VI.

List of Names

• Ellóren (EL-loh-ren, a Holy One of forests)

He fell silent. The others stood motionless, struck silent themselves by the sorrowful, terrible tale. The Elder Days were mostly unknown to them, beyond the histories of Men, but each had heard some vague legend, here or there, of the beautiful elven kingdoms fallen long ago. The true story bore a weight of sadness deeper than any could have imagined, until they heard it; and now each found themselves mourning the loss of a people they had never known. After a time, they heard a voice gently murmuring:

The splendid elms were once tall kings,

with leaves of emerald crowned;

at summer’s height, their branches full

of soft susurrant sound

like soothing chimes, or crystal bells,

they sang to nameless winds.

Through autumn’s rains and sorrows, pierced

by nights of growing cold,

with hearts unchilled bright song they spilled

from harps now flaming gold,

their crowns of amber; yet leaves fall

when autumn breezes blow.

And now all gray, the elms still sway,

their barren branches moan;

their limbs all sigh a lullaby

of snow on silent stone.

Yet bereft of leaf, their crowns are now

the beauty of the stars.

The voice was Aurimar’s. “That is a Common rendering of the Elven verse, lamenting the losses of our people. We have suffered many sorrows at the hands of great evil; and yet some of our sufferings are simply due to the passage of time. Many are the treasures, and arts, and lives lost.” He sighed deeply, then straightened himself to his fullest height.

“But I am still young by my people’s measure, and the sorrow has not overcome me yet. Let us strike at this menace, and end it! If it is beyond our power, we will do all we can and withdraw. I know something of this country: I can perhaps find for us elusive, indirect ways to this hill, that our enemy will not expect. With Cersis and the lady Aulónna also, I am sure of it. Let us prepare!”

“Well said!” cried Herónus. “I agree that an indirect approach is the right choice, at least to see us there with fewer difficulties from the foe. We may be facing powers we do not know, but we have a loremaster and priestess to assist us, lending wisdom and powers of their own. Nonetheless we must be ready for anything. Let Cersis and Aurimar consult each other to determine our path; lady Aulónna can contribute as well, and let her also counsel with Alquilan regarding mystical preparations. Dómeir and I will discuss supplies, as well as any way the men can help us with our errand. Let us all meet here again an hour before sunset, to bring the pieces together. We set out tonight!”

* * * * *

They departed the camp at the rising of the stars, at the same time as the evening patrols of knights. These numbered more than usual; indeed, only a half-dozen or so men remained on watch at the encampment. This was Herónus and Dómeir’s idea: the patrols would fan out closer to the camp, serving as a screen to cover their departure. Then, about an hour after the six left, more than half the men would stab out to the south, hoping to provoke and challenge the enemy – the rest would gradually follow, now screening the camp’s garrison, in its weakness, from evil eyes.

Cersis and Aurimar led the group, directing them east-southeast. Their goal was to remain at a distance from the center of undead activity, and approach the sparse wood Aulónna had spoke of from the surrounding grasslands on the eastern side. They would then turn south, skirting the edge of the wood, to give them possibility of cover while still as distanced as possible from the likelihood of encountering undead. To help with this, Cersis had shared a treasure of his with them, before their departure: drawing a pouch from his belt, he had opened it to reveal a small amount of sandy-white powder, softly glittering in the twilight. “This is the ground antler of an enchanted elk: a shy, noble beast that walks the vales of this region” he said. “The one who provided this gave me an exhausting hunt. Here, let me put a pinch on your feet!” He left none for himself, but no matter, for such a ranger had no troubles with subtlety in the wild. Now as they walked, following his and the elf’s lead, they saw behind them no sign of passage; not even the slightest footprint was left to give them away.

They moved in something close to a single line, to minimize their presence. Herónus followed after the two, then behind him Aulónna and Alquilan, keeping close. Dómeir served as the rearguard, and did not distance himself too much from the rest. And they moved in haste; for despite the diverting efforts of the knights, they passed now through shallow grasses with no cover, never much higher than their knees. A constant rustling breath, sighing in their wake, accompanied them as they hurried through the grass; and it sang sadly of the peace lost in this region, oppressed by a nightmarish evil.

