Beyond the Reach of Firelight

efore long, there was nothing at their backs but open country and a pale ribbon of road winding through it. The land rolled gently eastward beneath a broad afternoon sky, green downs broken by shallow streams, weathered stone, and scattered stands of pine. Heather flowered along the roadside in loose purple patches, nodding whenever the wind came down from the distant hills, and the air smelled of sweet grass warmed by sunlight and resin carried from somewhere beyond sight.

The change worked upon the seven quickly.

For days they had slept in real beds, eaten enough to forget the dull ache of hunger, washed road and blood from themselves, and replaced what the journey had taken from their packs. Gaz carried his staff instead of leaning upon it. Jaeshu’s body no longer argued with every mile. Even Navian seemed lighter beneath his armor, eased of some burden no blacksmith could have removed.

Most remarkable of all was Av'elyth.

Only days before, every mile had been measured by how far they could move her before pain forced another halt. Now she rode among them upon the brown mare the Caerhaven provost had lent her, upright in the saddle and without the guarded stiffness that had become familiar. Color had returned to her face, and breathing came easily. Whatever the druids had done beneath the green light of the grove, they had given her back a body that behaved as though the caves had never touched it.

Karneth, meanwhile, had acquired a proud and noble bramblehorn.

The animal suited him so naturally that the very idea of a pony seemed insulting. The beast was broad through the shoulders, low and solid as the mountains it hailed from, its weight carried upon thick legs that stepped over broken ground without hesitation. Heavy horns curled beside its head, worn pale along the outer ridges, while its coarse coat gave it the look of something shaped more for weather and stone than pasture.

The dwarf had spent much of the morning explaining this. Bramblehorns could cross slopes horses would refuse. They were used for charging into shield walls, with horns more than capable of crushing a Shadowhound’s ribs and lifting it from the ground.

Lunara had listened with genuine interest and had been walking beside the animal for several minutes when she finally looked up at Karneth. “His ears are so little.”

Karneth stopped halfway through another explanation of the ram’s footing. “His what?”

“His ears.” One flicked toward her voice, and Lunara smiled. “They’re adorable.”

Karneth stared at her as though she had misunderstood something fundamental about the natural order of the cosmos itself. “This is a war ram, lass.”

“I know.”

“Bred for battle.”

“I know.”

“It could break a boulder with its skull.”

Lunara tilted her head at the bramblehorn again.

“His nose is pink.”

Oesora smiled and turned away. Karneth muttered something beneath his breath and faced the road again, but when the archer raised one hand toward the thick fur behind the animal’s ear, his tone changed at once. “Careful now, girl. These beasts are particular about who they tolerate.”

The bramblehorn turned one amber eye toward her, sniffed her fingers, and lowered its eyelids when Lunara scratched gently behind its ear. She brightened. “Aww, haw. He likes that.”

“It does not.”

The ram leaned farther into her hand.

Karneth looked down at it with a grumble.

“…traitor.”

The path Jaeshu had found the evening before remained little more than two old wagon ruts pressed through the countryside, vanishing now and again beneath grass before returning farther on, but it held true enough toward the east. For once there were no howls behind them, no wounded among them forcing their pace. The ranger disappeared ahead whenever the land opened sufficiently for scouting and returned with reports remarkable only because nothing in them mattered: a stream, a herd of deer, the remains of an old wall, nothing where nothing ought to be.

They simply traveled.

After all that had come before, there was something almost wondrous in the simplicity of it.

By midday the path dipped beside a narrow creek lined with alder, and they stopped long enough to refill their waterskins and eat from the provisions Bree had sent with them. The sun still stood high when they continued east.

Some time later, Jaeshu walked alongside Av'elyth and her horse. For a while he said nothing. Av'elyth caught him looking toward her once, but left him to whatever thought he was trying to arrange. A blade of grass rested between his teeth, rolling occasionally from one corner of his mouth to the other.

At last he quietly cleared his throat. “You... held longer than I thought anyone could back there.”

Av'elyth turned toward him.

“In the caves, I mean,” he added, his eyes remaining upon the road. “By the end of it, I kept expecting you to cut loose and leave us. Rogues usually know when to retreat.”

