The shouts of men and the sounds of various scuffles sent birds squawking in protest as they took to the air to escape the violence. John strained his senses in an attempt to pinpoint where each fight was taking place, not to assist their allies, but to avoid them.

John was surprised that Udoriol supported his plan. It seemed to John that despite the Treton Church preaching love amongst all living beings, the elf was cold blooded when it came to sacrificing lives for the greater good. Perhaps that was why he was excommunicated. John filed that away for now. As much as the elf’s mysterious past interested him, there were far more important things to worry about.

Some twigs snapped to his right, underscoring that fact. He spotted a man creeping on his own through the undergrowth. John manoeuvred around him silently and concealed his presence as best as he could. When he was really focused, even a hawk would have difficulty picking him out in the middle of an open field. However, the boy was unarmed. They had unanimously decided that the sword would serve them better in Udoriol’s hands.

As John crept closer, he was able to identify his quarry, who had a strip of green cloth tied around his left arm. He had noted that about their pursuers early on and reckoned it was how they were distinguishing friend from foe. The man clutched a short sword in one hand and a buckler in the other and held a wooden whistle between his lips. At his hip was a dagger. The leather thong that secured it to its scabbard had been left loose so that the man could grab it quickly. That suited John perfectly.

He slithered up to the man and deftly drew his dagger from his hip without the man realizing it. Before the man even knew John was behind him, he was lying on the ground, gurgling as he clawed uselessly at his slit throat. John kicked the sword out of the stricken man’s neck and plucked the whistle from between his lips. He looked into the man’s eyes as the life faded from them and wondered what went through a person’s head during their final moments. At length, John blinked and shook his head. He didn’t like what he was becoming and knew Sarah wouldn’t either. If he ever saw her again.

“Getting distracted again,” he admonished himself. He worked quickly, relieving the man of his weapons and armour. He also undid the green strip of cloth around his arm and tied it on his own before heading back to the others. This man was a scout, once he brought the others this way, they should be past the net cast by their pursuers. Then they would have to hope to stumble across a river where they would be able to throw the hounds off their scent.

John soon found Grimald and Udoriol where he’d left them, in the hollow trunk of a massive tree. As he walked around the tree to poke his head in through the gap, he became aware of someone behind him. He whirled around in time to see a flash of steel and managed to duck under the sword. There was a loud clang as it struck the helmet he had taken off the man he’d killed, sending it flying into the undergrowth.

John leapt back to look for his foe and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Udoriol?” he gasped.

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The elf looked equally surprised to see John. “What are you doing dressed up like that? I almost took your head off!”

“Never mind that,” John snapped back, “Half the forest must have heard our little scuffle. Where’s Grimald? We need to get him and go!”

“I’m over here, laddie,” he heard the dwarf call from a nearby bush.

He heard shouts converging on them and cursed. They were closer than he’d thought. He went with Udoriol to help Grimald up and led them to where he’d killed the scout. He soon heard the excited barks of dogs behind them and bit his lip.

“I don’t suppose you know of any streams near here?” he asked, looking at Udoriol.

The elf shook his head. “I’ve never been here before in my life.”

“I thought we were close to the elven border,” John snapped.

“I suppose you know every square inch of Mithia like the back of your hand,” the elf retorted.

“Gentlemen, this isn’t the time,” Grimald said. His voice was low but firm. “Let’s focus on putting our pursuers behind us.”

“This way,” John breathed, turning south. Effulian was supposed to be in that general direction, and it seemed as good a place to aim for as any. With any luck, their pursuers wouldn’t dare intrude upon elf lands.

John and Udoriol ran on either side of Grimald, each clutching one of the dwarf’s arms firmly to help steady him. The young man set a pace that was as quick as Grimald could bear. They were making an awful racket as they crashed through the undergrowth, but John couldn’t worry about that now. From the sound of it, the dogs had caught their scent and were now close behind them. He briefly wondered if there were any survivors from their group and how the other group was doing. Would it be worth meeting up with them?

“Say we get to Effulian, what then?” John inquired.

“We could ask for safe passage to the Southward Expansion,” Grimald replied, “But I think that’s getting ahead of ourselves for now.”

“We are a long way from actual elven civilization,” Udoriol agreed.

John looked at the elf who did not seem at all excited at the prospect of going home. He could relate to that feeling. The only reason he wanted to go back to Golton was to rub their faces in what a success he’d become. That was all pointless without Sarah, though. He shook his head to clear the dangerous distraction.

“What in Jord’s name is that?” Grimald gasped.

John looked up and saw a thick mist clinging to the trees up ahead and slowed down instinctively. Behind them, the sounds of their pursuers grew nearer.

“What now?” he panted.

“Udoriol?” Grimald ventured.

The elf looked stunned as he stared wordlessly at the mists. “We shouldn’t be anywhere near the Enchanted Forest,” he muttered to himself, “Why… Unless the kingdom is already under attack?”

“Never mind that,” John said as he looked nervously over his shoulder, expecting their pursuers to appear at any moment, “Is it safe for us to enter?”

John swallowed and turned to Udoriol. “What are these mists?”

“He can explain later,” Grimald said.

“Whatever happens, keep a firm hold of Grimald,” Udoriol ordered from the other side of the dwarf. “If you lose sight of me, you may find yourself lost in these woods forever.”

John nodded and the elf led them both into the mists. They had scarcely gone ten paces when the mist became so thick that John couldn’t see even make out the outline of Grimald’s body next to him. The mist also seemed to swallow up all sound. Their footsteps became muted, and John realized he couldn’t hear their pursuers and wasn’t sure if he could find his way out if they turned around right then.

Udoriol didn’t seem interested in turning around, however, and continued to guide them deeper into the mists. Something nagged at John, and then he realized that the elf had just said he had never been in these woods before. Then why was he leading them deeper into this soup without hesitation?