It was not long before they found a body of scattered, dead trees before them, nigh at hand on their right, while on their left the grasses continued endlessly. They paused a moment to catch their breath, then entered the wood. The six plunged in only thirty feet or so, keeping the wood’s edge nearby, then turned to face southwards. As they walked on, Aurimar studied the trees. Some were old, especially old oaks, rotted with age; others were thin and spindly and seemed to have died of malnourishment, or wasted away before their time. Many beeches stood, and some of these seemed not quite dead (or even alive), but their clinging leaves were faded as by the grip of winter. Everywhere gray mosses flourished, and here and there was a wondrous patch of lichen, glimmering beautifully white; and long moss hung from many of the oldest trees.

Only an hour into the wood the six found that, at the very edge of sight, their vision was obscured by mist. It must have been all around them, too thin to see save at a distance; but now, glancing to the left, they suddenly could not see the wood’s edge! Progressing more cautiously, more than a little anxious, they saw the mist appear to draw closer and closer, as it became deeper. “This is not natural” said Herónus. “To my limited skill, the terrain and conditions do not seem to indicate fog. And there is an eeriness about the air that prompts my suspicions.”

“Your skill is not as little as you think” said Cersis, peering at the vapors about them. “According to my craft regarding weather, and seasons, and terrains, this is not the place or time for mist such as this. And I have the same unnatural feeling as you. And yet... I do not sense any presence of undead about us. This stirs something in my memories-” but at that point, the company halted, and the ranger-chieftain drew in a sharp breath of recognition.

They had reached a tiny clearing, and before them stood a band of trees. These trees were tall and straight and gray, and strange; their straightness was just a little too pronounced, and they were grayer than any tree most have ever seen, gray as stone. The mist had deepened, such that the band was scarce twenty yards away when they saw it, but the trees themselves were heavily shrouded. Especially the branches: the upper half of each tree was veiled in gray cloud, save at the very top where the tips of limbs poked through, clothed in ephemeral leaves. Aurimar, who in the elven lands had traveled through the Mountains of Fog, was unmoved, but Cersis looked suddenly alarmed, and even more alert. The others stared doubtfully before them.

The loremaster, a lover of vapors, smiled. “Ghostwood trees!” he said, walking past the rest who still stood, halted. “This is a rare sight! These trees are magical, and normally only found in places of constant fog, hidden deep in marsh and swamp. It is unusual for them to live here, in upland woods in a relatively dry area. Did none of you know of them? Why were we taken by surprise?”

Cersis looked ahead of them, his hand on his sword. “I have indeed encountered the ghostly trees here, once only” he said grimly. “But that was at the heart of this small wood, miles to the west, and this area we pass through now was normal! I had thought us far enough to the east to evade them, and so save us trouble. But it appears they move.”

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“Yes, ghostwoods can ‘move’, in a sense, especially in places where their presence is heavily known” said Alquilan, with an appraising glance at the trees before them. “But in this small wood, I wonder. How broad was the band you encountered? For everywhere ahead of us, left and right, is covered in mist.”

“The ghostwoods I went through only stretched a few furlongs wide and a few deep” said Cersis. “In a straight line, that is. If the bewilderment of the trees leads us astray, then we may lose time finding our way through.”

“But we must” said Aulónna, her musical voice both gentle and firm. “I am to blame as well, for I knew also of these trees and the magical mists that surround them. But, as Alquilan said, I did not know them to move before; and moreso they usually hide themselves, so that I am amazed that even once in your wanderings you met them, Cersis. Yet we have been lured in, and are now in deep, before the very ghostwoods themselves. Turning back or aside will not avail us, and will lose still more time. We must try to go straight through.”

“Yes!” said the loremaster. “I agree with lady Aulónna’s counsel. And we must be wary. The trees are not evil, but in their presence the unseen realm connects more firmly to ours, and many ethereal things are drawn to them. I now wonder if our quarry is some ghostly creature, and has some sway over these trees with which he convinced them to move.”