The blade of grass shifted between his teeth.

“You never did.”

Av'elyth looked forward again. “And I suppose I admit you are fairly capable with those… toys and tricks of yours.”

Jaeshu glanced up at her.

Karneth had been riding near enough to hear, and the bramblehorn carried him alongside them with several heavy steps. “Aye. Our little rabbit here risked her skinny neck for us!” He grinned. “I think she’s growin’ to like us, ranger.”

Av'elyth did not turn. “I was just tired of watching you clumsy boys lose.”

Karneth chuckled and placed a large hand on her shoulder. “You’d’ve made a fine dwarf.”

She looked him over once.

“And you,” she said, “would have made a fine dwarf.”

Karneth barked out a laugh while Jaeshu shook his head and finally smiled.

The little rabbit allowed herself one as well.

For a long while afterward, the three remained near one another as the road carried them east. No oath marked what had changed between them, nor was any needed. There were friendships made beneath easy roofs, over warm meals and at tavern tables, and there were other bonds hammered into shape in places where everyone expected to die. The caves had shown them things ordinary roads never could: who ran, who froze, who bled, and who stayed when leaving would have been easier.

The country grew greener as the day wore on. Pines gathered more frequently in the low ground, their shadows spilling across the road whenever it dipped between hills. Birds lifted from the grass at their approach and settled again behind them, as though the land itself briefly opened to let the Seven pass and then quietly closed once more.

Gaz eventually fell into step beside Av'elyth’s mare. “Av'elyth. You’ve been to the Golden Quiet.”

“Ilvarin’del. No.” Av'elyth adjusted the reins loosely through her fingers. “My grandmother was born there. Mother’s mother. She left before I was born and settled in Oth’golimn. But I never knew her, nor have I ever visited.”

“But your people kept contact with them.”

“All elven forests did, to some degree.”

Lunara had returned from ahead and slowed nearby as Av'elyth continued. “Once each year, Ilvarin’del sent an emissary through every elven forest of Aranthor. My home, Oth’golimn, was one of their stops. They met with elders, exchanged news, asked of births and deaths, borders, trade. Whatever had changed since the year before.”

“What were they like?” Lunara asked.

Av'elyth paused before continuing with begrudging formality. “They were Grand Elves.”

“…Are Grand Elves friendly?”

“They’re old. Older than most kingdoms, and very aware of it. Their houses kept traditions other forests lost generations ago. Their craftsmen were exceptional. Their songs…” She paused. “They were very proud of their songs.”

Gaz asked what Av'elyth herself remembered of the emissaries, and this time the answer came more easily. “Everyone knew when they were coming. Especially the children. They were beautiful—even for elves. White and green, usually, with gold worked through their clothing and sometimes their hair. Their horses were immaculate. Their weapons looked ceremonial until you watched them move.” The memory softened her voice. “When they came through the trees, they looked like stories.”

For a while, no one said anything.

Navian eventually asked, “What happened if Oth’golimn actually needed something?”

“They would listen. Offer… advice. Then return to Ilvarin’del.”

Lunara waited a moment.

“So… friendly?”

Av'elyth gave her a look. “They were never cruel. Just distant. Ilvarin’del has always believed its first responsibility is to Ilvarin’del.”

She left it there.

Jaeshu turned from the front. “So when we meet them, what should we say?”

“Do you know the elven tongue?” Av'elyth asked.

The ranger raised his eyebrows and continued walking.

Gaz allowed the subject to pass before asking, “I’ve been wondering: How much do you remember from the grove?”

Av'elyth’s hands became still upon the reins. “To be true, not much.” The elf looked down at her saddle as if her missing memories could be found along the reins themselves.

Navian slowed to join them. “Do you remember us carrying you? Or Caerhaven at all?”

“I remember entering the tree,” she said after several steps. “After that it comes in pieces.”

Oesora slowed nearby, and Navian did the same. Av'elyth kept her gaze upon the road while she searched for the order of things. “There was green light. More than there should have been. Above me. Around me. I remember moving.”

“Someone carrying you?” Oesora asked.

