A sudden cry rang out over the Warrior’s Path. «Portal opening near the south gate! Fey to your posts! Sound the alarm!»

The bells of Lower Orest began to ring. Teleos swore. A single portal had opened a mile east of Lower Orest, well out of cannon or weave range. A score of Eld soldiers emerged, racing north and south, and in their wake, dozens and dozens of other portals opened. Elden warriors and Mages poured out in a thick, black tide. Behind them, a second row of portals spewed batteries of bowcannon and siege weapons.

“Looks like they mean to take her this time,” Dev said.

Griffet moved to Dev’s side. “They do, my friend,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, but they do.”

“Griff?” Dev turned in time to see his friend’s eyes turn to bloody black horror. The sickly sweet ice of Azrahn washed over him. “Ah, no.” Dev’s mournful whisper ended on a choked grunt. His breath fled his lungs in a sudden, agonized gasp and pain doubled him over as the blade in Grifet’s hand slid under the scales of Dev’s armor and sliced through his belly, driving up towards his heart.

Celieria ~ The Verlaine Forest

For most of the day, Rain and the dahl’reisen picked their way through the Verlaine’s heavy underbrush and dense stands of trees, pausing only a few times for brief rests. Progress was slow until the daunting thicket of the outer forest gave way to an older, deeper wood where small, persistent saplings and evergreen molia bushes vied for survival alongside great, densely needled conifers and thick, gnarled oaks. Twilight descended, and the forest gloom became an impenetrable darkness. Rain’s eyes adjusted automatically, his elongated Fey pupils opening wide to let in every hint of light. Where mortals would be blinded by darkness, Rain and the dahl’reisen had the clear vision of cats hunting in the night.

A loud scream rent the air. Rain jerked to attention.

“Lyrant,” Farel said. “The forest is full of them… along with other vicious, Shadow-spawned creatures created and loosed upon it by the Mages.”

They ran deeper into the forest, and Rain began to spot the shadows of dahl’reisen sentries perched high in the branches above. He knew there must be conversations flying over private Spirit weaves, but the dahl’reisen were too disciplined for him to detect the barest hint of it.

They approached a deep thicket draped with thorny, flowering sago vines. Except for the faintest glow of a privacy weave and the fact that the dahl’reisen sentries now allowed themselves to be visible, Rain would not have given the thicket a second thought.

“We’re here,” Farel said. The vines parted as Farel approached, and he ran through the resulting tunnel without slowing. The dahl’reisen guards watched silently, their faces inscrutable, as Rain and Ellysetta passed by them and followed Farel through the opening.

They emerged from the long tunnel at the edge of a village. A remarkable, unexpected, secret village—large enough it could nearly be called a city—hidden in the heart of the Verlaine.

Rain looked around with a mix of shock and admiration. He had not expected something so large, nor so impressive. Dahl’reisen Earth masters had done their work well. Cabins nestled amongst the trees, integrated with an almost Elvish flair so that they were scarcely distinguishable from the forest as they hugged the thick trunks and perched high in the heavy branches. Vine bridges draped from tree to tree. Rope ladders and hanging wooden stairs that could be raised or lowered at will granted access to the buildings overhead. Round, illuminated orbs hung from the tree branches, casting a golden glow upon the city in the trees and the forest floor below, where well-worn paths bordered carefully tended gardens.

Villagers rushed out to meet the returning raiders. Among them were several dozen more dahl’reisen—some in full leather and steel, others looking incongruously like Celierian townsmen in tunics and breeches—numerous mortal men and women, even elders with wrinkled skin and whitening hair. And there were children, scores of them, varying in age from the smallest babe still suckling at its mother’s breast to tall, stripling youths on the cusp of adulthood. Rain stared at the children in wonder, seeing more than one Fey face among them. They all watched him with a mix of intense curiosity and deep-rooted wariness.

As the dahl’reisen entered, the villagers moved forward. Women opened welcoming arms and clasped suddenly weary-looking dahl’reisen to their br**sts. Small children cried “Gepa!” Father! Several women gave choked cries and rushed to clasp the hands of the wounded, while others waited and stood in grief-stricken silence as Farel’s warriors delivered unto them the steel and sorreisu’kiyrs of the fallen.

Watching them, Rain’s throat grew tights. He remembered countless similar scenes from his own childhood. Happy homecomings when his father, Rajahl, had returned safely from battle. Bitter homecomings when Rain himself had brought the wounded and as many dead as he could carry back from a particularly bloody clash with the Mages.

He had never dreamed to find such warmth… such love… in a dahl’reisen village.

A tall woman in dark skirts approached Farel. She was young despite the wealth of startling white hair she wore tied back with a simple band. Her face was barely lined, her eyes large, clear pools of misty gray surrounded by thick black lashes. Rain estimated she had seen no more than thirty mortal years. She paused at Farel’s side and clasped his hands, staring up into his eyes. Though they did not embrace or speak aloud, Rain guessed this was Farel’s chosen companion.