“Then we must go forward” said Herónus, “and we must stick close together. Keep eyes peeled for the slightest movement, ears cocked for the slightest sound!”

The six of them continued on, entering into the fog about the trees. They kept very close together, and now Alquilan led them beside Cersis, a pale blue light shining from the crystals in his staff. Aurimar came after, followed by the other three.

It was not long before they found difficulty. Despite the ranger’s woodcraft and the loremaster’s wisdom, advised by Aurimar, they had trouble being sure that they were traveling in a straight line. Here and there they would have to turn, just a bit: to pass a thicket or bush that was too dense to cross, or even to just walk around a single giant tree. After each turn or detour, tiny though it might be, it proved harder and harder to be sure of direction amid the pathless wood – and the pervasive fog did not help. And all about them, though there was no noticeable wind, they heard the ghostly leaves rustling in a torrent of whispers, and sad limbs swaying forlornly. The sounds made an elusive music, hauntingly beautiful; but if ever they stopped to listen, the noises seemed to float away, remaining at only the edge of hearing. After close to an hour, Alquilan and Cersis called for a halt.

“We must pause for a moment, and regain our bearings” the loremaster began. “It should not have taken us nearly this long to cross through the band, from what we know of it. The trees must have misled us after all! But we knew that was a possibility. No matter. If I can just counsel with lady Aulónna for a moment, I believe I can–” but he stopped suddenly, staring intently behind the group. Turning, the others saw nothing. But they sensed now some presence, near at hand.

At that moment, several things happened. Aulónna cried out “Ware, friends!” and called on Arrendiel, lifting hand and staff in prayer to the One, asking Him for her Lady’s aid. Herónus, in the rearguard with Dómeir, let out a gasp, sinking to one knee; Dómeir with sharper senses darted backwards, toward the rest of the group, drawing blade and dagger. Aurimar with an elven battle-cry, “Ellóren, Ellóren!” leapt to his side, his sword glowing an icy blue. Approaching the group were several apparitions, in size and shape like to men but formed of whitish vapor, insubstantial as the mist. One stood over where Herónus knelt while at least four others advanced on Dómeir and Aurimar. Gazing at them the group could discern what seemed to be long hair, and perhaps pale robes or cloaks. But the bounds of each shape flowed into the surrounding fog, nearly indistinguishable with it; the only parts that could be seen with some certainty were cold eyes and ghostly blades, glinting more clearly than the rest.

Cersis, who had drawn his sword quicker than anyone else, looked to the wizard, who nodded. Taking his leave he charged back to their leader’s side. As he ran he heard the conclusion of Aulónna’s prayer, and saw a sudden, scarlet flash consume his blade, and all the others’. It faded quickly, but the edge remained limned in red, flickering. He silently asked his own patron Zórraia, angel of storms, to put lightning in his blood; for the apparition looming over Herónus lifted its blade again. But quick as a flash Herónus drew his blade, injured though he was, and it too flickered red from the lady’s magic; and he intercepted the thing’s stroke, though it towered over his kneeling form. Then the two were in a clinch, for the thing tried to push aside his slender blade with its own, using otherworldly strength, and Herónus just barely held on.

But then Cersis crashed into the melee, stabbing out at the vicious spirit. There came another red flash from his sword as it connected, and the ghost was run through, affected as though it were flesh and blood. Indeed, he was able to use his charge’s momentum to drive it back, spitted, and then extract his blade and step back beside Herónus. The thing unleashed a moan, agonized but terrible, and terrifyingly cold. But the ranger, though he felt a grip of fear from the cry, resisted it. To the right and behind them Dómeir and Aurimar were engaged in furious battle, fighting between them ghosts that alternately seemed to be three, four, five, or even six in number, swirling in the mists. Cersis marveled at the elf’s swordplay, for his blade flowed from strike to strike, ringing off the blades of two or three or four foes in one fluid motion. Beside him, Dómeir fought with a style of shorter, rapid stabbing attacks, fending any ghost that was not foiled by Aurimar.

