed, “Their empire used to dwarf the Four Kingdoms in terms of size.”

“Used to,” Udoriol pointed out and cast a sideways glance at his companions. “I doubt my brethren will be very happy to see the three of us.”

“When has an elf ever been happy to see the mortal races?” Grimald laughed.

His laughter was cut short when Udoriol came to an abrupt halt and raised his arm, indicating for the others to do the same. John had his dagger out in a flash and strained his senses as he tried to detect any sign of a foe in the mists. He glanced at Udoriol and saw that the elf had not reached for his weapon. Instead, he merely stood with his feet planted and both hands raised.

“Stow your weapon, laddie,” Grimald hissed.

John looked at the dwarf hesitantly before reluctantly doing as he was told. They stood stock still for what felt like an eternity when Grimald broke the silence. “Well, what is it?”

“What brings you to the realm of Effulian, son of Jord?” came a disembodied voice. It was haughty and unfriendly.

John looked around frantically but could not tell what direction the voice came from. It seemed to come from every direction and none at the same time. He thought he caught a flash of movement to his right and whirled around. Then, there was a sharp tug on his left arm which pulled him away from the group. By the time he pulled himself free, he was deep within the mists and had no clue which direction the others and the path was in.

His panic rose and John tasted bile. “Udoriol! Grimald! Can you hear me?” he called into the mist, but his voice was swallowed up. He strained his ears but could hear nothing except the pounding of his own heart.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and whirled around, drawing his dagger in a smooth motion. A hand with a vice-like grip clamped down on his wrist and twisted his arm, forcing him to drop the dagger and grunt with pain. Then, he was released. A well-placed kick to the midsection sent him sprawling to the ground.

John sprang to his feet nimbly, ready for the next attack, but could not see a thing. He felt a leg kick his feet out from behind and tasted dirt again. He rolled around and was ready to spring up again when a foot appeared out of the mist and planted itself on his chest. He then felt cold steel against his neck.

“Why are you in our lands, human?” a harsh voice demanded.