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Lobum had indeed arisen, marching all night through forest and fen with Gildyr's brother at their head, astride his wolf Astrea. They'd come in answer to Starloft's war bells and Speaker Anneta's call.
The going was rough, though, for the ground often rumbled and shook underfoot. The eastern horizon glowered with fire and boiling, lightning-shot clouds. It seemed less a battle than certain death that they rushed toward, and only the fact that his brother was out there, somewhere, kept Arondyr from halting the main party and scouting ahead, on his own.
They were in high-elven territory by this point, but not very far past Ilirian's borders, and already trouble had started. They encountered steepening resistance on their way; crippled drakes, fleeing goblins and a few burn-scarred chuuls. Some escaped, but most were cleanly dispatched with bow shot or spear cast.
Yet they kept right on coming, deserting a battle of darkness and gods-given-flesh. Ash began dropping in harsh, gritty clumps, borne on a sulphurous wind. Trees stirred and shifted, hearing the far-off call of their shepherds. Branches swayed. Roots drew up like rough knees, churning the forest floor. Birds took to the air in smoke-dark, screeching rivers, darting and wheeling high overhead.
...and this plane's Arondyr wasn't a fool. The tall, dark-haired paladin doubled the strength of the wards that shielded his troop. Braced himself with one hand clutching Astrea's thick silver neck ruff, then dismounted. Turning to his Right- and Left-leaders, Andara and Padrec, he signaled them closer.
"I do not know what prodigies of ill omen are shattering Ilirian," he began, over the distant rumble of earthquake and thunder, "but…"
The rest of his statement was cut off abruptly as Karus appeared in a puff of wind and soft mist, shining pure white and crowned with a titan's spread of wide, golden antlers. The Forest Lord, whom Arondyr had last seen in bloody chunks; his brother's heart-friend, back from the dead.
The paladin's golden eyes widened in shock, but he, and all of the wood-elves, bowed low.
"Mighty One," said Arondyr, feeling his heart surge with sudden, wild hope. With joy for his long-crippled brother, Gildyr. "Thrice welcome is your return, and glad beyond measure, your people. Speak, Great Lord. Make known your will!"
Beside Astrea, a great, tawny she-bear was with them; a spirit of the mountains awakened by rising chaos. Together with his own noble beast, the grizzled she-bear lumbered over to sniff noses, conferring with Lord Karus.
After a moment, Astrea said in his mind,
'Ilirian is deeply riven, Swift-foot.' Adding, 'Dark things have pushed their way through to our plane there, summoned by goblins. Retreat will only allow them to follow, soon overwhelming Lobum, as well.'
Arondyr cursed, shifting smoothly as one of his troops took aim, drew and shot down a cloaker, just past the paladin's armored left shoulder. The monster collapsed to the ground; flapping and screeching, biting at the shaft of a barbed and skewering arrow. Padrec's light-bolt burnt it to cinders, then, leaving no more than a patch of scorched leaves. Nodding his thanks to the bowman and Padrec, Arondyr turned to face Karus, again.
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"Mighty One, we make all the haste that we can, but Starloft is still many leagues distant. By the time we arrive, there may not be much left to salvage. Would you…"
The elk snorted agreement, already knowing what Arondyr had meant to ask. Scraping a hoof through the frozen windfalls, pinecones and leaf-litter that covered the ground, Karus drew a sigil of transport. Astrea lent the spell power, as did that boulder-sized bear. In moments, a wide portal and light-streaked tunnel came into being, crossing not just distance, but time. At its far end rose Starloft, surrounded by smoldering thorns and haloed in flame.
'Make haste. Cross over quickly, Swift-foot,' urged Astrea, brushing his mind with her own. 'The dread one will sense our doorway and strike to destroy it.'
Arondyr nodded. Turning to Andara and Padrec, he said,
"Get everyone over. Make for the fortress and seek out Speaker Anneta. I will defend the rear, as you go."
He'd brought a hundred and fifty archers, spearmen and slingers; all that Lobum could spare while protecting their own sacred charge (a presence not safe even to think about, and very long hidden). Arondyr provided nearly all that the troop boasted by way of healing and magic… and that was little enough. He could not afford to lose a single warrior, and knew no such thing as "acceptable casualties". They were less of a fighting unit than a family, as everyone present had chosen to come.
Andara and Padrec nodded briskly, then began dividing the group into units of ten, each with a Leader and Second. At first, the traversal went smoothly. The scout group got through without issue, then set themselves up to cover the others' advance.
There were a few more attacks, led by cloakers and fast-diving drakes on this end, by cackling ifrits and chuuls on the other. Arondyr and Astrea fought as a team, backed up by Karus and that great, roaring bear. Together they gored, swatted and shot monsters out of the sky, or… rising to full, swaying twenty-foot height… simply bit them in half on the wing.
Nothing got past but a handful of scurrying goblins, who'd thrown down their weapons and run from the fight. Unlike his brother, the paladin could not wild-shape, but he could summon Hyrenn's icy breath. At his word, Lord Winter's terrible gale, supernaturally cold, howled from the plane of the gods. It froze the refugees solid, right to their terrified hearts. Not irreversible… if anyone cared to salvage a goblin. Arondyr did not, and the dawn soon glittered on twenty-one small, huddled statues.
Then, faster than telling it, something mounded up beyond mountain-high, out on the eastern horizon. First a wall, then a vast wave of crashing dark water, blocking the sky and last stars. The ocean had risen.
"Arondyr!" shouted Andara. "This way! Hurry!"
The paladin cast one frantic glance toward Lobum… surely too far, too high on the mountain's flank to be reached. Then he urged Astrea, Karus and the she-bear into their tunnel. Arondyr followed last of all, moving backward, watching in horror and awe as a thundering wall of seawater roared down to deluge the wood, blocking this end of their shimmering doorway. Their refuge shuddered and flexed all around them, pressed on all sides by roaring black water.
He sensed the awful damage to Ilirian, feeling the wrath of the gods as death on a scale he'd never experienced wiped out most of a forest. Andara seized his arm, then, drawing the paladin's gaze away from swirling water and gliding leviathans. From creatures that squirmed, crushed to paste as they drowned. (Small thing, hardly seemed to matter, at the time, but he was able to reach through and fish out a squirrel, saving one tiny life out of millions. The water was deadly cold and pressed like a landslide, almost dragging him forth. Once Andara and the great wolf hauled him to safety, he dared not try again.)
"Arondyr," repeated Andara, as he turned his back on the drowning forest. The slim, green-haired elf gave his arm a brief shake, saying, "This tunnel is not permanent, and the other end appears to be dry. We must go on, my friend."
The paladin nodded assent… but it was terribly hard, and not just for him. He lifted a hand to caress his soul-friend's lowered head, fondling silvery, laid-flat ears. Astrea whimpered softly, cut to the heart by the ongoing slaughter outside. Only the gods could repair such damage and death, if they cared to.
"Lead on," said Arondyr, letting none of that turmoil into his voice. The poor, half-drowned squirrel he tucked into his hood, where there was warmth, if not safety. "Whoever has done this will very much pay. On my oath, and by Hyrenn, Lord of the endless winter, I swear it."