“No. No, I was lying down.” Av'elyth hesitated. “That is why I don’t trust it. I was dying. I had lost blood. I had been given whatever the druids use for pain. I could have dreamed half of it. Or all of it.”

No one argued. The elf felt a tinge of shame for failing to fill in the missing pieces.

“There was a point when the pain stopped. Completely.”

Navian turned toward her, alert now. “That may have been the moment the tree went dark. We saw it from outside and ran to you.” He glanced ahead. “Perhaps the druids’ healing was done.”

Lunara looked up at Av'elyth. “You came out with Elder Juna right after.”

The elf bit her lip in thought. Quiet settled over the road. A long minute passed with everyone waiting for someone else to speak and make sense of it all—the wizard especially appeared lost somewhere inside his thoughts.

Oesora moved closer and rested one hand briefly against Av'elyth’s knee. “You’re here.”

Av'elyth looked down at her and gave a weak smile.

“I am.”

They continued onward, five on foot, two mounted.

By late afternoon the country had changed more noticeably. Pines gathered into deeper stands along the lower ground, and the wind that came through them had lost some of the day’s warmth.

Jaeshu reached the high crest of a long rise near dusk and stopped. The others joined him one by one until all seven stood looking east.

Beyond the hill, the country rolled downward for several miles. Ilvarin’del, the forest of Golden Quiet, filled the far horizon. At such a distance the individual trees disappeared into one immense canopy stretching north and south until both ends faded into haze. The wind was stronger here and irregular, carrying the faint scent of something old and unknown. It seemed less like a collection of trees than an inland sea that had taken root.

Av'elyth urged her mare several steps forward.

The breeze swept dark hair across her face, her ice-blue eyes peering through the loose strands toward a place that, for most of her life, had existed only through other people.

My grandmother.

Those beautiful emissaries.

Old stories of royalty.

She had imagined Ilvarin’del many times without ever seriously expecting to stand within sight of it.

Now it was real.

The mare again moved beneath her, and the moment passed. She followed the others without speaking.

Navian shifted his pack higher upon one shoulder as they descended. “Come on, everyone. We still have some daylight. If we keep moving, we can probably reach the trees by dark.”

The group behind him stopped.

“Navian.”

He turned toward Oesora.

She looked past him at Ilvarin’del. “Must I heal your judgment as well?”

He stopped. “What?”

“After everything we’ve been through,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the horizon. “You want to enter an unfamiliar forest at night?”

Navian looked toward the trees, then back at her, rubbing absently at his beard. His single-mindedness had once again carried him a step ahead of reason.

“Right. We camp here. Go in after sunrise.”

The priestess chuckled.

Karneth had barely followed the exchange because his attention remained fixed upon Ilvarin’del itself. “Forests have spiders.”

Av'elyth glanced toward him. “Everywhere has spiders, dwarf.”

Karneth’s eyes never left the dark tree line.

“Elven forests are maintained,” she continued. “Roads. Settlements. Rangers. You are not going to spend the journey walking through webs.”

Karneth looked back toward Ilvarin’del. “How large do they get?”

“The webs?”

“The spiders.”

Av'elyth stared at Karneth. “Karneth, you are not going to encounter some enormous spider in Ilvarin’del.”

He looked at her, gripping his axe. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Karneth grunted and turned back toward the road.

Lunara moved closer to Jaeshu and whispered, “Dwarves are afraid of spiders?”

Jaeshu pulled the blade of grass from his mouth and flicked it aside. “Just our very brave one, it seems.”

They found a place to camp in a broad meadow sheltered by a low rise and distant enough from the nearest trees that no one objected. Before long, a small fire burned among the grass, packs lay open around it, and the scents of bread and woodsmoke settled into the cooling air.

Karneth removed the bramblehorn’s saddle, whereupon the ram immediately shoved its broad head beneath his arm hard enough that Karneth caught himself against one horn.

Across the fire, Lunara looked over. “I’ve named him Beeps.”

Karneth froze. “Do not name him Beeps.”

“Beeps.”

Karneth pointed at the archer. “Now, lass, Bramblehorns do not have names. They are extensions of warfare.”

“Beeps.”

Navian and Gaz joined together. “Beeeeeps!”