“Yes” said Herónus, eyeing the elf, “I have heard he is a master of Dalûne, the Path of Flowing Water. A rarer form, and it serves him well. Yet they are hard-pressed. Let us finish our foe together, and join in!” They leapt together at the apparition facing them, even as it drifted back in to fight. Herónus’s slender sword sang several times against the ghost’s, ‘til he drove it wide, and Cersis exploited the opening. Then Cersis occupied the thing’s attention with sharp blows ‘til Herónus could come slashing in with a fine, precise stroke. It was soon in sore straits.

Dómeir and Aurimar fared alright, for a brief while longer. But then, one of their foes stepped back from the engagement, and fixed its withering gaze on the man. Dómeir’s eyes were caught, held by the ghost’s fell power: a terrible burning feeling consumed him, and he clutched his chest, physically wounded. He felt himself weaken, felt the increased effort necessary to lift and control his blades. Nonetheless Dómeir stepped forward, to pursue; but the ghost lifted a misty hand. Suddenly he was hurtling backward, thrown by an unseen force. He crashed into a thick tree nearby the priestess and loremaster, and slumped to the ground. As one, the spirits – now clearly six in number – closed in on Aurimar, fighting alone.

But Alquilan had not yet had his say. Raising his staff he cried out, in a thunderous voice, and the stones in it flashed briefly with a dazzling light. Around Aurimar the mists flared to life, scintillating and brilliant, full of white flame. The elf’s keen eyes watered slightly, but the spirits recoiled in terror and pain, shrinking away from the stinging brightness. Striding forward he set on them, injuring more than one in their confusion and dismay; but some recovered enough to resist, and he was soon fighting hard again. Aulónna, who had been about to unleash her magic in the fight too, turned to Dómeir, examining and tending him.

The ghost facing Herónus and Cersis gave a horrible rasping cry, and fell to a final thrust from the ranger, seeming to scatter and dissipate, then disappear entirely. The two lost no time, turning and charging into the blazing mist to aid Aurimar. Herónus hit with two lightning-fast attacks before his first target was even aware of him, causing another blood-chilling moan. Their presence aided the elf, surely, but the battle was far from over: though injured and frightened by the loremaster’s spell, none of the six had fallen. The three warriors danced between their spectral foes, striking true occasionally; but here or there a ghost-blade might slip through, just barely, and one of them would be weakened by a piercing cold.

In the midst of this Aulónna, done treating Dómeir, joined in. Crying out the name of Arrendiel she raised her hands, and from them shafts of white light stabbed outwards, striking every one of the ghosts. Wounded already by blade and spell, two were destroyed at once. Two more, badly injured, were swiftly finished by the knights. The last two fled.

Breathing heavily, Herónus sheathed his sword. “Well, we knew the peril of walking under these trees” he said. “By the grace of the One and Maidilar’s blessing, we all survived the attack. Not to mention Arrendiel’s; for without your timely magic, my lady Aulónna, none of our skills would have been of use. Need any of us a brief rest, or shall we continue on?” He walked over to Dómeir to check on him, and the others saw both stiffness of gait and a subtle limp. He was evidently injured.

Stepping toward him, the lady murmured a prayer, and one of her hands began to glow with life, like sunlit water. She laid her hand on him: first on his side and then his knee, places where he had been struck. His face relaxed, and he straightened. She smiled, and put her hand on his shoulder. “As long as the three of you are alright, we should be ready to carry on” she said. “I have healed Dómeir; he will be alright.” Dómeir, who had been resting beside the tree, did stand up, and though he seemed stiff himself, he nodded.

“Look about us!” said Aurimar. They did so, and noticed that the mists were much lighter than before; they could see a good deal further about them, and their surroundings seemed less mystifying. “It appears that the attack was fortuitous in one way at least. Perhaps the mist’s thickness was due to the presence of those spirits, though you did not sense them, Cersis. Maybe they stayed at a distance, trying to keep us caught. I wonder, then, why they did end up attacking us.”

“It is because we are closer than we think” said Alquilan. He was gazing ahead, and yet his eyes seemed to be looking away, at something that was not there. “The ghostwood trees reach their end just a couple hundred feet from us. They were trying to prevent our escape, when we finally found our way out. It seems we have burst through the net!”