“We are undone,” said Aedan with bitter resignation. ‘Forgive me, my lord.”
“Well, we shall simply have to try again another time,” said Michael.
Aedan snorted as the wolfriders moved into the clearing, hemming them in. “I fear there will be no other time for me.”
“I shall not let them kill you,” Michael said firmly.
Aedan shook his head. “Whatever happens, you must not try to interfere,” he said. “You must try to live, for however long you can.
Perhaps there is still hope.”
But he did not really believe that. For him, at least, it was over.
Eighteen years, he thought. A short LIFE,
but a good one. He could not really complain. He drew himself up, ignoring the pain in his leg, and decided that no matter what, he would do his best to make a good end. The prince would not see him die like a coward.
As the wolfriders approached, a cold wind blew through the clearing.
And, unfathomably, the wolves appeared to hesitate. They raised their heads, nervously sniffing the air, and several of them gave uneasy little whimpers. The goblin leader glanced all around, sharply.
“Bows!” he commanded.
By all the gods, thought Aedan, they are going to shoot us both! But then he realized he had misunderstood the command. The wolfriders had unlimbered their crossbows and drawn their swords, but they were looking all around them, not at Aedan and Michael but at the brush on the outer borders of the clearing. The wolves were acting skittish.
Several of the riders were having difficulty controlling their feral mounts.
Suddenly, the wind came once again and all the wolves began to howl.
It was a bloodcurdling sound, but it was not the baying of wolves about to move in for the kill. There was a tone of terror to their cries.
And then one of the wolfriders cried out and clapped his hand to his cheek. Another one cursed, and also brought his hand up to his face.
Aedan could not understand what was happening. Then the air above the clearing was full of soft, hissing noises, and rain began to fall.
The goblins were shouting and batting at the air around them. The wolves were dancing about, darting to the left, then to the right.
Several of them had log thrown their riders and bolted into the trees.
“what’s happening?” asked Michael.
Aedan shook his head, mystified. “I don’t know.”
It looked as if rain were falling, sheeting down, but inexplicably, they were not getting wet. whatever it was that was coming down from the sky was not touching them, but was falling on the goblins and the wolves, coming down very, very fast…. Aedan crouched and touched the ground before him.
Pine needles!
Thousands of them, hundreds of thousands, were raining down from the trees, but they were not merely falling, they were hurtling down with incredible speed and force, hissing through the air like a storm of tiny arrows. The upper arms and faces of the goblin wolfriders, wherever there was bare skin, resembled pincushions as the pine needles struck them with such force that they became embedded in their flesh.
The wolves were howling and squealing with pain, and in moments, they had all thrown their riders and bolted off into the trees. And yet, miraculously, Aedan and Michael had remained untouched. All around them in the clearing, the moss was covered with a thick carpet of pine needles, and the ferns were beaten down … except for a three-or four-foot circle where they stood.
The goblins had all dropped their weapons and were crouching on the ground, crying out and snarling with pain, trying to cover themselves up, and then, as abruptly as it began, the rain of pine needles stopped.
Aedan and Michael stood motionless, frozen with astonishment, holding their breath. Everything was quiet, except for the moans and curses of the goblins.
Aedan was completely at a loss to explain what had just happened. And then Michael said, “Aedan, look!”
From the underbrush at the edges of the clearing all around them, tall, slender figures in dark, hooded cloaks appeared. Each of them carried a short, powerful, double-recurved bow to which long arrows had been nocked.
“Michael, get down!” Aedan said, dropping to the ground and pulling the prince down with him and covering him with his body.
The arrows whistled through the air all around them and each one found a mark. In seconds, the goblins all lay dead. Aedan raised his head as the hail of arrows stopped. The elves standing around the clearing remained where they were, but they had lowered their bows. And then the wind returned. It blew through the clearing, then came back and began to swirl roughly in the center, forming a rapidly spinning vortex, and as it dissipated, a tall and slender figure stood revealed, his long cloak swirling around him and then settling to drape around his shoulders.
For a moment, the figure simply stood there, gazing at the bodies of the goblins, and then he turned toward them. Aedan realized this was the explanation for the mysterious rain of pine needles. An elven mage.
Now the elven archers who had killed the goblins moved into the clearing, as well. Several of them began to pick up the weapons the wolfriders had dropped, while others stripped the bodies of their daggers and armor.
‘What are they doing?” Michael asked him softly.
[II
The mage overheard him. “The goblins have no further need of their armor and their weapons,” he said to them in a deep, resonant, lilting voice that seemed almost musical. Aedan wished he had a voice like that. “We can make good use of them, however. We are not a rich kingdom, you see, as is your human empire.”
“But they are much too small for you,” said Michael with a frown.
Aedan was