Beeps made a sound.

The siblings shouldered each other and cheered around the fire.

Karneth glared at the animal as though a sacred pact between dwarf and beast had just been irreparably broken for all his ancestors above to witness.

Near the edge of camp, the horse grazed alone in the quiet. Av'elyth wandered back up the low rise while the others settled around the fire. She rolled one shoulder, then the other. For once, nothing hurt. For as long as she could remember, pain had decided almost everything: breathing, turning, sleeping, how far she could walk, how long she could stand, whether another mile belonged to her or to whoever eventually had to help her when her body refused.

The elf lowered her arms as she watched the forest along the horizon.

From behind came the quiet press of boots through the grass and the faint murmur of steel. Navian climbed the rise and stopped beside her, one arm resting upon the pommel of his sword.

“So. That’s it.”

She spoke softly. “Ilvarin’del.”

The others noticed the paladin and rogue standing upon the rise and gradually joined them. Beneath the moonlight, the mass of trees was little more than a vast dark shape along the horizon, vague in detail yet unmistakable in scale. For several long moments, no one spoke. Whatever thoughts the distant forest stirred remained their own.

Pushing his hood back, Jaeshu narrowed his eyes toward the distant tree line. “For Grand Elves dressed in gold, I don’t see much gold.”

Then something faint crossed the fields.

A long note, so distant that at first it might have been mistaken for wind, followed by another still softer behind it. The sound drifted from somewhere within the dark mass of Ilvarin’del, rising and falling in no melody Gaz could name, yet carrying something strangely beautiful across the night.

Karneth cocked his head.

“Well.” He looked toward the forest again. “There’s that elven song.”

Gaz studied the forest for a moment, folding a map. “To be fair, the provost did say the elves here withdrew farther inward after the Orath began. Stopped receiving outsiders. Most of the old patrols disappeared with them.”

It explained the silence well enough.

For the others.

They all returned down the slope toward camp while Av'elyth remained upon the crest for another moment, her horse shifting quietly near her.

Among elves, there were senses for which no human language had ever found proper words. Things known without sight and heard without sound, old instincts that seemed to live somewhere beneath thought itself. The presence of their own kind was one of them. Not thought. Not quite magic. Merely a faint awareness, a thread joining life to life across distance, subtle as warmth felt through a closed door.

An elven forest was never truly silent to an elf.

Ilvarin’del should have been alive with it.

Av'elyth stared into the distant green and reached, without movement and without knowing how, for that familiar whisper beneath the world.

There was nothing.

Not faintness.

Not distance.

Nothing.

The absence troubled her more deeply than the lack of golden light or song. Somewhere beneath those boughs should have been the echo of countless lives, generations of her own kind woven through root and branch.

Instead, the forest seemed to be holding its breath.

Av'elyth narrowed her eyes.

Across the darkening country, the forest before her deepened into shadow. Behind her, the fire cracked softly. Someone laughed.

She returned to the others without saying a word.

Tomorrow they would enter the Golden Quiet.

Tonight, there was no need to hurry.

High on a ridge behind the travelers, a massive man stood upon a shelf of stone beneath the stars. Far below, seven figures moved around a small campfire, their shapes dark against the flame, while beyond them a horse and a great ram grazed beneath the cool moonlight.

He watched for some time before an old woman climbed the last rise behind him. She planted an ancient staff against the stone and lowered herself beside him, then followed his gaze toward the distant fire.

“Did you tell them?”

“No.”

Her eyes turned east, where the trees lay dark across the horizon. “They will reach Ilvarin’del tomorrow.”

“I know.”

For several breaths, neither spoke. The wind moved softly through the grass around them, carrying with it the faintest trace of smoke from the valley below.

“Come,” the woman said at last. “We must keep moving.”

For a moment longer, the man watched the Seven sleeping beneath the open sky.

“I know. It’s close.”

He gave a low huff, turned away, and moved along the ridge beyond the reach of their firelight. Behind him came the quiet beat of the woman’s staff against the stone.

“No…” she said.

The man stopped.

Her gaze remained fixed upon the dark line of Ilvarin’del.

“It is already here.”